“So… what do you think I should do?” I asked, trying to digest what she’d said.

“Why don’t you talk to London and ask her what she wants to do? And then just trust your instincts.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Other people’s problems are always easier to solve. Haven’t you learned that yet?” She laughed, a sound at once reassuring and refreshing.

“I have to say, sometimes you remind me a lot of Marge.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“It is.”

Emily and I chatted for another hour, and as always, after speaking with her, I felt better. More grounded. More like myself again, and it was enough to spur me to spend an hour on the computer, getting a jump on the next day’s work.

In the morning, while London was eating her cereal, I explained what Ms. Hamshaw had said.

“You mean I can’t be in the recital?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie… Are you mad you can’t dance in the show?”

London’s reaction was immediate. “It’s okay,” she said with a shrug. “I didn’t want to be a tree anyway.”

“If it makes you feel better, I thought you were a very good tree.”

She looked at me as though I had cornstalks growing out of my ears. “It’s a tree, Daddy. The butterfly gets to move around. Trees don’t.”

“Hmmm,” I said, nodding. “Good point.”

“Do I have to go to dance on Friday?”

“Do you want to go?”

When she shrugged instead of answering, it wasn’t hard to read between the lines.

“If you don’t want to go, then I don’t think you should go. You should only go to dance because you like it and you want to go.”

For a moment London studied the floating marshmallows in her bowl of Lucky Charms, and I wondered if she had heard me. Then: “I don’t think I want to go anymore. Ms. Hamshaw doesn’t like me very much.”

“Fine,” I said. “You no longer have to go to dance.”

London hesitated, and when she looked up at me I thought I detected a trace of anxiety in her expression. “What’s Mom going to say?”

She’ll probably get angry, I thought.

“She’ll understand,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

After dropping London off at school, I went to the studio, where I met the animal trainer and Gus, a bullmastiff.

The commercial would emphasize tenacity and the plan was to have Gus tugging relentlessly on a dog toy. Intercut with the images of the dog would be four screen shots with the following captions:

When you’ve been injured on the job,

You need a determined and relentless attorney

Call the offices of Joey Taglieri

He won’t stop until you get the money you deserve.

Gus the bullmastiff ended up being quite a talented actor, and filming wrapped well before noon.

London wasn’t quite as chipper when I picked her up from school as she’d been the day before. Limiting activity and TV required a bit of creativity, and I decided to bring her to the pet store. I needed shavings for the hamsters anyway, but I thought she might enjoy looking at the fish.

There were more than fifty different aquariums; each aquarium had placards that listed the specific types of fish. London and I spent more than an hour moving from tank to tank and naming the various kinds of fish.

It wasn’t quite SeaWorld, I’ll admit, but it wasn’t a bad way to spend a quiet afternoon.

On the way out, she spent some time playing with a few cocker spaniel puppies that were tumbling around in a low pen. They were very cute, and I breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t ask for one.

“That was fun, Daddy,” she said as we headed to the car. I had the bag of shavings and hamster food tucked beneath my arm.

“I thought you might like that.”

“We should get some fish. Some of them were really pretty.”

“Aquariums are even harder to clean than hamster cages.”

“I’m sure you could figure it out, Daddy.”

“Maybe. But I don’t know where we would put the aquarium.”

“We could put it on the kitchen table!”

“That’s an idea. But where would we eat?”

“We could eat on the couch.”

I couldn’t suppress a smile. I loved talking to my daughter. I truly did.

On the way home, I swung by the grocery store. Using one of the recipes that Liz had given me, I picked up the ingredients for chicken quesadillas.

I let London pretty much fix dinner on her own. I walked her through each step – and I sliced the chicken after she’d sautéed it – but aside from those things, London did everything herself. She cooked the chicken, added the slices to tortillas, added the grated cheese, and folded the tortillas before putting each one into a pan so it could toast on both sides.

When the meal was ready, she directed me to the table, and I brought over two plates of food, utensils, and two glasses of milk.

“This looks delicious and it smells great,” I commented.

“I want to take a picture for Auntie Liz and Auntie Marge. Before you start.”

“Okay,” I said. I handed my phone to her and she snapped pictures of both plates, then texted them to both.

“Where did you learn how to text?” I asked, amazed.

“Mommy showed me. Bodhi, too. He showed me on Miss Emily’s phone. I think I’m old enough for a phone.”