I'm awakened by the sound of rain pounding on our windows. It's relaxing, in all honesty. I like it, but I don't think Rose does. Even in her sleep, she curls up a little tighter and her face looks less peaceful. I snuggle closer to her, as if I could protect her like a human cocoon.

She gets up soon enough. I'm not going to leave her in such a mess (nor am I going to make Dad get out in this), so I call in, text Dad to stay home, and propose a little movie day with my daughter. She agrees quite eagerly, which makes me happy.

We make it through a showing of The Great Gatsby and part of Evita before there's someone at the door. I swear, if it's one of those stupid sellers, I'll shove my shoe up their ass (unless it's Girl Scout Cookies—I'll never turn down girl scout cookies). I look through the peephole and all of my being stops for a second; it's Detective Marrissa Olivia. God, what did I do? Crap crap crap crap crap crap crap.

I want to just pretend like I'm not hope so I don't have to face whatever might be daunting Rose being here.

But…

I have to be an adult.

So I take a deep breath and answer the door, fully clad in my fluffy pink robe. "Hi, Detective Olivia." She's soaked. "Uh, come in—I'll get you a towel."

As we walk in, the woman dripping water all over my floors, Rose sits up. I rush into the bathroom to grab a whole load of towels. It'll take just about every towel in the world to dry her off. As I go, I can hear them:

"How're you doing, Rose?"

Pause.

"I'm good."

My oh-so talkative daughter, everyone. Now Detective Olivia's probably going to think that's she's socially stunted or something and then they're going to intervene and then Rose is going to lose all trust in just about everyone—or even worse: they might take her away from me. I don't think either of us can handle that.

I go back into the living room and hand the detective the towels. Of course, before I can do anything cordial, Rose has to choose to speak up with the ever so lovely words,
"Is everything alright?"

While her newfound bluntness is usually refreshing, now it just makes me more nervous. Now isn't the time for her to show her attitude.

Fortunately, Detective Olivia finds this pretty funny. Good. Good. "Yes. It's just part of my job to do random follows ups." I could dance around screaming 'Hallelujah', I swear to God. She's not here to take Rose. Or to intervene. Just to make sure everything's okay. "I came over yesterday, but you weren't home."

"We were looking for a bigger apartment," I chirp. "She needs her own bedroom." See, I'm trying to be a decent mom, so there's no need to be worried at all.

"Yeah. That's a good idea…I'm sorry if I interrupted anything."

We both sit down. She's getting water on my couch, but that's okay. As long as it's quick (which I pray it is), it's okay. "Nah," I tell her, which is kind of true. She interrupted our movie day, but that can be put on hold. "I just figured that it was raining, so I told my workers I wouldn't be there; I don't really want to make my dad get out in this mess to stay with her. Plus, now I can stay at home and have a nice, long lazy day."

She nods, smiling softly. "That sounds nice. So…How's everything been?"

I'm not going to lie and say everything's perfect, because, with the circumstances, there's no way it can be perfect. At this point, mostly truth is the best way. "I think it's going pretty well. She had a seizure yesterday, so she's a bit under the weather."

And Rose adds nothing.

"Seizure?" She looks concerned. Not I'm-going-to-take-your-kid concerned, but still, a little worried.

"We think she has epilepsy. We've got an appointment with a neurologist next week to look into it more."

She nods. Did I win some Good-Mom points? "Okay. Have either of you went into the counselor?"

"Yes," I answer. I'm glad she asked that. "We both have. She's going again Friday."

"And is that going well…?" she asks Rose, who, of course, doesn't answer. Come on, kid. Don't play the silent act now, of all times!

Finally, she mumbles, "Yeah, I guess."

Detective Olivia looks at me. It's not harsh or anything, but I still feel my neck-hairs prickle. "Mrs. Tremaine, would you mind if I speak to Rose alone?" Okay, this is just the usual thing, right? This isn't some bad indication, right? "It's just part of the protocol."

With a body full of relief, I stand. Rose looks simply terrified, so I give her a little squeeze on the shoulder. "It's alright," I tell her, before walking back into the bedroom.

I sit for a few moments, but I just feel far too nervous. I can't just sit here and hope for the best. I know that the wall between my walk-in closet and the living room is insanely thin—could I listen in? Well, I can try.

I know it's an invasion of privacy and possibly breaking some laws, but I can't help but be happy that I can make out what they're saying. I just need to make sure she's alright.

It's Rose: "…don't usually stay here anyway—he usually takes me to the park or something. He's also been catching me up in school and buying me books, which I really like. The other day, my Aunt May joined in and we went to see Beauty and the Beast. That was fun."

Okay. That's good. She loved that so much—Detective Olivia will think so too—I hope. I just want for everything to show I'm not screwing it up. But everything she's saying sounds pretty well, so…here's hoping.

"How're you doing with your schoolwork? Will you be ready to start regular school in the fall?"

Probably not. Rose—she's so embarrassed about it—but she's still struggling. I don't think I'll put her in this year—not yet—maybe next semester? I don't know. I just know that now isn't the right time. She's just unsteady with it.

"I hope so. I'm still behind, but Pop-Pop—my grandfather—he said that if I'm a little behind when it happens, that it's okay."

Well, that's a positive answer. That sounds better than my take on it.

"He's right. You can make some friends. Have you been around any other kids your age?"

Crap. No. She really hasn't. Dad had spoken about taking her to some teens activity or something, but I don't want her to; kids can be cruel and overly sexual—she doesn't need either of those. And I'm not ready to subject her to that yet.

"Not really—not yet. I'm starting at this theatre program thing tomorrow—I'm auditioning for a musical—so I should be around some soon."

Wait, what? Since when? I haven't heard anything about this. I—Dad didn't mention it. I'll need to talk to him about it.

"Is there anything that you want to tell me while we're in private? Anything you think I should know?"

Even though I know (or hope) that I have nothing to fear on this front, I can't help but feel the tight knots in my gut. If anything else is going wrong, I might find out about it now. God, I hope nothing else is wrong.

There's dead silence.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"Why don't you go get your mom and we'll wrap this up?"

They're done. Thank God. I rush back into the bedroom and onto the bed to look like I wasn't listening in on them in the closet floor.

Rose pops in. She gestures to the living room, looking completely over it. "She wants you."

I get up and ask her, quietly, "Did it go okay?" I just want to get her side of it, quickly.

"Yeah."

Or not. "Good," I say, though I wish she would've given me something a little more than that.

The detective says her goodbyes and gives us another card. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of her, but for now, I'm just happy when she gets out of our apartment. I allow myself to collapse onto the couch. "Well, I'm glad that's over."

"Is that even legal?" she asks, hands on her hips, making an adorably frustrated face. "I mean, can you just barge in on people?" She falls nearly on top of me. "It just seems very law-breaking."

I shrug. "She's a cop. She can do pretty much whatever she wants." Wait. No. Not going to plant a distrust of the police in her head. "Well, no, but she has rights to do this." That's better. "They just have to check on the kids they deal with, just to make sure no funny stuff is happening."

She snuggles closer. "But it still just seems wrong. I don't like people invading my home."

The way she's acting; it's like Olivia broke down our freaking door to get in. I ruffle her hair. "Sweetheart, we technically invited her." Rose looks absolutely betrayed. "I could've turned her away and she wouldn't have been able to come in, but that would have looked bad—we have nothing to hide."

When she smirks, I know what's coming. "Except for Andalasia."

"Except for Andalasia," I agree with a breath. "But that's just to make things easier for everyone. I don't think we need to show these people a little cartoon world."

"You seemed to handle it pretty well," she jabs back.

Ha. No. "Babe, the first thing I did was check to make sure my titties didn't pull a Barbie and lose the nipples." Okay. It was a lot more than just my boobs. I needed to do a full examination—nude—of both myself and Edward—I needed to make sure that we both had some needed parts before getting hitched. "I don't think that counts as handling it well."

She looks incredibly amused. I don't think she would be if she knew the full extent of it. "Eh. People react differently," she says.

"Yeah," I softly agree. But then I realize that we need to talk about something. And I hate it because I'll have to accuse her of something, but I need to know these things. "You didn't mention anything to me about auditioning. When did that happen?"

At first, she looks utterly confused, but then she starts laughing, softly. "You eavesdropper!"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. "Sorry. I just—I didn't want to let it get out of hand—your seizures seem to be triggered by stress and that's—you don't need another one so soon—and—"

"Mom!" she shouts, smiling. "I was teasing. It's okay."

Yet I feel like the biggest piece of shit on Earth. Seriously. I'm just lucky she's reacting like this. I shrug. "Still…sorry…but what about this audition?"

"Yeah. I mean, Pop-Pop had brought it up—I haven't told him I decided on it—I need to do that—but…yeah. I'm auditioning. It's a musical called Mamma Mia. Aunt May's mentioned it, but I haven't heard anything from it yet. It'll be a nice surprise, I think. It'll be cool to perform, if I get in."

While I'm insanely glad for her having something to be excited about—she's looking forward to something, which is just perfect right now, but I can't help but feel terrible for my dad who's going to have to scurry down there with her first thing in the morning to sign her up. I suppose I could take another day off to go with her. But what if all the spots are filled up? God, I don't want Rose to be disappointed. However, I've got to play it cool if I want for this to go well. "Don't you think it would be smart to tell your Pop-Pop about this? I mean, I'm sure there has to be prior arrangements and—I'll just go ahead and text him."

I flip on my cell—it's one of those smartphones that weren't completely in style when I left New York, so I'm still getting used to it—and I text Dad: Rose just told me she wants to audition for some kids theatre thing? Do you know if it's limited spaces?

I wait, my nerves wracking through my body—I'm getting tired just from being anxious. But the phone beeps at me and says: Already done. I knew she'd want to after seeing her face at the show we went to.

I can't help but grin. He's such a good grandfather, as well as a good father. I look over at Rose. "He already has you signed up."

"What?" She's completely shocked. "How'd he…I hadn't told him anything—"

"He said the look on your face after Beauty and the Beast said enough."

She shifts, relaxing into the couch cushions. I think she's touched.

The phone beeps again. Her audition's at 10. Get her a song. I told the director about the situation. He's going to put her in an older group. He said that it would be better for her because they're less rowdy.

That sounds like a pretty good plan. I don't know if putting her with an elder group is a good idea, but the director has a valid point. Thirteen year olds are rowdy as hell. So, I tell her, "Your audition is at ten tomorrow. You need a song—have you given it any thought? Maybe something from Les Miserables? Frozen? You might want to practice a little." In all honesty, I don't know how she is at singing. Edward's fantastic—but he's full blooded Andalasian. Personally, I don't suck, but I'm not Barbra Streisand either. She could take after either one, or she could sound like a dying bird. It'll be interesting.

She just kind of shrugs, looking distracted. "'Let It Go' is a pretty good song. I think I can hit the higher parts, or I hope I can."

'I hope' isn't exactly positive, but who knows anymore. "It'd work," I say. "Do you want to work on it a little? I mean, I don't know much about music, but I can listen or help you with the lyrics."

She smiles. It's nice. "Sure."

We make a start. She neglects to tell me that she doesn't know all the lyrics, so we work on that first, and then a bit more, just to make sure she's got it down. Then we go looking for sheet music. As it turns out, there's been a recent crackdown on sheet music piracy, which, other than buying a book that will be here in two days, makes it impossible. So, we agree that she'll do it acapella. I can tell she doesn't like it, but we have to do what we have to do—she doesn't want to change songs either. We'll give it a test run—she'll go through the song, giving it her all.

When she begins singing, I've got my answer: she took after Edward. She's not prodigal, but she's pretty damn talented. And then she gets to the big belt part of the song—that's when I know she's more than pretty damn talented. I know enough about singing to know that being able to sing that style without training is something special. Maybe this will be the reprieve she needs.

"Well? How does it sound?"

Crap! I hadn't realized she had finished. I was too zoned-out to realize it. "I didn't know you could belt." Not the best response. I need to start thinking about things before I say them.

"Uh…what's that?"

"The big parts of the song. That's not something everyone can do. You sound very nice."

Her entire body relaxes, and even her eyes gain a bit of sparkle. "Thanks. I mean—I just tried to sound like the singer—I don't know what her name is."

"You really did. I mean, not exactly, but for a thirteen-year-old, you got really, really close. I'm pretty impressed. I think you'll do just fine with your audition."

"Should I run through it a few more times…?"

"Yeah. Go ahead. I'm listening."

She sings it five more times before she calls it a night. I'm loving every second of it, because, I mean, just the joy on her face—she's found her thing. And she loves it. I couldn't be happier. However, she seems content to settle for more movies. She says she's tired. We watch Frozen to celebrate.

Closer to bedtime, she asks, "Mom?"

"Yes?"

"What were you talking about with the therapist? I have to go back?"

Yeah. I was kind of hoping she would take it without questioning it. I mean, I know she wasn't crazy about it, but I think it's in her benefit and, after all the shit that's been thrown at her, she has full right to a good therapist. "I just think it would be a good idea. I mean, she helped you with that calming exercise, didn't she? Just—can you try it a few more times? Please?"

She huffs, but still says, "Okay. I will."

I kiss her, thankful she doesn't put up any sort of fight. She's getting spunkier—so I don't know how far she'll push. I'm just glad she doesn't push very far. "Thank you, darling. I just think it would be good for you."

I hope so.