揙f course. I came up with some stuff I wanna show you, too,?she inhales excitedly, her shoulders lifting. An excited Fee is an adorable Fee.
揝ounds good. Can抰 wait. How about we pick you up around four-thirty? Haze wants pizza.?Surprise, surprise.
揝ounds good. Can抰 wait,?she replies, and why does that make me grin like an idiot? Why am I loving this little streak we抳e got of repeating things back and forth? This little game of tit for tat.
Oh shit, I抦 still just smiling at the screen. I wipe the grin from my face. 搼Kay, then. See you later.?
揃ye.?She waves.
I put my phone away and catch my reflection in the rearview mirror. 揧ou need to get it together, old man. You are not sixteen. Be cool.?
But the dumb grin keeps trying to pull on my lips, and I laugh to myself countless times on the short drive home.
I look back at the mirror after I pull into the garage, and sigh. 揧ou抮e so fucked.?
揇ad, no one cares what you wear to my recital. No one will be looking at you,?Hazel signs as we walk up to Fee抯 door. She抯 in her full leotard getup, but not entirely ready. And I can抰 even respond because my arms are full as I trail behind her with various hair gels, sprays, and glitters. I抎 just asked her if my tie was okay梐pparently a moronic thing to even wonder, if the facial expressions indicate anything.
We already got into an argument before heading over because I do a fine job with her hair and the dance makeup stuff, but she was adamant that Farley would do it better.
So, we抮e here, imposing on her an hour earlier than I planned.
Tonight is about Hazel, though, and I hate that the lines continue to blur in my head. That even though it should be separate, should be just like any of the other recitals we抳e dressed up for and attended together, that tonight already feels charged.
It boggles my mind that you can know someone; every angle and curve of their face and figure, every quirk and dislike, and in an instant that comfortable familiarity can change to this adrenaline-infused, nervous excitement. That especially because I know her, and now know the taste of her mouth and the cadence of that sound that replays in my mind, that I only want to know more. To see what other sides and sounds and discoveries I can uncover, even more than I may have wanted to in the past.
I register an erratic motion in my peripheral and my vision refocuses on Hazel, waving irritably. 揇ad. Let抯 go.?
Fee opens the door, then, smiling radiantly. I trip a little, my toe catching on a crack in the concrete, if I had to guess.
Definitely not just because of how fucking beautiful she looks.
Because this is like every other recital, like the other five or ten or whatever number of times she抯 joined me, been the great fucking friend that she is to me and to my daughter, who loves her.
Tonight is about Hazel, but I抎 truly be as moronic as Haze thinks I am if I didn抰 admit to myself that it weighs more. That time doesn抰 once again make me zero in on this moment, realizing how thankful I am to fate or God or the Universe or Walt-fucking-Disney梬hoever抯 up there pulling the strings梩hat Fee stomped into my life, as inconvenient and powerful as the storm that same day.
FARLEY
Hazel抯 slap on my thigh stings and I catch her eyes in the mirror as she laugh-apologizes. 揟hat was harder than I meant to! You and Dad both have the same brain bug tonight!?
揥hat do you mean??I sign, dropping the mass of her stiffly sprayed curls.
揌e was doing the same thing. Spacing out. And had the same dumb look on his face.?She tilts her head and stares off to the side, an open-mouthed, lopsided smile, miming exaggeratedly.
I tap her shoulder with the back of my hand, admonishing her with a laugh. She tilts her face up to me and grins. She抯 got the same colored eyes as Meyer, that clear blue that抯 so crystalline it can be hard to look at. Like a block of ice, just as difficult to hold for long. Just as sharp. I set the brush down again.
揑 have a lot going on with work. And your Dad is helping me, like always. I抦 sorry if he抯 acting厰 I struggle for the right way to say it in ASL. 揟ired because of it.?
揑 know he抯 not tired. He抯 bouncy.?
揑 thought you just said he looks like this,?I mimic her impression and she laughs.
揌e抯 either bouncy or he stares like that. And you guys are weird with each other.?
揥hat on Earth are you talking about??I pick up the brush to occupy my hands and limit myself from saying anything further.
揑抦 Deaf. Not blind,?she manages to deadpan in ASL and I clamp my lips together, refusing to laugh, trying to look stern even as a snort escapes.
揟hat joke is inappropriate, Hazel.?
揧ou can抰 be funny if you don抰 take risks. It would have been bad if you said it. It抯 okay if I do.?
揑抣l go check her in if you want to grab us seats,?I tell Meyer as we walk up to the auditorium.
揂lright,?he smiles at me. I idly wonder if his smiles are getting tired from how much more frequently they flicker lately.
揋o kick ass, and be proud of the work. The reward is in the work. I抦 proud of you. I love you,?he signs to Haze. The same dad speech he gives before every recital. The first time he said it Hazel and I frowned at each other, then at him, until he explained that it was what came to mind since it was what his dad always said to him before his football and baseball games. 揑 thought it still applied.?He抎 shrugged.
She laughs as usual. 揑抣l kick ass, dad. I love you.?
I get Hazel backstage and get her settled with her teacher before we do our affirmations.
揥hat I don抰 hear, I feel. What they lack in knowing I make up for in showing,?we sign together. The rhyme itself is not translatable by rhythm or phonological sound, but its meaning is the same. We抳e said it since she first began doing this, back when she was worried she couldn抰 do it well enough because of her frame of understanding. I told her how every artist feels that way. How we all wonder if what we feel is making it to the stage, microphone, page, or canvas well enough. That we can抰 ever know what they understand, all we can do is use our tools and what we feel, put our hearts into it, while keeping it good for ourselves, first and foremost. I don抰 actually know if Meyer himself has heard this, but I suspect that it抯 just for her and I.
We salute each other before I turn to head out, my smile stuck on my face, not able to loosen quite yet, when I hear an overloud chuckle and a 揌ey!?off to my right. I turn to a man I vaguely recognize.
揙h, hey,?I offer back, still walking.
揑t always surprises me when I see you at these things,?the man says. 揑抦 Pete, by the way. Riley抯 dad.?
I continue to smile politely, but crane my neck to look for Meyer.
揧eah. It抯 like I can抰 reconcile it, you know??he adds. And I do suspect that I know, actually, because I抳e caught this guy抯 eye before at these things. Have felt his judgmental stares. And yet, I ask.
揥hat do you mean, Pete??
揝eeing you here, at these kids' events all the time. I see you with your little girl, all cute and heartwarming, but all I can hear is you talking about wanting men to up their dirty talk game, and that bit about being Dora the Expl-whore-ah in college with a backpack full of condoms and dreams. That shit is funny as hell, by the way.?
揑t抯 called a joke, Pete,?I say with force. Not here, just not here, please. It touches some raw and tender spot in me, a hot iron to broken flesh.
He seems like he means no harm, and I抦 sure he only meant to be relatable, but the last thing I want is to wonder if everyone here is judging me, thinking I抦 not fit to be in Hazel抯 life.