A Lily in the Light(48)

“What’s stupid?” He bit his hamburger and put it down on the paper in his lap. The take-away bag rested between them. In-N-Out Burger, another of many things Esme had never heard of. Her head buzzed with jet lag. It was three p.m. here but would be six p.m. at home. The sun was still shining. At home, it had already set.

“Doing ballet instead of school.”

He’d always said school was the only way to really succeed. One year, he’d given them a dollar for every point their report card grades went up, which Madeline had thought was unfair because her grades were already high.

He threw a crumb to a passing duck with a green neck. The morsel floated on the surface, pale and bloated, until the duck scooped it up and swam in circles, waiting for another.

“Well,” he said at last, “you’re doing both. Everything you learn about dance is something you’d never learn in school, so that’s an education too. What I meant about school”—he paused, picking his words carefully—“was that I didn’t want you guys to be like me.”

Esme opened her mouth, but he held up one finger.

“I always wanted to go to school, but I had to work, and when you start working, it’s very hard to stop. I rely on the work I get from one day to the next.”

A water plant swayed with the wind. What would her mother say when they got home? Esme’s tongue was acidic where the ketchup had been. She closed her eyes. Andre would have to find money for this trip. He’d work nights that bled into early mornings. Hours and hours and hours just for one audition. And that was if she didn’t get in. What if she did?

Andre must have read her expression. “Don’t worry about that now,” he said. “Don’t get caught in that cycle.” He gestured to the park around them, to seagulls circling above the pond. “We should be able to do things like this while we can. That’s what I want for you.”

“But if I’m, like, sixteen when I start with a company, doesn’t that mean I’ve done the same thing? Like I only have one option?” Her future already felt decided. The 207 on her leotard was etched into her skin, as permanent as a birthmark. It was important, just like all the street names they’d passed. Geary Boulevard. Divisadero Street. Fillmore. Chestnut. They might be important, but they blurred together until Esme couldn’t remember why she’d wanted to come here so much. Home felt as far away as a forgotten dream.

“No,” he said. “It’s different. You’ll have a skill very few people have. That’s different from driving a taxi. Anyone can do that.” Her father looked at the sky, dotted with feathery clouds. Cloud shadows rolled past the pond.

“Dad? When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

“A pilot.” It was a quick reply, ready on his tongue.

Esme was sorry she’d never asked. “That’s cool,” she said, picturing him surrounded by tiny dials and a window full of clouds, night stars as clear as anyone on earth could see them. It was sad that he’d settled on navigating streets instead, listening to conversations as if he were invisible instead of radioing down to a tower for weather conditions up ahead, but that wasn’t his life. He’d be a very different dad had that dream happened, flying from one country to the next while the rest of them did schoolwork and homelife and dance. She thought of all the recitals he would’ve missed, how she’d always expected him there, waiting afterward with a pink rose. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you stayed on land instead,” she said, thinking of lightning strikes and the dips and swells of turbulence.

“Me too. I have much better memories because of it. But speaking of pilots . . .” He sighed. “We should go soon.” He crumpled his wrapper into a ball and held out the bag to Esme, sending a whiff of french fries toward her. She wasn’t supposed to, but she reached in. Salt melted on her fingers, her tongue. She hadn’t even realized she’d wanted one until she tasted it.

“You already burned it off,” he said, offering another, but she didn’t take it. If she really were going to SFBS, she’d have to be very serious. Every choice had to make her a dancer, even one as simple as french fries. Across the park, a cluster of pigeons scattered into the sky, leaving a trail of feathers in their wake. Esme threw the last fries into the pond. The grease left an oily sheen on the water’s surface.

“Don’t tell your mother I had any either,” he said as he stood. “You know what she’d say.”

Esme nodded. She’d keep his secret. A plane passed overhead, trailing a long white cloud behind it. Was he sorry he hadn’t become a pilot? Did he think about it sometimes? A bicycle bell tinkled, and a Rollerblader passed by as smooth as wind. He wasn’t watching the sky. San Francisco Ballet was her dream company. She’d wanted it for so long she couldn’t remember why anymore. Her father’s hand closed around hers. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted, but he had other things instead. It was impossible to have nothing.

Esme had one last question, one that’d been floating around since she’d left the audition and found her father shuffling pamphlets and promotional cards in the waiting area. “Dad? Are you happy?”

He looked down at her, surprised. The lines around his eyes wrinkled. Before Lily, he would have said something like, “Of course, why not?” Now, he was deciding which version of the truth he should give her. Esme readied herself for whatever he was about to say.