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“Do I?”
I sigh, a breath pulled from deep within. “I can’t help it. I want to give you all my attention.”I want to give you everything.
When the tanda ends, I don’t part. She doesn’t move either. Instead, we smile during the transition period between the music, and when another tanda starts, I bring her in to dance again.
Breaking yet another rule.
***
Julie and I headback to our table, sitting quietly watching other couples dance. I happen to catch the time—almost midnight—and watch her stifle a yawn.
“Late night for you?” I tease.
“This is way past my bedtime.”
“Wild streak.” I waggle my eyebrows while she gives a quiet laugh.
“Yeah, something like that.” She takes a small sip of water, then quietly says, “I wasn’t allowed to quit dance.”
We’re sitting side by side at this round table, legs hidden underneath the tablecloth, watching the dancers in front of us. Couples get on, some come off to take a break. She continues to talk, both of us looking ahead.
“All the recitals and strict teachers and kids my age who rolled their eyes at my improper form, who were practically offended at how unserious I was about ballet at nine years old … after the pressure of it got to be too much, I told my mom I wanted to quit. I didn’t like it; it wasn’t for me.
“But classes cost money and time, and there were still paid sessions left. And so, I had to keep going because the classes weren’t free, and there were kids who would have loved to be in my shoes, so maybe I should try being grateful for it. I was very ungrateful for even thinking about it. That sounds silly. It was ballet, not torture.”
“But did it feel like torture?”
She lets out a soft chuckle, almost like a realization. “It did.”
“Yeah,” I say with a small smile.
“Maybe they did me a favor, teaching me not to quit everything. I don’t know.” She shrugs.
“Or maybe they didn’t listen to your wants and needs.”
“I was nine. I didn’t know what I wanted.”
I still don’t know what I want most days,I want to tell her. “You were old enough to know you didn’t want to do ballet.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs again. “You didn’t have that issue,” she jokes.
“No, my parents didn’t care enough about me or my activities. They were too busy hating each other after the divorce.”
“That must have been so hard.”
“It wasn’t fun, but dancing sort of became a lifeline for me then. I looked forward to it, I loved being there. It made me feel welcome.”
“I’m glad you had that. And you had Gavin. That must have been comforting, too. Big brother and all that.”
“I want to quit dancing, too,” I blurt out, almost out of nowhere. She looks over at me, probably taken aback by what I said. “Wantedto quit. I’m not sure where I stand right now.”
Her surprised stare becomes soft, watching me, listening. She’s been vulnerable with me, the least I can do is open up, too. “When Tara told me she was leaving, I wanted to jump ship, too. She’s moving on to more exciting things, but when I leave this, what do I have left?”
“Oh, Logan,” she says quietly.
There’s my name again around that voice. There’s that hunger. Like I want to hear her say it again as I kiss her and swallow it up, feel the taste of it in my mouth, too. I grip my cup of water again, like it’s my own anchor, keeping me steady.
“What’s changing your mind?” she asks softly.
