“Of all the changes I’m making in my life, the more we talk about it, the more convinced I am that this is right.” Nick turned to face me. “We like the same things. We like being with each other more than with other people. We finish each other’s sentences because we know each other inside out. I know you need proof, the way you needed validation that you could make it in the dancing world by earning all those accolades and trophies. But you and I aren’t going to enter a relationship competition where our feelings will win us a gold medal. At some point, Al, you have to take a leap of faith.”
He was right, of course, and I nodded to acknowledge his logic.
If only logic had any bearing on matters of the heart.
My mother entered the store, crossing her arms over her chest and approaching us with caution, as if girding herself to hear bad news. Her short brown hair had been ruffled by the wind and her lipstick was chewed off.
“It’s looking good, isn’t it?” I injected a lot of good cheer in the question, a dare for my mom to see the glass half empty.
Nick had learned long ago to keep his interactions with my mother to a minimum. After greeting her, he moved the ladder to the other side of the shelving unit.
“It looks…different.” Mom gave the boxes in the room a wide berth. “We need more storage.”
“Maybe.” It depended upon what her final inventory would be.
Mom was frowning.
If I’d thought working on the store for my mother would lift her spirits, I was sorely mistaken. “What’s on your mind, Mom?”
She glanced at Nick and then toward the wall I’d just painted. “This isn’t what I envisioned.”
“Just give me a few days, Mom. It’ll get there. I promise.”
She glanced at Nick again. “You haven’t heard from your agent, have you, Allison?”
Nick dropped a screw on the floor. He glanced at me, frowning.
“No, my agent hasn’t contacted me.”
Mom gave a very false feeling smile. “You should be pro-active and contact him.”
“I know how to conduct my business, Mom.” I gripped the paint brush tightly.
“Just a reminder.” She made her exit, walking stiffly as if her negative emotions gummed up her joints.
“I’m not going to contact him,” I said to Nick, returning to the task of painting. But the joy was gone.
Nick didn’t respond to my statement. Not with words anyway.
He came to my side, took my paint brush and set it down. And then he wrapped his arms around me, and lowered his lips to mine.
I neededto talk to Nick about the stakes of further kisses.
I needed to talk to my agent about ending my dancing career.
I needed to be more like Nick and Tim, or Carol and Joy. I needed to think about what I wanted the rest of my life to look like.
Instead, I was instructing adorable little ballerinas on the importance of arms arching delicately overhead in fifth position. I demonstrated how the arms should look for what had to be the tenth time that hour. And instead of being cranky, I was smiling at the toddler girls.
“But Miss Allie, my arms are tired.” Pretty little Sedina let her arms flop to her sides.
“But Miss Allie, Miss Eve told us to reach as high as we can.” Delicate little Sarah held her arms straight up, as if signaling a touchdown.
“But Miss Allie, my arms don’t make a circle. They have corners.” Timid little Jasmine held her arms up in the shape of a diamond.
“All right. All right. I want everyone to shake their arms out like this.” I extended my arms toward my knees and shook them like an elephant’s trunk.
The class giggled and tried to mimic me.