“What’s the matter with you?” she asked.
"That's not a very nice question!" I answered with a laugh, hoping Emma couldn't see how much her keen perception of me shook me up. "And there's nothing the matter with me. I'm just thinking, that's all."
“But thinking about what?”
“Nothing important,” I said.
“Thinking about something bad, I bet.”
“And why would you think that?”
"Because your head got all wrinkly. Your head always gets all wrinkly when you're thinking about something bad."
“No, Emma, I promise. I’m not thinking about anything bad.”
At least, I hoped it was nothing bad. I added that last part inside my own head as I worked on making sure my forehead remained unwrinkled. Emma was right, the little frown line in between my eyebrows was one of my tells. It was where my worry showed, unless I worked on suppressing it, and Emma appeared to know it.
It shouldn't have been surprising, either. She got the same line of worry on her own small face when something was bugging her. I thought about leaving our conversation where it was and then thought better of it. One thing I had always promised myself was that I would never lie to my daughter. It was a promise I had made directly after the death of her father, my husband, and one I intended to keep.
Not telling her what was on my mind wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't giving her any peace of mind, either. I was already about to drop her off and leave her for a couple of days, which was hard enough. The least I could do was drop her off with Sophie without her having to worry about what I had really been thinking about.
“Hey, baby, can I ask you something?”
“Is it about the thing you’re thinking about?” Emma asked.
“It is.”
"Okie dokie. What's up?"
“It’s about going to Aunt Sophie’s house.”
“Alrighty.”
“I’ve just been wondering, Emma. Does it bother you?”
“I love Aunt Sophie. I like her, too, so I like being with her.”
“I know you do, baby, but does it bother you how often I have to leave you with her? Does it bother you how often I’m away?”
She was quiet for a minute. The light turned green, and my foot pressed down on the gas pedal. Her silence made me nervous about what her answer might be, but at the same time, it made me proud. My baby girl wasn't the kind of kid to deliver an answer without thinking it through, and that was something any parent should be proud of. It was something I would always be impressed by, even when the answers she gave me weren't precisely what I wanted to hear.
“Yes and no,” she said finally.
“That sounds like a true answer. Want to explain it a little?”
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, her voice sounding adult enough that it gave me a little pang of anticipation of her growing up. “You like your job, right?”
“I do, sweetie. I really do.”
“That’s what I thought. I like that. I think everyone should like what they do.”
“I think so, too.”
“Right, so that part makes me really happy,” she said. “But I miss you sometimes, and that part is hard.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I miss you, too. I miss you so much when I’m not at home. Every time I’m in a new place, I think about what it would be like to be there with you instead of on my own.”
"But you aren't gone too much," Emma consoled, sounding even more adult than ever. "So you don't need to feel bad. And in a couple of years, I won't even have to go to Aunt Sophie's when you go away."