Page 85 of Sweet Distraction

She moves to the sounds I create. Her body sways between my arms as I work the keys. When I finish, she claps and squeaks in excitement. In pure joy.

My smile’s automatic. My heart’s full that I can share this with her. That I can create this for her.

“Do you want to try?” I ask, and her nod is immediate. “Okay. Tap where I point.”

Her fingers hit the first key and she jolts back almost as if she can’t believe she did that.

“Good job. That was all you. Let’s do it again.”

And so we do. Key after key. We begin playing a jilted melody that lacks in finesse what it makes up in heart. She babbles sounds with it, showing me what her voice might sound like someday.

But her frustration comes too. She miss-hits keys and tenses up. The palm of her hand presses down and makes a jarring sound that causes her to grunt in irritation.

“It’s okay, Pops. Daddy’s got you,” I say. Then freeze.

Poppy’s fingers aren’t moving anymore. She turns slowly so that she can look up at me at the same time I realize what I just said.

Our eyes lock. Hold.

Her eyebrows narrow. Question.

She points at me and I nod, the words barely audible when I find them again. “Yes. I’m your daddy.”

Her lips twist as she studies me. As she reaches up a hand and runs it down the side of my face—almost as if touching is believing—before pulling it back. And then she gives me the slightest of nods, acceptance without question, before pointing to the piano keys and asking me to show her again.

I’m not sure how long it takes for me to exhale the breath I’m holding, but when I do, the world is still spinning. My heart’s still beating. And nothing’s really changed other than Poppy knows, and she didn’t scream and cry over it.

She hits a few more. Soft. Then louder.

She giggles.

It’s the first sound I’ve heard from her all day.

And it wrecks me in the best damn way.

“You’re a natural,” I tell her. “Better watch out. I might lose my job.”

She presses three keys at once. It sounds like chaos. Beautiful, innocent chaos.

I press a few notes of my own. A simple little melody, nothing serious. She watches my hands, then tries to copy them with hers. She gets it all wrong, and we both laugh—mine quiet, hers hidden in the crinkle of her eyes.

“Wanna make up a song?” I ask. “Just you and me?”

She nods, curls bouncing.

So we do.

It’s nonsense and messy and too many sharps and flats.

But it’s ours.

And right now, it’s exactly what we need. It’s perfect.

But that perfection doesn’t hold us over until bedtime. We build blocks simply so I can hear her laughter.

Every time I get my tower to a certain height, she swings her arm and knocks it over. I react by falling back and flailing, which causes her to mimic me as she holds her belly that hurts from laughing so hard.

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips.