It’s not that Dad won’t spend time with me if I ask. He loves me, I know he does. But there’s a chance he’ll say he’s busy, and this is too important to leave to chance.

He grabs two cookies and ruffles my hair. “Thanks, sweetie. These look delicious. What’s the occasion?” Suddenly his eyes widen in alarm. “Did I miss your riding competition?”

“No,” I quickly say, even though he has every right to feel guilty. He’s missed more than he’s made. “I just wanted to make you something.”

“That’s very sweet of you.”

“And…” I take a breath. This has to be delivered right or it’ll be a “we’ll see,” which everyone knows really means no. “I was thinking about how much I miss you. We never hang out anymore, and I’m super interested in your job. I was thinking I might want to be a teacher.”

“Really?” His jaw-popping smile means my compliments are working. “You know, if you really feel that way, you can come with me one day. Watch me lecture, and we can eat lunch in the cafeteria. I remember how much you loved that.”

A memory sparks. Click. It was after Mom had Clay, and Dad had taken me to work with him for most of that summer. He and I ate ice cream while we watched students walk by. I thought then he wanted to spend time with me. I know now that he was just trying to keep me away from Mom.

What would he say if I told him that three years ago on Friday, June 24, we ate green Popsicles and he spilled coffee on his blue dress shirt? Or that the following Wednesday he forgot me in his office and drove halfway home before he remembered? I had to wait with Doug, the custodian, in the front office, and we watched a show about mining for gold in Alaska.

I pull back on the memory, tucking it away again before the rest of the calendar distracts me. I’m still learning how to navigate the maze of pictures and emotions. Sometimes I feel that I might get sucked into one and lose myself completely.

“That would be amazing,” I say, refocusing on Dad. “Can I? That way I can finish my summer essay. I bet my teacher will love it.”

I wonder if I’ve gone too far. He studies me, but then he grins and does one of his winks where half his face scrunches in a funny imitation of an actual wink. “My class is going to love you. When were you thinking?”

“Well… is tomorrow too soon? I would love to start working on my essay so I can just enjoy summer without worrying about it, you know?” My voice is too peppy, but I can’t seem to control it.