But then another thought pops into my head. What then? What is my next step after paying Nathan back? Something about him buying the studio and me realizing he’s been paying part of my rent all these years has shaken up a restlessness in me. It’s made me a little antsy and craving more for my studio. Which completely terrifies me. I don’t like craving more, because I don’t like who I was back when all I did was strive for more. Contentment is what I need. If I had possessed even just an ounce more contentment back in high school, I wouldn’t have spent all of my time and energy trying to get into Juilliard. I would have gone to parties. Made friends. Maybe even had a hobby or desires outside of dance that would have kept me from spiraling into such a dark place when my one and only dream got snatched away.
I should be grateful for the help my friend has given me and find tangible ways to make the studio I currently have better. But instead, when trying to find new ways to not have to completely rely on his generosity, I accidentally stumbled across a new dream. One where my studio is not scented with pepperonis, and where it could officially function as a non-profit, able to accept more students who normally couldn’t afford dance classes.
The only way any of this would be possible is if I was granted the space in The Good Factory. The problem is, I’ve put all my eggs in one basket before, and it did not turn out in my favor. I’m terrified to want something just as much again.
Nathan’s phone rings, and he lets go of me so he can answer. “It’s my mom,” he says, looking a little weary before pasting on a tight smile and answering. “Hey Mom, what’s—” There’s a pause as he listens, followed by several mhmms and sures. His eyes shut tight for a moment like he’s in pain, and then he opens them again. I can only imagine she’s asking for something that takes too much from him.
Nathan has a problem saying no—especially to his parents. They’ve always expected a lot of him and have never been hesitant to ask for a lot too （and give nothing in return besides criticism）。 They always commit him for their charity events without truly asking him, manipulate him into dropping by their holiday parties just so he can be seen and sign autographs, and even ask him to float their lavish vacations because they know when something is paid for on the famous NFL quarterback’s black card, it gets them into a whole other sphere of luxury than even their padded bank accounts can achieve. They parade him around like a tiger at the circus and then whip him when he gets tired so he’ll perform better and keep that social status coming in for them. Yet another reason I never want Nathan to feel like he has to take care of me financially or carry me on his arm to special events. That’s not what he is to me.
I want to rip the phone out of his hand and tell this woman, Sorry, Nathan is no longer available for your constant soul sucking. Try taking up embroidery instead. But it’s not my place to protect him from his mom.
After a minute, he hangs up and sighs.
“Fun conversation?” I ask sarcastically.
He shrugs. “Not a big deal. She just wanted to see if I could fly home shortly after the season to show up to some charity event for them at their country club.”
“And you told her you’ll be taking some time off to re-energize?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
He looks down at his fidgeting hands. “I told her yes. I have to see them at some point anyway, so might as well do something for a good cause while I’m there.”
I hate that he does this. Nathan is convinced he’s Superman, and…well, I’m not completely convinced otherwise, but I know he has flesh and blood like the rest of us, and the load he’s carrying can’t be sustained for long. I don’t want to see him crash and burn. I want to strap him down and make him rest.
“How’s work life?” he asks softly.
“Don’t think I don’t know that you’re sidestepping my concern.”
He grins and leans his head back against the headrest to stare at me. “Hoping to. So what’s new at the studio? How are the girls?”