In fact, the first thing he'd noticed on Parents' Night at Elsa's fancy new school was that all the other fathers had gray hair. They were lawyers and bankers and television producers. Many of them asked questions about homework, and how to prep for Ivy League college admissions essays.
Beacon wouldn't know an Ivy League essay if it bit him in the ass. But he had a kickass kid who was currently scrolling Snapchat and humming a concerto or an etude or a gavotte. Whatever the fuck those were.
"Hey," he said to try to get her attention. "Good news. Hans texted me to say I'm going to be in town for your spring showcase."
She looked up. "Awesome. I need a new dress."
He snorted, waiting to turn onto Fourth Avenue. "He also warned me that you thought you needed a new dress."
"But I do," she said firmly. "Unless you want me to bare my ass to the row of second violins. All my dresses are getting too short."
"I see." He didn't bother to call out for saying "ass" because he tried not to be a hypocrite when he could avoid it. "And I suppose you have a shopping destination in mind?"
"Yup. A boutique in the Village. You can take me there on Sunday. Or Hans can." She went back to her phone.
He stole a glance at her face in profile. Every day she looked more like Shelly. She had the same curls in her red-brown hair. And she bit her lip when she was concentrating, just like her mother had.
Poor, doomed Shelly. Married the day after high school graduation to a guy who did not know what the fuck he was doing. A mother at nineteen. A hockey wife who moved from their home town in Ontario to Quebec and then to Long Island at the whim of the teams who traded him.
Dead before her thirty-first birthday. Her last words were, "Take care of our baby."
Mike tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs. I've got her, he promised Shelly silently. To his daughter he said, "Be good for Hans while I'm away."
"I'm always good for Hans."
That was fairly accurate. "Haul yourself out of bed in the morning, though, so he doesn't have to beg."
"Sure," she said, face still in her phone. "I'll get up on time so he doesn't go all queen on me. That's his phrase," she said before he could object.
He laughed, because it did sound like Hans, their live-in violin teacher and nanny. Or manny, as Elsa called him.
"Why can't I just come to D.C. with you, anyway? It's the play-offs!"
"There's this thing called school."
"I went to Nashville with you in third grade."
"That was different. You were just a little kid, and we'd made it to the third round."
"So if you make it to the third round again, I want to travel."
"We'll see. How's the homework situation tonight?"
"Evil, evil, evil."
"That good, huh?"
"Fucking algebra."
"Elsa. No f-bombs. They haven't assigned you to a tutor?"
"Nope! Thank God." His daughter hated math. She and her mother had spent some very long nights at the kitchen table, Shelly explaining how to add fractions or whatever for the tenth time, Elsa crying that she couldn't do it. Shelly arguing that she wasn't trying hard enough.
He always conveniently removed himself from those battles. But now all the parenting problems were his alone. Teaching his daughter algebra was far above his pay grade, but he knew Shelly wouldn't want her death to be the reason that their daughter never learned math. So he moved math tutor to the top of his lengthy worry list.
The short trip home took twenty minutes in stop-and-start traffic, but he wouldn't have minded if it took even longer, since Elsa had to talk to him while they were in the car together. Once they reached their brownstone she would disappear into her bedroom, headphones on.
"What else did I miss?" he asked, braking for yet another red light.
"Hans and Justin and I went to that new sushi place on Clark Street. You have to come with us next time. I ate octopus tentacles just to gross out Hans."
Beacon snorted. "Did they have anything he liked?"
"He said the tempura was killer."
"Good to know." Their babysitter indulged Elsa too much. It was hard to say no to a grieving seventh grader. Beacon couldn't seem to say it, either.
"One icky thing happened."
"Yeah?"
"When we were walking home these boys were awful to Hans and Justin."
Uh-oh. "Awful how?"
"Justin hugged Hans good-bye at the subway entrance, and these kids started calling them names. You know. The other f word."
Jesus. While his daughter loved to test him by cursing, she knew never to use a slur against someone else. Unfortunately she was learning that others had no problem doing so. "Did you get the sense that you were unsafe?" It made him feel like a heel to ask, but his daughter's safety was his first concern.
"No," she said quickly. "There were like a million people around. And these guys just did a flyby. Like, they weren't brave enough to get in Justin's face and say it."
"Okay," he said slowly. It must not have been a big deal, because Hans would have told him if things had gotten scary. It was probably just the same bullshit he dealt with all the time.
Hell. What did a wise father say in this situation? He went with: "I'm sure sorry that Hans has to put up with that shit."
"Me, too. He was embarrassed."
"It's more embarrassing to be those jerks who said it though, right?"
"Ignorant assholes," Elsa agreed.
"Yeah." He let the cursing go. Again. "Do you want me to mention it to Hans?"
"No! It's not a big deal. I told you because I feel bad for him, that's all. There will always be somebody who picks on him. It's like being the new kid forever."
"Are you getting picked on for being the new kid?"
"Not really. It's just . . ." She trailed off. "I don't know all the jokes, you know?"
"Sure," he said, although he didn't really.
"Can we get pizza for dinner?"
"Okay."
They drove in silence for a moment, and Elsa went back to poking at her phone. "Are you going to win tomorrow night?" she asked suddenly.
"Maybe," he hedged. "Does Snapchat need to know?" The phone was her means of communication with all the friends she'd left behind on the island.
"Yup," she chirped. "Also, I need to call my bookie."
"Elsa!"
She laughed, and it sounded like music.
• • •
As it happened, they did win that first game in D.C.
He hoped Elsa's Snapchat pals appreciated it, because the game was brutal. He was practically standing on his head to block shots after his team drew back-to-back penalties. Forty-eight hours after that, the second game ended in a disappointing loss. Beacon had held the other team to a single goal all night long, but then they snuck one past his shoulder ten minutes into the second overtime period.
"You tried, Daddy," Elsa said comfortingly into his ear.
"Indeed." He was sitting in the locker room, still sweat-covered. But it was late and he needed to talk to Elsa or she wouldn't go to sleep.
"And it's not over yet. Friday you'll have home ice advantage."
He sighed into his phone. "True. But right now I'm so tired I can't even feel my face. Hit the hay, okay? It must be late."
"Will you pick me up from school tomorrow?"
"I think so. I'll sure try. Let me have Hans for a minute?"
"Hans!" his daughter yodeled. "Night, Dad."
"Night, sweetie."
The other man came on the line. "Tough break," he said in his faintly German accent.
"Right? Fuckers." The manny laughed. "Sorry this week is such a shit show." Usually Hans got a night or two with his boyfriend. But the play-offs were keeping Beacon out of the house every night.
"It is okay. Is it all right with you if I ask Justin to pick her up from school on Thursday afternoon? An audition came through for me that I don't want to miss."
"That's totally fine," he said quickly. Hell, he didn't want Hans to miss an audition. "And if he can't do it there must be someone else we could ask. She could hang out with a friend after school. How is the kid, anyway?"
"Good. The play-offs make her popular I think."
"At least I'm good for something. Now tell me about this showcase concert tomorrow night."
"Ja, okay. It starts at seven. The dress cost you two hundred bucks on your credit card. And that was the cheaper one."
Of course it was. "Tell her she has to play like Yo-Yo Ma at that price."