LANA MASON
"Very good, Jane," Mrs. Klein beams as Jane finishes speaking the piano notes out loud in the proper order in which they're played.
I smile from the chair I'm sitting in off to the side, watching Jane press her lips together as she looks over at me. That look stems from her dislike for piano and her very subconsciously condescending teacher, and I don't know why I find the expression to be completely hilarious. Four years old is far too young for her to be annoyed like this.
"Try to practice for the next week so we can do this again the next time I see you, yes?" Mrs. Klein gently lowers the wooden cover on the keys.
"Okay," Jane sweetly replies before sliding off the bench in her little gingham dress.
"Allison already paid, right? Like always?" I ask for confirmation.
"Yes," Mrs. Klein uses her fake grin on me as well. I wonder when she turns it off.
"Well, we will see you next week, then," I place a gentle hand on the back of Jane's head to guide her toward the front door of Mrs. Klein's apartment.
"Okay, take care!" She waves from the entryway.
As soon as the door clicks shut, I shake my head and drop my fake smirk. "That woman gives me the creeps."
"What's the creeps?" Jane asks.
"Nothing," I laugh and let her tap the elevator button while I get us an Uber. "Are you ready to get a quick snack before ballet?"
"Mhm," she hops into the elevator like a bunny. "And then we can go home?"
My expression softens as she looks up at me with pleading green eyes. "Yes, and then we can go home."
Just to make sure we're in the right borough of Manhattan at the right time, we take a car to Miss Rachel's and then decide to go to the cafe next door. Because I can tell the poor kid is tired after an hour of being patronized by Mrs. Klein, I let her pick anything she wants from the glass pastry case. She tells the barista that she would like a chocolate chip cookie and milk while I go for a croissant and an iced matcha latte.
"Can I try?" Lana points at my drink as we pick a table to sit down.
I wrinkle my nose as I take a sip. "I don't think you're going to like it, babe."
"Please?"
Narrowing my eyes at her, I relent to hold my straw down in front of her mouth so she can have a sip. Her sour reaction is immediate and makes me crack up laughing as I rip her chocolate chip cookie into easier-sized pieces for her to eat.
"I told you that you wouldn't like it, silly," I chuckle and take the cup back. "Drink some milk."
"That was yucky," she quickly eats a bite of her cookie.
"Maybe you'll like it when you're older," I have a sip and chase it with a small piece of my croissant.
"Is it your favorite?"
I smile to myself, recalling that her favorite new thing is to ask about everyone else's favorite things. "I wouldn't say it's my favorite, but I really like it. My favorite is usually an iced latte with a splash of vanilla."
"Mm," she tilts her head from side to side as she chews and her pigtails bounce accordingly.
We're able to take our time enjoying both our treats until it's time for us to head back next door to Miss Rachel's. From her ballet bag, I find her outfit and help her change in the women's bathroom before doing her hair up in a topknot bun. A mother is in here doing the same thing with her daughter, and I watch Jane while she watches the two of them interact through the mirror. She's barely tall enough to see over the counter, but she's a curious little thing.
