Page 37 of Grasp The Moment

Sienna was Delilah’s dance teacher until Jace bought the dance studio back in August. Now, Sienna teaches one-on-one classes with students, Jace, and a small class for her previous dancers.

Today, Deli has class with Sienna.

From the small window in the hall, Derek, the rest of the dance moms, and I watch as the girls follow in Sienna’s footsteps, mimicking her choreography.

The group of young girls finishes off their practice with a small stretch and a group hug before Sienna dismisses them to their families.

Delilah is one of the first girls out.

I watch, bracing myself for her to ignore me, because why wouldn’t she?

When Delilah steps out of the room, her eyes widen. She drops her large dance bag from her shoulder and races toward us.

I feel inclined to pull out my phone and record the moment that she jumps into Derek's arms when a tiny body collides with my legs, catching me off guard. She wraps her entire body around my legs as she squeals. My eyes widen, I’m frozen, not sure if I should be surprised, happy, or both as she yells my name like a cry of war.

“¡Ay, Dios mio,?1 Deli! Give her a little space…” Derek barks a laugh as Delilah squeezes my legs tighter.

“Pero Papá?2—”

Derek shoots Delilah a look that could cut steel. She lets me go in an instant and hangs her head with a pout.

Frowning, I pick her up.

“Ignore that grump, Sunshine… I have a surprise for us later—I got us cupcakes,” I whisper in her ear, causing her to giggle as she tilts her head into my neck.

Delilah turns to face me, cupping her hand to my ear before she whispers, “Papá doesn’t like for me to eat sweets.”

What's the harm in a cupcake every now and then? Derek is such a stickler sometimes…

I frown before quickly smiling.

“It’ll be our little secret.”

1 ¡Aye, Dios Mio- Oh my God

2 Pero Papá- But Dad

15.Derek

The warm summernight feels perfect against my skin. My mother and I are sitting in the backyard, watching movies from the early 2000s on our projector.

Everything feels nice—too nice.

My mind wanders back to the girl who left, wondering if she’s okay. It’s been two weeks since she answered my calls, two weeks since I’ve seen her or that beautiful bump holding my child.

Sighing, I eat a handful of popcorn and adjust on the couch.

Mamá is engrossed in the television, her eyes focused on the screen as the actress confesses the ten things that she “hates” about her love interest.

My mother looks over at me and frowns. “Do you not like the movie? I thought you enjoyed this?—”

The ringing of our doorbell, followed by a small cry, catches both of our attention. Pausing in her words, Mamá’s eyebrows narrow.

“What was that?” She frowns, adjusting her clothes to stand, but I beat her to it.

She’s been tired lately, working on weddings and new clients—the least that I can do is open the front door for her.

Resting my hands on her shoulders, I gently push her back down on the couch and kiss her forehead. “I’ll get it. It’s probably a delivery.”