Emily was used to getting stared at. It came in the job description of being a stripper.

She didn't exactly relish the experience outside of work, but it didn't bother her either. Which is why she had absolutely no compunctions when it came to putting Henry on a leash when they had to run errands. (Jayde still liked the stroller, but in Henry's own words he wasn't a baby anymore, and therefore refused to sit in a stroller.) He was prone to running off and Emily didn't have enough hands to deal with him and Jayde at the same time, so the leash was her only option.

On that particular day, Emily was trying to register Jayde in ballet classes. It was almost the girl's birthday and all she could talk about was ballet and Emily wanted to make her dreams come true. (And not just because ballet was a far cry from pole dancing...)

Pushing the stroller through the door to the studio, Emily snapped at Henry, "Henry, no! Henry! The pigeons don't want to be your friend, leave them alone and come inside." Not for the first time, she thanked whoever invented the kid leash because they were her saviour.

"Hello," the girl at the front desk chirped as Emily finally managed to wrangle both children into the building. In the background, lilting strains of piano music tinkled out from one of the studios. "Who's my little dancer?"

Emily flashed her a smile. "I'm here to sign my daughter up for her first ballet classes," she said. "It's all she wants for her birthday."

"Wonderful!" the girl declared. She passed Emily an intake form to fill out, then knelt down in front of the stroller to chat with Jayde. "How old are you going to be?" she asked the girl.

Jayde proudly held up four fingers.

Beside her, Henry hollered, "I's FIVE!"

"Henry, use your inside voice, please," Emily said on a weary sigh.

The girl stood, took the form, then said, "The cost for the class is two hundred and forty-five dollars, plus a fifty dollar costume fee for the end of term performance, and a fifteen dollar registration fee."

Emily swallowed thickly, struggling to keep the alarm from crossing her face. She wasn't sure how much she had left in her bank account, but rather doubted that it would be enough to cover the cost. She plastered on a smile so fake it was physically painful and pulled out her bank card.

Breathing heavily from the exertion of his run, Derek kicked the front door shut behind him as he flipped through the envelopes that had haphazardly been shoved into the mailbox. He kicked off his running shoes, then moved through to the kitchen in search of hydration.

Most of the mail was comprised of junk mail and other assorted flyers, except for one disconcertingly thick envelope from his mother's rehab centre. He didn't need to open it to know it was a bill...but he opened it nonetheless.

When his gaze landed on the amount owed, he choked on his water, coughing and sputtering as the water slid down his trachea.

With a sigh, he pulled his phone from his pocket, pulled out his headphones, and turned off his workout playlist so he could dial his mother. "Morning, Mama," he greeted when she answered. "How's my favourite lady doing today?"

She laughed softly. "I'm fine, Derek." As if she could hear his disbelief over the phone, she insisted, "I'm no better or worse than usual. As long as I'm not confined to my bed, it's a good day in my books. How's my favourite son?"

"Your only son is doing fine," he said, his turn to tell a little white lie for the sake of his mother's concern.

Fran, of course, missed nothing. "No, you're not. Don't lie to your mother, I know everything."

He just laughed a little. "Would I ever lie to you?"

He couldn't see it, but he knew she was rolling her eyes. "You forget I raised you, Derek, you've tried to pull the wool over my eyes more times than there are stars in the sky." But she took pity on him and didn't press the matter, knowing that if he didn't want to tell her, there was no way to make him. "So, when are you coming to visit?"

He sighed. "I don't know, Mama. I wish I could visit everyday, you know that, but I've got work – in fact, I was just about to call my boss and ask for some extra shifts..."

He hadn't intended on saying that last part and as soon as it slipped past his lips, he felt a surge of guilt. "It's for my medical bills, isn't it?" Fran said, already knowing the answer.

"What? No!" he sputtered, lying through his teeth. "It's for..."

Fran didn't let him finish the lie, though. "What is this job anyway?" she inquired. He'd refused to tell her anything about his new position thus far and she was concerned.

"Nothing exciting," he said, lying for a second time. "I go to work, do what my boss tells me. I see people. It's a totally normal job."

Fran almost laughed at his vagueness. "Wow...could you be less generic?" She shook her head, not sure whether to smile or sigh. "Look, Derek, I don't know why you won't tell me what it is you're doing at this job, but I trust you. I just hope you're not doing something dangerous. I can live with debt, but I couldn't live without my son..."

"You'll never have to, Mama," he said firmly, even though he knew there was no way he could promise that. "You never have to worry about that."

"Good," Fran said, either ignoring the note of dubiousness in his voice or deliberately not pointing it out. "Because you still owe me some grandbabies." The smirk in her voice was audible even over the phone.

He just shook his head, sighed. "Mama..." he groaned.

Fran laughed heartily at his apparent reluctance to discuss the matter.