Page 33 of Dancing in the Dark

Simba. Scar. A lost tooth.

My head swims and my vision turns spotty. I’m not sure my lungs know how to function anymore, and still, Mia sobs.

“No one is hurt?” Dizzy, I drop onto the couch and crush Mia against my chest. I leave Sera swaying on her own. A deserted buoy in stormy seas. I hug my baby and squeeze my eyes shut—breathe, dickhead. Don’t die—then I open them again and force her back so I can study her face.

There’s so much fucking blood. So much mess. So much panic.

“You’re okay?”

“I’m not okay!” she howls. “It’s so saddddd!”

“I didn’t think,” Sera freaks. “It’s just a cartoon, and she said she wanted to watch it. I forgot about Mufasa dying, and by the time I remembered, we were too far in. I didn’t…” She bends at the hips, her perfect office-chic outfit reduced to a half-tucked blouse, skirt, pantyhose, but no shoes, and salon-flawless hair now pulled into a messy ponytail. Setting her hands on her thighs, she wheezes. “I tried to talk her out of it, I swear. I tried to distract her. I was gonna skip the scene, but she’s stubborn and too smart. Then the tooth⁠—”

She gags again, so unlike her normal perfect self.

“Oh my god, Charlie. The tooth.”

“Mufasa!” Mia shrills. “It’s. So. Sad!”

“Alright, enough!” I clap my hand over Mia’s mouth and pinch her lips shut. I need quiet. I need a chance for my nervous system to calm the fuck down. “Jesus. Fuck.” I drop my head back and groan. “I think I nearly had a heart attack.”

“The tooth!” Gag. “I’ve never been so grossed out in my friggin’ life.”

“You need to be quiet, too.” I release Mia’s face and grab Sera’s hand instead. Tugging her onto the couch so she lands with an undignified fwump, I cover her mouth and surprise a stunned squeak from the depths of her chest. “It’s just a cartoon. It’s just a tooth.” Calm the fuck down, Charlie. Relax. “I can’t believe the bullshit I just walked into!” Panic makes way for anger, because anger is easier to deal with than fear. Picking Mia up and plopping her onto the couch, I twist out from between them and stand again. Snatching up the remote, I pause The Lion King and pace in front of them. “It’s just a tooth, Sera!” Then I point at Mia. “It’s just a cartoon!”

Devastated, she stares up at me through tear-soaked eyes. “But Simba…”

“I’m so cranky at you both.” And yet, laughter bubbles up my throat as I toss the remote down and charge across the room. Whipping the fridge open and spying the six-pack of beer someone left behind—Archer, I think—I tear one of the four leftovers out of the packet, flip the cap off, and give absolutely no fucks at all for the fact it pings across the kitchen and ricochets off the stove, then I slam the fridge shut and tip the beer back.

I chug at least half, greedily glug, glug, glugging, and stop only when the cold liquid hits my belly and soothes an iota of the anxiety churning there.

Is this it? Is it finally my turn to have a mental collapse? “What the fuck?”

“The toot⁠—”

“Mufas—”

“Stop speaking!” Everything is okay. Everything is fine. Everything is fucking dandy! “A man has a right not to come home to this!” I circle the long kitchen counter and stop between the two sheepish females and their TV. “This!” I point at them. “And that.” I gesture to the tooth on the floor. “And blood!” I glare at my five-year-old and try to convince my nervous system she hasn’t actually been in a brawl today. “I have a right not to think everything I love is dying, all because you two had a girl’s night in and watched a sad friggin’ movie!”

Chagrined, Sera peers up at me through glassy eyes. “I forgot it was a sad movie until we got there.”

“Fifi doesn’t like teeth.” Hiccupping, Mia swipes a long line of bloody snot from beneath her nose. “I fink she finks they’re gross, Daddy. Which is really weird, cos she has a bunch in her face already.”

“I didn’t mean to react so poorly. She caught me off g⁠—”

“I didn’t say either of you could speak!” I’m a fuckin’ drill sergeant, and they’re my insubordinate soldiers. Pacing again, I take another long swig of my beer. “The Tooth Fairy does not come to little girls who make their dads freak the hell out. And you—” I search Sera’s green-tinged face. “The Tooth Fairy will probably punish you too. Fuck!”

“Daddy! The Tooth Fairy doesn’t punish people!” Harrumphing, she scoots across the couch and cuddles into Sera’s side. It’s protection. It’s a united front. “The Tooth Fairy works with tooths! If you want to punish someone, Cato said there are other people for that.”

Horrified, Sera claps her hand over Mia’s mouth.

So. Much. Fucking. Blood.

“We’re sorry,” she rasps. “That was a…” Gulping, she shakes her head. “That was an unfortunate moment for us all.”

“Ya fuckin’ think? I thought there was a massacre happening in my own living room!”

“It was really awful timing,” she counters slowly. Calmly. Still sweaty and shaky. “We’ve had a wonderful afternoon otherwise. The blood and bad stuff only happened in the last few minutes, so if it’s alright with you, I’d like for you not to hold it against me next time I ask to spend time with Mia.” She straightens her spine as much as possible while squished into couch cushions and stuck beneath a protective five-year-old. Lifting her chin, she pastes on that aloof, stuck-up persona she’s so comfortable wearing. “Percentage-wise, the bad is only about one percent of the time we’ve spent together today.”