Chapter 6 - Stay Right Here by the Cake
I didn't like how Dad went still after Grandmother said the door was locked on purpose. His arm got tighter around me, not in a hug way. In a holding-on way.
The music kept playing behind us. Somebody laughed too loud near the cake table. The lights were so warm they made my eyes sting after the cold hallway. I could smell sugar and flowers and Grandmother's perfume, all mixed up.
Dad turned just enough so it was only us. His beard scratched my cheek when he bent his head down.
"Listen to me, honey," he said real low.
I shook my head before he even finished. I knew that voice. That was his going-away voice.
He looked past me at Grandmother. "Mother. I need you to hold her. Right here. By the cake. I'm going to the service entrance."
Grandmother's smile didn't move, but her fingers tightened on her glass. "Andrew, don't be dramatic. Leave her with me for five minutes. Nothing will happen in this room."
Dad didn't put me down yet. He kept me up against his chest where his tie was warm. "Just for a minute," he told me. "I can't take you out there. It's cold by that door and it's all concrete. You stay where it's warm. I'll be right back with Mom."
At the word Mom my throat got tight again. I grabbed a fistful of his jacket with my free hand. My other hand had the bread bag squished under my arm and the bitten roll pressed in my palm. It was getting soft from me holding it so long.
"No," I whispered. I didn't mean to sound mad. It just came out small.
Dad tried to ease my fingers off his jacket. "Hey. Hey, look at me."
I wouldn't. I pressed my face into his shirt and breathed in. He smelled like car and soap, not like the ballroom. I didn't want to stand on the floor. If I stood on the floor he could walk away faster.
Grandmother stepped closer. Her dress made a soft swish sound. "Sweetheart, come stand by Grandma. Look at this beautiful cake. Three layers. Have you ever seen roses you could eat? Let's get a nice photo. You hold your little roll and smile."
She reached out her hand, the one without the champagne. Her nails were pink and perfect. Her hand looked cold.
I pulled back. I held the bread tighter. Little crumbs stuck to my shirt where the stain already was. Dad felt me shake and he stopped trying to pull my hand away.
"I know," he said. "I know you don't want to let go."
"The bag will rip," I said. It was all I could think to say that wasn't please don't leave me. "If I put it down it'll rip."
"We won't put it down," Dad said quickly. "You keep it. You keep it the whole time."
Grandmother laughed a little, like for the people watching. "Of course she can keep it. No one wants to take her bread."
A lady in a black dress walked by with her phone up, and Grandmother lifted her chin and smiled automatic. Then the smile dropped when the lady passed.
Dad carried me two steps to the side, right next to the cake table. The white tablecloth hung down to the floor. The cake was so tall I had to tilt my head to see the top. The roses on it looked real. I could see tiny drops of water on the petals.
He crouched down slow with me still in his arms so my shoes almost touched the carpet. "Right here," he said. "You stand right here where I can picture you. You can touch the table if you want. Grandma stays with you. One minute. Two, tops. I promise I'll come back through that same door I go out."
He looked at me until I nodded a tiny nod.
He set me down. My legs felt wobbly. The carpet was soft under my blue pants where my knees had been red from the hallway floor. The air felt too warm on my face.
The second my feet were down I grabbed his sleeve again. I didn't grab hard. Just enough.
"Dad," I said.
He put his big hand over mine for a second. His hand was shaking a little. "I'm coming right back. You hold that bread for Mom, okay? You do that job for me."
Grandmother moved in behind me. I could feel her dress against my back. She put a light hand on my shoulder. It wasn't heavy, but it stayed there.
"Smile, darling," she whispered, her mouth close to my hair. "Everyone's looking."
May you like
Dad stood up. He looked at Grandmother once, hard. Then he looked at me. Then he turned and started walking away toward the side of the room where the hallway door was, where the gold light stopped and it got white and cold again.
I didn't call after him. I just stood by the cake and held my bread with both hands now and watched his black suit get smaller between all the shiny people.
