“You look nice,” I tell her.
“I want to be ready. Just in case.”
Just in case. Maybe that’s what this is. Being ready, just in case this turns into something. Just in case he’s exactly who he seems to be. Just in case my daughter’s instincts are right and he’s worth knowing.
Lily wants you to teach her guitar.
I’m honored. When?
Today? If you’re really free.
I’ll make myself free. Your place or mine?
It’s a simple question but it carries weight. His place means his world, his space. Our place means letting him further into ours.
“Who are you texting?” Lily asks, trying to peer at my phone.
“Darian.”
“Are you asking about lessons?”
“I am.”
She does a little dance right there in the kitchen. “Really? Really really?”
“Really really.”
“When?”
“Maybe today.”
The squeal she lets out could probably be heard three houses over. “Today? Really really?”
“If he’s available.”
“He said he would be. Last night he said weekends are good for him.”
Of course she remembers that. She remembers everything when she’s interested.
Our place,I type.If you don’t mind coming here.
Send me the address. What time?
I glance at the clock. It’s only eight-thirty. Too early, but Lily’s practically vibrating with excitement.
Is eleven too early?
Eleven is perfect. See you then.
I set the phone down and look at my daughter, who’s watching me with hopeful eyes.
“Eleven o’clock,” I tell her.
The second squeal is even louder. She launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Thank you thank you thank you! I’m going to be the best guitar student ever. I’m going to practice every day and learn all the chords and maybe we can start a band!”
“Slow down there, rockstar. Let’s see how today goes.”
But her excitement is infectious. And underneath my careful parental management of expectations, I’m excited too. Not just about guitar lessons, but about what this means. About choosing to move forward instead of standing still.
