Page 7 of C*cky Best Friend
“Hey Dad.”
“How’s my girl?”
“Sucky.”
“Same here. You kids are going on journeys of your own now. It’s natural, I guess. You turned down our offer for dinner?”
“Another night. I want to stay in and wallow.”
“That doesn’t sound like my Sam.”
“I screwed up that audition, Dad. The one I told you guys about?”
He exhales and I can picture him scratching his white-blonde hair. “I’m sorry kiddo. With all that was going on, I forgot to ask you how it went. Not well?”
“No, I was distracted by…you know.”
“There are more jobs, Sam. Trust me.”
Our dad should know. Jason Cocker is the talented music producer behind many of the past two decade’s top hits, including most recently my rockstar cousin Gabriel’s. If anyone understands the nature of artistic opportunities, it’s my dad.
Except he doesn’t understand one thing. How could he? There is no age limit on producing albums. You can sit behind a soundboard at eighty and still move those knobs around.
A dancer’s life is limited.
“Thanks, Dad. You’re right.”
“Samantha.”
“Dad.”
“Okay!” he laughs.
Mom raises her volume to be heard. “Call us anytime!”
“Tell her I love you guys.”
“We love you, too. Here for you, always.”
We hang up and I stare at the phone, sending a quick text to Caden:
Tell Kian hello for me. Have the best time! Send pizza!
He won’t get that until he lands, but I hope it will make him smile.
I set the phone on my nightstand next to the framed photo taken the day I was born. Lifting it up, a sad smile spreads on my face.
Five years old, Caden is sitting on one of those boring hospital chairs, holding tiny me like if he loosens his grip I’ll fall. Six-year-old Max is on one side of him, touching me, his back straight and dignified. Lexi is only three, red hair curly and her dimpled hand on me like she’s claiming me as hers for the rest of our lives.
Hunter came almost two years later so he always grumbles about this photograph. But I love it so much. My three older siblings are holding onto me as I began a life where I would someday become a dancer, even though in this picture I can’t even hold up my head.
Caden, you jerk.
I miss you already.