Chapter 18
“Alright lady, time for sunscreen.”
Luna’s trademark dramatic sigh heaved from her little lips, but she ambled over to where I was waiting by the kitchen island, bottle of sunblock in hand. I held it out to her and said, “You do your legs and arms, and I’ll do your back, shoulders, and face, deal?”
“Deal.” Her tone was resigned.
“It prevents wrinkles, Luna. And skin cancer. Repeat after me, wrinkles and skin cancer.”
Luke guffawed from where he was standing on the other side of the kitchen, packing his lunch.
I whirled on him. “It’s true!”
“It is absolutely true.” His brown eyes sparkled. “I just wouldn’t have thought to incentivize an eight-year-old that way.”
I shook my head, my lips pursed, amusement dancing on my face. I returned my attention to Luna. When I finished spreading the white lotion over her shoulders, back, and face, making the whole kitchen smell like coconut-flavored summer, she asked, “Do you have time to braid my hair today?”
I checked the time on my phone. “Sure do!”
Luna zipped past me and plopped down on the floor in front of the couch. I climbed behind her and started finger-combing her hair. Fortunately, it wasn’t too tangled today.
This ritual started last week when I picked her up from sailing with braids in my own hair.
I was always playing with it and changing the style while I sat in front of my laptop.
That day was more of a brainstorming day than a typing day, hence the braids.
She asked if I did them myself, and if I could do them on her, too.
I said, “Yes, of course.” Her eyes widened with excitement.
I’d done them for her almost every day since, except if we were running late and she had to do “a boring ponytail” instead.
Luke was usually gone by the time we did the braids and sunscreen routine.
“One or two?” I asked.
“Two!” She was so enthusiastic about such a simple thing: getting her hair done in braids.
“You got it!”
Hanging with Luna the last few weeks, seeing things through her eyes, had helped me appreciate the little things too: like when you pick up enough speed on your bike that you don’t have to pedal for a while, or an afternoon snack with a cold lemonade when you’ve been in the sun all day.
I briefly suspended my hand in front of my face before I began—not steady enough to perform surgery, but I could paint my nails without issue.
Or braid hair. I separated her dark brown, almost black hair into two equal-sized clumps, making the part down the middle of her head as straight as possible.
Her hair was as dark as Luke’s. My fingers gathered three pieces and started folding them over each other.
My peripheral vision caught Luke moving to the edge of the kitchen that faced the living room a minute ago. “I can feel you watching,” I sang. “You’re gonna make me mess up.”
“Sorry. I’m just fascinated.” His voice rumbled from behind the couch, his breath caressing my bare shoulder and increasing my heart rate a click.
He leaned closer, and I felt the back of the couch dip under his weight.
“I don’t get how it works. I’ve watched videos and still can’t do it.
Only Luna’s grandmother can do it for her. ”
“He’s hopeless,” Luna added.
“Luna! That’s not nice,” I said, aghast, but also a little impressed with her vocabulary, as usual.
“No, it’s true, I am hopeless,” Luke admitted, not insulted at all.
I laughed.
Luke pushed off the couch and I released my breath. He grabbed his lunch box from the kitchen and made his way to the door. “Have a good day, girls,” he said from the threshold.
Girls.
Why did I like how that sounded coming out of his mouth so much?
“How about a snack?” I asked Luna when we got home two days later.
Luna folded her arms. We stood in the kitchen where she’d stopped after we got in the door like she didn’t know where else to go. “I’m not hungry.” Her tone was flat.
Odd.
Her French braid (a single today) was a wild mess, and her newly freckled skin was coated in sunscreen and salt, like it was every day when we got back.
She was scowling, just like the entire car ride home.
I left her alone in the car, letting her look out the window the whole time we normally talked about sailing and her friends, at least on the days that we drove instead of biked. I figured she was just hangry.
“What about a shower? It will probably feel good to wash off all the salt and sunscreen.”
“I don’t know,” she sighed.
“Okay, Luna.” I gripped her little shoulders. “What’s going on? Did something happen today that upset you?”
“No,” she said quietly, her voice a pitch higher than normal.
“You can tell me,” I pleaded, starting to worry it was something serious that I wouldn’t know how to handle.
She looked up from the floor then, her big, brown eyes glassy.
“My tennis partner Rachel switched to a new partner for the tournament. She said she didn’t think we would win because I’m too small, and I should be partners with Clara.
I like Clara but she isn’t as good as Rachel.
And I really wanted to win!” Her fists were clenched now, anger emanating from her tiny frame.
I felt for her. I remembered what it was like to be young and invested in your activities.
And even more than that, I remembered how hard it was to endure the cattiness of young girls.
This I could handle. “I can’t believe Rachel did that.
That is so uncool to switch partners on you when you’ve already been practicing together for two weeks. ”
“I know! But I didn’t say anything because I don’t want her to hate me. So I agreed, but on the inside, I’ve been so mad. Do you think I should ask her to switch back?”
Hm. I didn’t want Luna to put herself in that position because if Rachel said no, it would hurt even more.
“Clara is your friend, right? She’s the one we got ice cream with earlier this week? I thought she was a pretty good tennis player, too.”
“Yes, she’s my friend we got ice cream with. And she is good; she just doesn’t have a strong backhand like Rachel.”
“It’s hard because you don’t want to hurt Clara’s feelings, right? She would probably be hurt if you ask to switch back. I think you and Clara should practice hard and make it your goal to beat Rachel and…?”
“Zara.”
“Zara, at the tournament.”
“Okay.” She blew her breath out through her lips and shrugged. “I don’t know if we can do that.”
“Not with that attitude. You’re not that small, Luna. Plus, you’re quick and smart. Tennis is a mental game as well as a physical one. I believe in you.”
“Thanks.” Her arms crossed in front of her. I was about to suggest a shower again when another idea occurred to me.
“Do you know what me and my roommates used to do when we had a big test the next day and we needed to pump ourselves up?”
“What?” Her tone was still flat, but her expression showed a hint of curiosity.
“We would play the song ‘Defying Gravity’ from the musical Wicked, dance around the room, and belt it at the top of our lungs. Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
“Can we play it?” I asked her, already making my way to the living room.
“Um, sure.”
“So the backstory is Elphaba is our underestimated and ridiculed heroine. She wants to learn magic and help animals, but she discovers that their leader is actually a bad guy. He tries to ensnare her in his wrongdoing, but she refuses and flies off to lead her life on her own terms. That’s what the song is about—believing in yourself and defying everyone’s expectations of you.
” By the time I finished the description, I had the video up on the TV.
“Ready?” My long-buried theater kid heart was actually pretty excited about this. “Defying Gravity” had never failed to improve my mood.
Luna shrugged and I said a little prayer that Idina’s vocals could get this girl out of her funk.
“Oh, one more thing, we need microphones. I pulled up a version with the lyrics.” I hopped over the couch and darted into the kitchen, pulling two kitchen spoons out of the holder by the stove. I handed one to Luna on the way back. She looked at me with thinly veiled skepticism.
I pressed play and Kristin Chenoweth’s voice filled the house. “Give it a sec, it starts slow.”
Luna had one hand on her hip, the other holding the spoon by her side.
I sang the opening lines, and by the time I got to the first time they say “defying gravity” I was fully belting into the black plastic spoon, gesticulating with my other hand, and moving around the living room.
Luna was staring at me, eyes bugging out of her skull, with a closed lip smirk that revealed a hint of concern, like I just might be crazy.
But that little smirk was stretching on her face, and the next time I looked, I caught her reading the lyrics on the screen.
“C’mon,” I called over the music. “It’s the defying gravity part again.”
She timidly brought the spoon up to her lips and spoke—not sang—the first few words of the chorus. But it was progress.
I kept singing like I was back in my law school living room with Natalie. I walked over to Luna and sang the part about deserving a chance to fly just for her. Damn, these lyrics are so motivational. I smiled to myself before throwing all my vocal power into the final words.
Panting, I asked, “What do you think?”
She pursed her lips, but then a smile broke on her face. “I like it. You’re a good singer, you know.”
I laughed. “Oh, thank you, Luna. I did theater in high school.” I never did Wicked, though. Even if the performance rights were available, which they weren’t, it would have been too big a production for a small public high school theater program.
“It seems like it would be fun. I like singing sometimes, but only when I know the words.”
“Want to play it again? So you can learn the words?”
“Yeah.”
I tried not to smile too wide.