“Maybe.”
Her eyes widened.
I reached for her hand.
“But that is my problem. Not yours.”
She studied me carefully.
“Thursday is rehearsal.”
“I know.”
That surprised her.
“You know?”
“I do now.”
“Are you coming?”
I squeezed her fingers.
“I’ll be there before you are.”
For years, I had told myself I worked so hard because I was taking care of my daughter.
But somewhere along the way, I had confused providing for her with being present for her.
Linda hadn’t taken my place.
She had simply filled the spaces I kept leaving empty.
And Emily’s haircut had not been the tragedy I first thought it was.
It was proof of something beautiful about the person my daughter had become.
At twelve years old, she had looked at a frightened friend and decided that if Maya had to walk into school feeling different, she would not walk in alone.
My daughter had known exactly how to show up for someone she loved.
Now it was my turn to learn from her.
Her hair would grow back.
The evenings I had missed wouldn’t.
So from that night forward, when Emily looked into an audience searching for someone who mattered, I intended to make sure the chair meant for me was no longer empty.
