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How am I going to disappoint her again?
Despite the heartfelt words we said to each other when we spoke earlier, she confirmed she was mad at me.
I know my mother. She wasn’t just mad, she was disappointed.
I upped and left her after she put her soul into making sure I got my dream. I remember my parents working their fingers to the bone at the restaurant to make sure I could attend the best dance classes. I went five times a week and sometimes more. In the summer, they sent me to summer school.
I was scouted by Juilliard before I even got in, so I know my mother was more than disappointed as I sat there and confirmed that the man she warned me away from broke my legs and ruined me.
Mom didn’t say it in those words only because she just got me back and she didn’t want to hurt me.
Now I’ve failed again. I know I’m being hard on myself but I can’t help it when I can see all the ways I could have changed things.
I swallow the last of my drink and signal the bartender to come over. He does and takes one look at my pitiful state.
I’ve been here less than half an hour but he’s probably used to my kind of despair.
“What can I get you?” He looks at me with kind eyes.
“Something strong, like straight-up vodka?—”
“Water,” cuts in an overpowering voice with an Irish accent.
I look up and see Cillian standing next to me.
At first I don’t think he’s real. Maybe I went crazy and my imagination conjured him, but he’s only in my head.
“Water?” the bartender confirms but also lets me know that I’m not imagining anything.
Cillian really is here. Right next to me. He’s here and he’s looking down at my pitiful state that needs rescuing again.
He nods his head to the bartender. “Have a bottle sent up to the room and some wine.”
“Sure thing, Mr. O’Ridian.” The bartender saunters away.
“Looks like you’re here for a different sort of game tonight, lass.” Cillian looks me over.
It’s hard to look at him and be this close without remembering how we were last time. “I’m not playing any games. That’s your thing, remember?” I sound bitter but I don’t care. My world is falling apart and I don’t care who I take with me into the abyss.
“What are you doing here by yourself?”
“Drinking. What are you doing here? You know, if you’re not careful, I might think you’re following me again.”
“I am following you.” He’s so blatant I never know how to take him, but I know he’s being serious.
“It was you, wasn’t it. I felt someone watching me while I was dancing.” The alcohol is making me say shit that would never normally leave my mouth.
“Yes, it was me.”
At least I didn’t imagine that. What are the chances of being right? “Why? I thought you said goodbye? Obviously Harlan wouldn’t have been at the dance studio.”
“I wasn’t there for Harlan.”
“Well, I don’t think you were there for me either.”
“I was. Come with me, lass.”
Lass.
