Olivia's
POV
I pressed my nose against the window of
our big house, watching the rain streak down the glass. My breath made a foggy
circle that grew and shrank with each exhale. Outside, our garden stretched
forever with its perfect bushes and flowers that gardeners planted, not us. I
missed our old apartment sometimes, where I could hear the neighbors through
the walls and Mom would let me help her water our one sad plant on the
windowsill.
"Olivia, get away from the window.
You're smudging the glass again," Marjorie called from across the room.
Marjorie wasn't my mom. She was my "nanny," which was a fancy word
for the lady who watched me when Mom and Dad were too busy.
"When are they coming home?" I
asked for the millionth time, not moving from my spot.
Marjorie sighed, the same sigh she always
gave when I asked about Mom and Dad. "Your father has meetings all day,
and your mother is at a charity luncheon. I told you this morning."
I pressed my finger into the glass, making
a tiny streak in my breath fog. "But my dance recital is tonight."
"And they'll be there," Marjorie
said, but she didn't look at me when she said it. That's how I knew she wasn't
sure. Grown-ups always looked away when they were saying things they didn't
fully believe.
I slid down from the window seat and
walked across our huge living room, my feet silent on the fancy carpet. Our new
house had five bedrooms, six bathrooms, and a room just for watching movies.
Dad called it a "necessary upgrade" when his furniture business took
off some years ago. I still remembered our old
apartment, small and noisy but always warm.
In my bedroom, I opened my closet, a closet
bigger than my whole old room, and stared at my dance costume hanging there. It
was pink and sparkly with a tutu that poofed out just right. I had been
practicing my routine for weeks, the one where I got to be at the very front of
the stage because Miss Amelia said I was one of her best dancers.
"Olivia?" Marjorie called.
"Time for lunch."
I didn't answer right away, reaching out
to touch the soft tulle of my tutu. Last month, I had a piano recital. Dad made
it, rushing in at the last minute in his fancy suit, but Mom didn't. She had a
"prior engagement," which I learned meant something she thought was
more important. I played all the right notes but messed up at the end because I
kept looking at the empty seat beside Dad where Mom was supposed to be.
"Olivia!" Marjorie's voice was
sharper now.
"Coming," I called back, letting
the closet door shut with a soft click.
In the kitchen, Marjorie had made cucumber
sandwiches with the crusts cut off and a small bowl of strawberries. I climbed
onto the tall stool at our marble island, another thing from our
"upgrade."
"Can I call Mom?" I asked,
picking up a sandwich triangle.
Marjorie placed a glass of milk in front
of me. "Your mother asked not to be disturbed during her luncheon. It's
for a very important cause."
"More important than me?"
Marjorie's face did that thing adults'
faces do when kids say something true but uncomfortable. "That's not a
nice way to think about it, Olivia. Your mother works very hard for many good
causes."
I bit into my sandwich, not tasting it.
Mom used to work at a grocery store, then at a restaurant. She used to read me
stories every night and make my lunch herself, not Marjorie. Now she was on
committees and boards and went to luncheons and galas. Dad said she was
"making connections" and "building our place in society."
After lunch, I had my last practice before
the recital. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my room, going
through the motions Miss Amelia had taught us. Point, turn, arabesque, plié. I
counted under my breath, trying to keep perfect time the way she showed us.
"That's very good," Marjorie
said from the doorway. "You've been practicing."
I spun around, startled. "Miss Amelia
says I might get to join the advanced class next year if I keep working
hard."
"I'm sure you will." Marjorie
checked her watch. "Time to get ready. The recital starts at six, and we
need to be there early for warm-up."
My stomach fluttered with butterflies,half
excitement, half worry. "Did you remind Mom and Dad? For real?"
"I sent reminders to both their
assistants this morning," Marjorie said, which wasn't exactly the same
thing. Mom and Dad both had assistants now. Dad's was named Trevor, and Mom's
was a lady called Angela who always smiled like her face might crack if she
stopped.
Marjorie helped me into my costume and did
my hair in a perfect ballet bun with not a single strand out of place. I stood
in front of the mirror, barely recognizing myself. I looked like a real
ballerina, the kind from the shows Mom took me to sometimes when she wasn't too
busy, shows where we sat in special seats and everyone dressed up fancy.
"You look beautiful," Marjorie
said, and for once, she sounded like she meant it, not just saying something
because she was paid to.
"Take a picture," I said.
"For Mom and Dad. In case they're late."
A shadow passed over Marjorie's face, but
she took out her phone and snapped several photos. "There. Perfect."
At the community center where our dance
class performed, everything was chaos. Girls in matching pink tutus ran
everywhere, some crying, some laughing, parents clutching flowers and cameras.
Miss Amelia clapped her hands sharply, calling us to order.
"Line up, butterflies! It's almost
time!"
I took my place in line, scanning the
growing crowd of parents for any sign of Mom or Dad. Marjorie stood off to the
side, her phone in hand, probably texting their assistants again.
"My dad brought me roses,"
whispered Lily, the girl next to me. "And my mom has her video camera
ready."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
The clock on the wall said 5:50. Ten minutes until showtime.
Miss Amelia led us through warm-ups, her
voice gentle but firm. "Remember, butterflies, even if you make a mistake,
keep going. Keep smiling. The audience will never know."
At exactly six o'clock, the lights dimmed
and the first group, the four-year-olds dressed as bumblebees, took the stage.
Our group would be fourth, after the bumblebees, the ladybugs, and the
dragonflies. I peeked through the curtain again, searching the crowd.
No sign of Mom or Dad.
Marjorie caught my eye and gave me a
thumbs-up, pointing at her phone. Maybe that meant they were on their way.
Maybe Dad had just left his meeting. Maybe Mom's luncheon had run late.
The bumblebees finished their dance to
enthusiastic applause. The ladybugs took the stage. Then the dragonflies. With
each passing group, my stomach twisted tighter, and the lump in my throat grew
bigger.
"Butterflies, you're up!" Miss
Amelia whispered, ushering us toward the stage.
One last look at the audience. One last
desperate search.
Empty seats in the third row, where
Marjorie had saved spots. Marjorie sitting alone, her smile strained as she
waved at me.
Something hot and angry swelled inside me
as we took our positions. The music began,"Waltz of the Flowers" from
The Nutcracker, and I moved automatically, my body remembering the steps even as
my mind raced.
They weren't coming. Again.
I saw Lily's parents in the front row, her
dad holding up his phone to record, her mom mouthing "Go, Lily!" I
saw Madison's whole family, even her annoying little brother. I saw parents who
worked as doctors and lawyers and teachers, parents who were probably just as
busy as mine, but they were here.
The music swelled, and I hit my mark at
the front of the stage for my solo. Eight counts of being the center of
attention, eight counts of having everyone's eyes on me.
I stopped dancing.
Right there, in the middle of my solo, I
just stopped. The other butterflies continued around me, some giving me
confused glances, but I stood frozen, staring at those empty seats.
Miss Amelia hissed from the wings,
"Olivia! Dance!"
But I couldn't. The music continued
without me, the other butterflies fluttered around, and I just stood there,
tears welling in my eyes, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
When the dance ended and we were supposed
to curtsy, I turned and walked off the stage. I heard the confused applause,
the murmurs, Miss Amelia calling my name, but I kept walking, past the
dragonflies waiting for their final bow, past the changing rooms, straight out
the side door into the parking lot.
The cool evening air hit my face, and the
tears I'd been holding back spilled over. I sat on the curb, not caring that my
perfect tutu was getting dirty, and sobbed into my hands.
I didn't know how long I sat there before
I heard the door open behind me.
"Olivia." It was Dad's voice,
breathless like he'd been running.
I didn't turn around.
"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," he
said, sitting beside me on the curb, his expensive suit pants touching the
concrete. "My meeting ran long, and then there was traffic..."
"You missed it," I said, my
voice scratchy from crying. "You missed everything."
"I know," he said, and at least
he didn't try to say it was okay, because it wasn't. "I got here just as
you were walking off stage."
I finally looked at him. His tie was
loose, his face tired, but his eyes, they looked sad in a way I wasn't used to
seeing.
"Where's Mom?" I asked.
Dad sighed, putting his arm around my
shoulders. "She's still at her luncheon. She asked me to tell you she's
very sorry."
"No, she's not," I said, the
words bursting out of me. "If she was sorry, she'd be here. You'd both be
here. You're always too busy now."
Dad flinched like I'd hit him.
"That's not fair, Olivia. We work hard to give you a good life."
"I don't care about this life!"
The words came out as a shout. "I don't care about our big house or my big
closet or the fancy car or anything! I just want you and Mom to be there when
you say you will be!"
A group of parents leaving the recital
looked over at us, and Dad lowered his voice. "Olivia, that's enough.
You're making a scene."
"I don't care!" I jumped to my
feet, my tutu bouncing. "You care more about your stupid furniture company
than you care about me! And Mom cares more about her stupid committees!"
"That is absolutely not true,"
Dad said, standing up too, his face getting red the way it did when he was
angry. "Everything I do, everything we do, is for you."
"Then why aren't you ever
there?" I asked, my voice breaking. "You weren't there when I got the
student of the month award. Mom wasn't there for my piano recital. And neither
of you were there tonight when I needed you."
Dad ran his hand through his hair, messing
it up from its perfect style. "It's complicated, Olivia. Grown-up life is
complicated."
"It's not complicated," I said,
wrapping my arms around myself. "If you care about someone, you show
up."
For a long moment, Dad just stared at me,
like he was seeing me for the first time. Then he knelt down, putting himself
at my eye level, something he hadn't done in a long time.
"You're right," he said quietly.
"It is that simple, and we've been getting it wrong. I'm sorry, Olivia.
Really sorry."
The side door opened again, and Marjorie
came out, holding my dance bag. "The other groups are finishing up,"
she said carefully, looking between Dad and me. "Miss Amelia asked if
Olivia would come back in for the final bow."
I looked at Dad, who nodded encouragingly.
"It's up to you, sweetheart."
I thought about it for a moment.
"Will you come watch?"
"Front row," Dad promised,
holding out his hand. "I'll even embarrass you by cheering too loud."
That almost made me smile. Almost. I took
his hand, and together we followed Marjorie back inside.
True to his word, Dad sat in the front
row, clapping wildly when I took my curtsy with the other butterflies. Miss
Amelia gave me a disappointed look but didn't say anything about my walkout.
The other girls whispered, but I didn't care. For once, I'd made someone
understand how I felt.
After the recital, Dad took me for ice
cream, just the two of us, something we hadn't done in forever. I got a double
scoop of mint chocolate chip with rainbow sprinkles, and he didn't even mention
that I'd get it all over my costume.
"Your dance was beautiful," he
said, even though he'd only seen me walk off stage. "Miss Amelia told me
you're one of her star pupils."
I poked at my ice cream with my spoon.
"Until today."
Dad was quiet for a moment.
"Sometimes making a statement is more important than following all the
steps."
That surprised me. Dad was always talking
about following rules, about proper behavior and how to act in our "new
social circle."
"Are you really going to
change?" I asked. "Or are you just saying that because I cried?"
Dad winced, but he answered honestly.
"I want to change. I'm going to try. But Olivia, the company is at a
critical point right now. We're expanding into three new states, and that means,"
"It means you'll still be busy,"
I finished for him.
"Yes," he admitted. "But I
promise to make more time for what really matters. Starting by blocking off my
calendar for your next performance, whatever it is."
"And Mom?"
Dad's face changed, just slightly, but
enough that I noticed. "I'll talk to her."
That night, long after I should have been
asleep, I heard them arguing downstairs. Their voices carried up through the
vents in our big, fancy house that was supposed to be so perfect.
"She needs us, Sarah," Dad said.
"Not our money, not the things we can buy her. She needs us."
"Don't you think I know that?"
Mom's voice was sharp, defensive. "But I can't just abandon the
relationships I've built. Do you know how hard I've worked to be accepted in
these circles? To make sure Olivia will have every door open to her?"
"What good are open doors if she's
walking through them alone?"
Their voices dropped then, too low for me
to hear more, but I'd heard enough. I hugged my stuffed bunny closer, the same
bunny I'd had since before we were rich, the one with the patched ear and faded
fur that Marjorie had tried to replace with a newer, fancier one.
Three days later, I found a calendar
hanging in the kitchen, big and colorful with different colored markers for
each of us, red for Dad, blue for Mom, green for me. My dance classes, piano
lessons, and school events were all marked in green. And beside them, in red
and blue, were blocks of time labeled "Olivia Time."
"See?" Dad said, pointing to the
calendar while Mom stood beside him, her smile small but real. "We're
going to do better."
I didn't fully believe them. Grown-ups
made promises all the time. But as I traced the colorful marks on the calendar,
hope flickered inside me like a tiny flame.
That night, for the first time in months,
Mom came to tuck me in instead of Marjorie. She sat on the edge of my bed and
brushed my hair back from my forehead.
"I saw the video of your dance,"
she said. "The part before you walked off. You were wonderful."
"Marjorie took it?"
Mom nodded. "I'm sorry I wasn't there
to see it in person."
I didn't say it was okay, because it
wasn't. Instead, I asked the question that had been burning inside me. "Do
you ever miss our old apartment? When you worked at the diner and Dad made
furniture in the garage?"
Mom looked surprised, then thoughtful.
"Sometimes," she admitted. "Things were simpler then. Harder in
many ways, but simpler."
"We saw you more," I said.
Mom's eyes got shiny with tears. "Oh,
Livvy," she said, using my old nickname that I hadn't heard in forever.
"I thought I was doing what was best for you. For all of us."
"Being rich isn't best if we're not
happy," I said, the wisdom feeling too big for my seven-year-old mouth.
Mom laughed softly, but it was a sad
laugh. "When did you get so smart?"
"I've always been smart," I
said. "You've just been too busy to notice."
The words hurt her, I could tell by the way
she flinched, but sometimes the truth hurts. That's what Dad always said when he
had to fire someone or end a business deal.
"I'm noticing now," Mom said
finally, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "And I'm going to keep
noticing. I promise."
As I drifted off to sleep, I wasn't sure
if things would really change or if this was just another grown-up promise that
would fade like morning dew under the hot sun of their busy lives. But for
tonight, with the memory of mom's kiss still warm on my forehead, I let myself
believe that maybe, just maybe, our family could find its way back to what
really mattered.
Even in our too-big house with too many
bathrooms and too much empty space, maybe we could find our way back to each
other.