“You’d think you’d have more energy, since we’re, what? Four hours ahead here?”
“Three.” It’s 6:30 p.m. here, which means it’s 3:30 p.m. at home. Garrett would be picking me up from school and we’d be going home for a quick nap. Nap time is one of my favorite times.
Annalise smiles. There’s a hint of tightness behind it, seen in the firm way she presses her lips together, but then again, I haven’t seen her teeth once all afternoon. She’s in her sixties, and something tells me she hasn’t gotten laid in at least twenty years.
“Nevertheless, we were just saying that we think you’d fit right in with us here.”
I’m not sure about that. Earlier today I watched half of them bark orders at ballerinas who looked on the verge of passing out, or crying, which is exactly why I left ballet in the first place. Still, that they want me is exciting all the same, and my shoulders fall back as I sit taller and beam.
“Really?”
“Of course. We’ve been watching you for years. You’re a beautiful dancer.”
“And Leah always has the most wonderful things to say about you,” Monica adds.
I like Monica. Like Leah, she’s younger and still, I don’t know…full of life? Not beaten down by the dictators of the professional dance world? A nice human being? She’s friendly and personable, and she spent most of the tour whispering in my ear about Annalise every time that woman turned her back. At one point, I had to pretend I was coughing to hide my laughter.
Before I can respond, a young man stops at our table. “Are we ready to order?”
Annalise gestures at me. “Why don’t you start us off?”
“Hmmm…” My eyes sweep the menu. Six-ounce teriyaki sirloin. Sold. My stomach sings with glee, and I tap on the option. “I’ll have the sirloin, medium rare, with a twice-baked potato, fully loaded, and—”
“Oh, Jennifer, sweetheart.” Annalise’s patronizing gaze rises above her frameless glasses. “Wouldn’t you prefer something lighter?”
“Um…” Not fucking really?
“It’s a very rigorous program, so we of course expect our instructors to be as dedicated as our students when it comes to training. That includes nutrition.”
“Of course.” I plaster on a smile, slipping a protective hand over my belly beneath the table, chasing away the ashamed thoughts that try to enter, reminding me I’m not as slim as I was just a handful of months ago. “I’ll have the grilled chicken caprese salad, please.”
“An excellent choice, ma’am,” the waiter replies, but the amusement dancing in his eyes tells me he knows as well as I do that that’s fucking bullshit. At my narrowed gaze, he dips his head to hide his grin as he takes my menu. “And to drink?”
“She’ll have a vodka soda water with a lemon.” Annalise winks. “Sugar-free.”
“Actually, I don’t drink. A root beer would be great.”
I wonder if the horror and disbelief in her expression are due to my self-inflicted sobriety or the sugar-laden soda. Before she can tear me down for either, I tell her, “My dad passed when I was sixteen after his car was struck by a drunk driver. I haven’t had root beer in ages, up until very recently, because it was my dad’s favorite drink. We loved that kind that came in the brown glass bottles, Dad’s Old Fashioned Root Beer, it was called.” I laugh. “My dad used to tell me that he made it, that’s why it had his name on it. He came home from work every Friday with a six-pack, and we all drank one while we had our family pizza and movie night.”
“That’s…well—”
“I’ll have a root beer, too, please,” Monica interrupts. “Haven’t had one since I was a kid.” She looks to Annalise. “You were bragging about Jennie’s dancing?”
She hesitates before nodding. “Yes, as I was saying, you’d be a lovely addition here.” She sweeps her hands out and then clasps them below her chin, and I finally get a toothy grin from her. It’s oddly reminiscent of Chandler Bing’s famous engagement picture smile from Friends. “So, what do you think? Is it a yes?”
My brows fly up my forehead. “Is it a yes? You’re offering me the job?”
“Yes!”
“Oh. Oh my God. Wow. I…really?”
“Of course really! You’re our first choice, so we’ve put all other prospects on hold.”
A strange tightness stretches across my shoulders, and my stomach erupts with butterflies, but they don’t really feel like the good kind. “Do I have to make a decision right now? I wasn’t expecting this. I thought I’d have some time.”
Her smile wavers, and I quickly backtrack.
“My family is in Vancouver. I’m so grateful for this opportunity, really. It’s a dream come true. I’m just not sure I’m ready to—”
“Stand on your own? Have your own life?”
Beneath the table, my fingers dig into my thighs. Stand on my own? Have my own life? Do I really need to move halfway across the country and leave my family behind to do those things?
“I’m not sure I’m ready to be so far away from them,” I finish quietly, and when the rest of the table agrees it’s a big decision, that I can decide before I fly home, I spend the rest of dinner thinking about it, a life without them.
“Fucking…goddamn…eastern Canadian…winter…”
I yank my leather boots off, and the snow that fell this evening and covered them flings into the air, lands on the carpet, and quickly melts.
I want to go home, where spring has already begun to show its spectacular face.
I change out of my clothes and into my warmest pajama pants and Garrett’s hoodie, snuggling into the coziness, the smell, like I’m wrapped in one of his hugs.
When I’m ready for bed, I slip beneath the covers and stare out the window. There isn’t a single star glowing in the sky. The city is wide awake below it, and the skyline is an uncomfortable shade of blue-gray, littered with the pollution all the lights bring.
The longer I lie here, waiting for a revelation, the more scrambled my brain gets. Everything aches. It’s this tension I can’t explain, knotting so tightly in my stomach, creeping up my back. A vast emptiness that tastes like poison, a silence so utterly thunderous. It’s heavy and dark, daunting and heart wrenching, and all I want to do is put it down.
But I don’t know how, and when my eyelids fall shut, like I can close out the fears, tears leak out the corners, stealing away across my temples. I curl onto my side, clutching Princess Bubblegum as my world begs me to help it right itself.
My phone rings, Hank on video call, right on time, as usual. Don’t ask me why he insists on video calling when he can’t see. We mostly let him do what he wants. He’s persistent.
“You look beautiful,” he says, a broad beam covering his face.
I snicker, sitting up and pulling my knees to my chest, grateful he can’t see the tears I’m swatting away. “Do you like my outfit?”
“Oh yes. Just stunning. Did you wear that to your interview?”
“No, I’m not sure they would’ve appreciated me showing up in my pajamas.”