Dad Said Nobody Needed to See Me

My dad told me not to move because people could see my shoes under the curtain.

“Keep your feet back, Emma.”

I moved them until my heels touched the wall.

The curtain was dark blue and heavy. When I breathed too close to it, the fabric moved against my nose.

Through the small opening near the floor, I could see everybody’s shoes.

Aunt Rachel wore silver heels.

Uncle Ben had brown boots with mud dried around the edges.

Grandma had the black flats she always wore when she came to our house.

I could also see the legs of the dining room table and part of Dad’s birthday cake on the kitchen island.

The cake had blue frosting.

Forty candles.

People kept laughing about how the candles were going to set off the smoke detector.

Dad laughed louder than everybody.

“Emma already crashed,” he told someone.

I heard Aunt Rachel ask where I was.

“Upstairs. She had a long day.”

I looked at the stairs.

They were about fifteen feet away from me.

I wasn’t upstairs.

I had been standing behind the curtain for almost an hour.

Dad had put me there before the first guests arrived.

He crouched down in front of me and fixed the sleeve of my sweater so it covered the white bandage around my right wrist.

Then he looked at my face.

Mostly at the left side.

“Tonight is important to me,” he said.

I nodded.

“There are going to be pictures.”

I nodded again.

He pointed behind the curtain.

“Stay here until everybody leaves. I’ll bring you cake later.”

I asked if I could go to my room instead.

Dad said no.

He said someone might see me on the stairs.

So I stayed.

I held Rosie against my chest.

Rosie was my doll.

She used to have two arms.

Now she had one.

Her yellow dress was ripped under the collar, and there was a brown mark across one cheek that wouldn’t come off.

I kept rubbing it with my thumb.

People sang happy birthday.

I didn’t.

Dad blew out his candles.

Everybody clapped.

Then I heard Grandma say my name.

“Where’s Emma?”

Dad answered immediately.

“Sleeping.”

“Already?”

“She wasn’t feeling great.”

There was a pause.

Grandma had come over that afternoon before the party, but Dad hadn’t let her inside.

He’d told her we were still getting ready.

She hadn’t seen me.

“She was fine yesterday,” Grandma said.

Dad laughed.

“Mom, she’s eight. Eight-year-olds get tired.”

Somebody asked Dad to stand beside the cake for pictures.

Chairs scraped.

People moved.

I tried to move farther back.

My sneaker rubbed against the hardwood floor.

Squeak.

I stopped breathing.

Nobody said anything.

Then it happened again.

Squeak.

This time Grandma stopped talking.

I saw her black flats turn toward me.

They stayed still.

Dad was saying something about getting another bottle of soda from the garage.

Grandma’s shoes started coming closer.

I squeezed Rosie.

The curtain moved.

Light came through.

Then Grandma pulled it open.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Neither did I.

She just looked at me.

Her eyes went to my sweater.

Then my wrists.

Then my face.

The room behind her was still noisy for maybe two seconds.

Then it wasn’t.

“Emma?”

I looked down.

“Hi, Grandma.”

Her hand came toward me, but she stopped before touching my cheek.

“Honey, what happened?”

Dad was beside her almost immediately.

“She had an accident.”

Grandma didn’t look at him.

She kept looking at me.

“Did you fall?”

“She—”

Grandma lifted one hand.

“I asked her.”

Dad stopped.

Everybody stopped.

I looked at him.

His jaw moved a little.

Then I looked at Grandma.

“No.”

Nobody spoke.

Grandma’s hand lowered slowly.

Dad gave a little laugh.

It didn’t sound like his normal laugh.

“Okay. That’s enough. Emma, upstairs.”

I didn’t move.

“Emma.”

Grandma stepped sideways.

She was between us now.

Grandma Wouldn’t Let Him Answer for Me

Dad looked around the room.

I think that was when he noticed how many people were watching.

Aunt Rachel had lowered her phone.

Uncle Ben wasn’t holding the cake knife anymore.

Mrs. Patterson from next door was standing beside the refrigerator with two paper plates in her hands.

Nobody was eating.

Dad rubbed the back of his neck.

“Mom, she’s exhausted. You’re making this into something it isn’t.”

Grandma looked at the curtain.

Then she looked at me.

“Why was she standing back there?”

“She wasn’t.”

Grandma looked at him.

Dad corrected himself.

“I mean, she was playing.”

I looked at Rosie.

Dad noticed.

“Emma likes hiding. You know that.”

Grandma turned to me.

“Were you playing?”

Dad took one step forward.

Grandma didn’t even look at him.