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“Here,” he says simply.
I raise a curious eyebrow at him. The envelope’s already been opened. I have to flip it over to see who the sender is.
“The New York City Ballet Troupe?” I say in shock. “Nate, what is this?”
“I’m sorry I opened it. I genuinely thought it was for me. I wasn’t paying attention while I was going through the mail.”
With shaky hands, I slip the letter out and give it a read.
“It says a few of their recruiters came to the academy and they saw me during class.” By some miracle, I manage to finish the message while fighting back tears. “They understand I’m on maternity but want to give me a spot as a soloist the second I’m back.”
Nate hugs me as tight as he dares. Any harder and I think the baby will pop right out of me.
“I’m so proud of you, babe,” he says. “I invited everyone I could think of. This is a celebration for you. Why are you crying?”
“I’m hormonal.” I weep and grin at the same time. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”
“Everything, babe. Everything.” Nate kisses me on the forehead and chuckles. “Do you want something to eat? I’ve got the grill going.”
“Double bacon cheeseburger with jalapeños?”
“Coming right up.”
“With Sriracha instead of ketchup?”
Nate makes a face like he’s grossed out, but I know he’s just joking. “Anything for you, babe. Let’s head to the back, okay?”
The afternoon sun is warm overhead, painting the sky a splash of soft pink and orange mixing with blue. A-Ma and I sit together on the patio sofa, recounting stories from her work over a pitcher of virgin margaritas. Pops sits across from us, listening intently, while the rest of our guests gather around Nate. Tom’s even standing next to him, chatting about their weird mutual interest in specific grilling tools.
I’m glad they’re getting along now.
“And that’s when,” Pops says, “Nate pointed at his brother and said that the magazines were his.”
I phase back into the story and laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Is he gossiping about me again?” Nate demands as he brings me my burger.
“He’s always gossiping about you,” I say.
Nate shakes his head. “You be careful, Pops. When the kid’s old enough to understand, I’m going to tell him all about the time you went to Vegas in your twenties and—”
“Whoa!” Pops says as he puts his hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t know you knew that story.”
Nate winks. “Yeah. I’m not happy I know it, but it’s there in my arsenal.”
The doorbell sounds throughout the house, reaching us even though we’re in the backyard. Nate rubs my shoulder before leaving to answer.
Maybe someone’s late to the party.
I get a few bites into my burger—a delicious mix of cheesy, greasy spiciness with the slightest hint of sourness from the jalapeños—when I catch a glimpse of Nate out of the corner of my eye. I can’t quite read his expression, though it’s not as carefree as it was just a couple of seconds ago. He jerks his head to the side, signaling for me to come over.
I turn to A-Ma and hand her my plate. “Can you watch over this for me?”
“Sure, sure. No problem.”
“Do you need help standing up?” Pops asks me, holding his hand out.
I shake my head and manage to tilt myself out of my seat and rise. “Thanks, I’ve got it. Be right back.”
I make my way inside the house, the pop music playing over the speakers on the back patio muffling the farther in I go. Nate holds his hand out, which I take instinctively, and allow him to guide me to the front of the house. We stop in the entrance hall, out of sight from the backyard, to greet an unexpected guest.
Mrs. Winthrop.
I haven’t seen her since Nate put his foot down and threatened to call her out all those months ago. It feels like forever.
Not much has changed, appearance-wise. Mrs. Winthrop still looks as done up and overly formal as always, though—to her credit—she’s wearing her graying hair down in a more casual, free-flowing way. Her hair’s still pinned up in places, the strong scent of hairspray suggesting there’s still a great deal of control to her appearance, but I do my best not to read into it.
She’s dressed in a conservative navy blue dress with white polka dots. It has long sleeves and a high collar, lending her an even more severe look. What’s surprising to me is that she’s neither scowling nor blank-faced. Instead, she looks sheepish.
“Hello,” she greets in an unusually upbeat manner. It’s kind of creepy. Unnatural. But I can tell she’s making an effort.
“Hello,” I say amicably. I smile, but only because it’s the polite thing to do.
Mrs. Winthrop looks to Nate like a lost sheep. He simply holds her gaze and nods once, a gesture of encouragement.
