Ashton
Just let me know when you get back to Kroydon Hills. I’m still here. I never went back to Chicago.
Dad
You’re still in Kroydon Hills?
Ashton
Yes.
Okay. Maybe I should have reached out sooner, but the phone goes both ways.
Dad
Where are you staying?
Ashton
With Finn.
Dad
Finn Murphy?
Ashton
Yeah. I’m staying with him and Jamie.
Dad
Good. They’ll take care of you.
Ashton
I can take care of myself, Dad.
Dad
You know what I mean, honey. I’ll see you when I get home.
Ashton
Sure. See you then.
Oh... And by the way. Mom had another baby, drove into a tree, and was arrested for drug trafficking. PS, I’ve got custody of the baby. I love you and kinda hate you. Talk soon.
Not appropriate to send in a text message?
Alrighty then.
Guess I shouldn’t send that . . .
The accompaniment stops, and twelve little girls all look at me, wide-eyed and smiling brightly in their little pale-pink leotards and white tights while excitement vibrates through their small bodies.
“You did a wonderful job.” I clap my hands and smile at the baby ballerinas surrounding me in the studio, all sporting their best buns, bouncing on their toes, and ready to run to their parents in the waiting room outside the studio where they’rewatching us through the window. “I’ll see you all next week, okay?”
They all cheer with a round ofGoodbye, Miss Ashtonsthat warms my battered and bruised heart as I stand back, watching the mass exodus I’m coming to expect after only having taught a handful of classes.
