Stacey looks at her phone. "Not today, but I'm glad you're taking my offer seriously. By your deer-in-the-headlights look, I thought I'd scared you away for good. Can we chat on Monday? I'd like to make sure I have plenty of time to have this conversation with you."
I nod. "Monday is perfect. Thank you."
She smiles at me and turns away to finish her final tasks of the day. "Monday, then. It's a date."
By the time my shift ends, I'm ready to kiss this week goodbye. I'm exhausted, from both the challenges at work and the repeat thoughts rolling around my head like pinballs. I need to clear my brain.
It's November in Philadelphia which means it's chilly, but not quite cold yet—we won't get snow until after the new year. And there's just something about walking through Rittenhouse Square on a crisp fall day that makes me perk up a little bit. A walk should clear my head.
I start toward the park and take a deep breath, slowing my heart and trying to pause my thoughts. I think back to the breathing exercises I learned when I used to dance and incorporate them now.
Right as the memory of my dancing exercises surfaces, a business catches my eye at the end of the block. I quicken my pace, feeling drawn to the space even before my brain comprehends what I'm looking at.
It’s a dance studio. I peer inside and see a hip-hop dance class going on, about a dozen dancers counting out steps and practicing a routine in sections. It looks like an intermediate class, not quite as intimidating as the famous dance company on the other side of the city, and as I look around the studio, I notice the pictures on the walls of many different dance styles. I see some of a jazz class, lyrical, modern—there are even ballet classes offered. It looks like a regular studio, meant for anyone that wants to try a dance class.
It's exactly the kind of studio I used to love. The kind of dancing I did in my spare time, that made me happy and that introduced me to friends I haven’t talked to in way too long.
And Imissit. I miss it because I stopped going to classes when Steve and I moved in together. He made me quit with his looks of disappointment and his silence. When really, I needed encouragement.
I freeze when my brain catches up to the thoughts in my head.
And just like the moment that I realized Steve was a narcissist, I now realize how wrong he was about so many things that became ingrained in my head. About school, about jobs, my hobbies, all of it. And even though I already knew his main goal was to alienate me from the things that brought me happiness outside of him, I feel like I'm only now understanding how deep into my psyche that actually went.
And in this moment, I decide that I'm going to burn every bit of Steve's bullshit toxicity out of my brain. I'm going to force myself to acknowledge my insecurities and self-doubt, and I'm going to look them in the face as I shoot them down. Every day. I know now it's the little things that built up to form these blanket misconceptions, which means it’ll be the little victories every day that will tear them down. But every day, I will take one step closer to taking back my life. Taking backmyself.
A wave of empowerment rolls through my chest and straightens my spine. A huge grin splits my face. I open the door to the dance studio.
Starting with something that makes me happy.
* * *
Two months later
I collapse onto my couch with a groan of exhaustion.
"Did we get everything?" Aiden calls from where he disappeared into my bedroom with the last of my moving boxes.
"There's nothing else in the truck," Max answers as he walks through the door.
"Yeah, I think that was the last of it," Tristan confirms as he places my air fryer on the kitchen counter and looks around the apartment.
I take in the sheer chaos of boxes, bubble wrap, and dirt from the guys' shoes. It only took the three of them an hour and a half—commute to Fishtown included—to move me out of Remy's apartment and into my own little one-bedroom apartment. And even though I know it’s going to take me forever to unpack my clothes and organize my million kitchen items, I feel nothing but pride and contentment at the sight of my new home.
"Do you need help with anything else?" Remy offers as she aims a wary look at the overwhelming amount of boxes in the kitchen—no doubt trying to figure out how anyone could need anything more than an air fryer and a grilled cheese maker.
I shake my head. "That was everything. All that's left is unpacking, but I'm going to do that this week. The jet lag is killing me too much to start it tonight."
Tristan shakes his head as he throws an arm around Remy. "I still can't believe you scheduled a trip to Europeanda move to a new apartment in the same week. You're insane."
I let out what can only be called a tired grunt of agreement. He's not wrong.
"You'll have to tell us what Rome was like," Max says, leaning against the front door. "Remy said you got to see the locals' Rome, party scene and everything. I'd love to hear about it. Maybe Aiden and I will plan a trip."
"Sounds good to me," Aiden grins in response. "Italian chicks are hot. I wouldn't mind putting in some work on myEuropean countries I've hitlist."
Max rolls his eyes. "Yeah? And what about Dani? I thought she would've put a stop to any of yourlists."
Aiden waves him off. "You act like we're dating. There's nothing exclusive about us. She's just as likely to sleep with an Italian girl of her own." He shoves his hands in his sweatpants and studies his best friend. "Don't act like you don't know me. Orher, for that matter." He cocks an eyebrow pointedly.