“So this is how you value my colleagues?”

“Colleagues? They’re cops, George.”

“So—am I supposed to go alone?”

“If I could be in two places at once I would. Please don’t make me feel guilty about this.”

“So you’re going to Vegas, then?”

“I don’t have a choice. She’s my mother.”

“That’s so touching.”

“Ma, can you take me to track practice today?”

“No, I can’t. The only time I could reserve a computer at the library was from five to seven, and I wanted to go to the gym for an hour. I should be home by eight-thirty. I can take you tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind taking her,” George says.

“I don’t want you to take me,” she says.

“Well, you really don’t have much of a choice, now, do you?” He smirks and heads for the salad bar. I know he means well, but Shanice has gotten too grown and her mouth is like sour candy. Sometimes I wish she was going somewhere.

When we get home, it’s almost two-thirty. Shanice goes straight up to her room and closes the door. As usual. The music comes on almost automatically. I go out to the garage to look for my Easter stuff, and of course George follows me.

“What are we going to do about her attitude, Janelle? I can’t take much more of this.”

I see the big blue bunny. He’s leaning against the wall in a corner, covered in plastic. “Look. She’s going through puberty. This is the time when most young girls are difficult. Just try to be a little more patient with her, please?”

“She’s got it in for me and you know it.”

“I think you’re misreading her, I really do.” I pull the stepladder below the shelves where I keep all my boxes. They’re pretty much in holiday order and each box is labeled—“Xmas Decorations,” “Fourth of July,” “Valentine’s Day,” “St. Patrick’s Day,” etc., and there’s “Easter.”

“She wants me to apologize for not being her father.”

“Well, there’s not much we can do about that, now, can we?” I get up on the ladder and look down at George. “Can you help me do this, please?”

“Sure,” he says, and we trade places. He hands me all four boxes but then accidentally gives me one marked “Fourth of July.” “Not that one!” I yell, and he puts it back like I just screamed “Fire!” or something. I walk over to where all the flags are rolled up, lift the plastic, and flip through them one by one until I find the Easter-egg flag. All holidays deserve to be acknowledged, as far as I’m concerned. It adds a measure of excitement to otherwise boring weeks and gives me something to do.

“I’m doing everything I can to be a good father to that girl, but she shuts me out.”

I start opening the boxes one by one, looking for the papier-mâché eggs. They’re almost twelve inches round. I made them in a papier-mâché class. I didn’t like it. It was too messy. “Well,” I say after I find the yellow and pink ones, “you’ll have another chance.”