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“No, not yet.” She laughs for a moment, snuggling closer to me, then she lets out a sigh. “It was hard for everybody, but she had such a difficult time towards the end. She had severe arthritis; her body had been really struggling. The doctors would want to blame her instead of help her. They’d complain, ‘you dancers mess up your bodies and then expect us to just fix you.’ Nobody knew she struggled in the end, unable to do what she loved.”
“That must have been so hard for her.” I speak quietly, my fingers lightly running up and down her arm.
“It was so, so hard. Tango was such a big part of her life. Imagine not being able to do it ever again, the one thing that was pivotal in your life. That was as necessary as breathing.”
Faced with the thought of it now, I realize it would probably break me, too. Competing is one thing, but quitting dance altogether? Forever? I don’t think I ever could.
“She had your grandfather, though.”
“She did,” she agrees.
“I think about that sometimes. When my body hurts, when I feel lonely. When all of this is gone, what do I have left?”
She reaches out to touch my cheek, and I lean into her palm, turning to kiss it softly.
“Do you know the story of how they met?” she asks.
“Tell me.”
“They met at the tango clubs. She would sneak out to go dance, and when he saw her, it was love at first sight. They would dance together, but eventually he wanted to see her outside of it, too. He used to ride his bike ten miles just to see her.”
“That’s dedication,” I smile.
“That’s love,” she clarifies.
With all this talk of Celestina, her plans make much more sense.
“So … San Diego.” I realize why she said it was personal reasons.
“San Deigo,” she repeats with a sigh.
“You don’t know about what happened, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I went to San Diego last year. Tara and I fell apart, and we didn’t even place.”
She looks at me, quiet for a moment. “I had no idea.”
“I figured you didn’t. Anyway, I had been having a hard time. I was starting to look for other things then; I was feeling burnt out. And when we didn’t even place, it definitely humbled me, but it also made me decide that I wasn’t going to be doing it again. I was done competing, I was done with workshops. Tara and I talked it over shortly after—Silas was going to be heading into residency soon anyway—so we decided not to compete together anymore. We would teach locally, maybe host some milongas, but that was it.” I breathe softly. “And then I met you.”
“I feel like I’ve caused more trouble than I meant to.”
“No.” I move a piece of hair from her face, looking at her so she hears me. “You gave me back everything.”
“I don’t know what happens after this, Logan. I don’t know what you want to do, but I want you to know that when all of this is done, you’ll still have me,” she confesses.
It’s a bold promise, one that digs deep. One that tethers her to me, to my life. I want it desperately. “You’ll have me, too,” I say, clearly, definitively.
I grab her and bring her to me, kissing her deeply.
We make it to the kitchen sometime later, late enough that Gavin walks through the door and catches us eating sandwiches out of the box.
“Uh. Hi.”
“Oh,” Julie says, mid chew. “Hi.”
I clear my throat, as we all look like deer in headlights. “This is Julie. You’ve met right?”
