3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Though I’d stared at the same four walls for over a month, big changes happened inside me during my studio incarceration.
The biggest was that I’d grown a backbone. Of course, I’d always had vertebrae and a spinal cord, but figuratively speaking, this was all new to me. I’d never stood up to my mother before because I had never felt the need to. I always knew she had my best interests at heart.
Or so I’d thought. My eyes were now wide open, and everything was becoming clear.
Mama had been a ballerina back in her youth, a very promising young dancer with a bright career in front of her. Until she became pregnant… with me.
After I was born, she was never quite able to regain her dancer’s body, so she turned her ambitions around on me. She was living vicariously through the daughter who had ruined her dreams.
I was two when she enrolled me in dance classes. It became obvious quite quickly that I had inherited my mother’s talent. Even as a toddler, while the other dancers were jumping and running around or crying, I picked up the simple choreography with ease and was quickly moved to the five-year-old class .
Sometimes, I caught Mama rewatching my first recital with tears in her eyes. I’d always thought it was because she loved me so much, but having five weeks of relative solitude to think about my life proved that theory wrong.
My mother was worried about my dance career. That’s it. Seriously… what kind of parent cared more about appearances than a traumatic incident their own child had gone through?
Every day when she brought my lunch and dinner, she asked if I was ready to apologize, and when I said no, she left without another word. After two weeks, she stopped asking.
I didn’t dance at all. Not a single step. I did stretch every day out of habit, boredom, and the desire to keep my body limber.
And honestly, there wasn’t much more to do. I read. I texted. I scrolled social media. And I researched.
The other big change in my life was that I’d broken up with Curtis for good. My friend, Eliza, had informed me that he and Adriana had been spotted having lunch together every day the first week I was gone. Add to that the fact that he didn’t believe me when I told him about Moreau, and I was done.
It actually felt good to dump him… to rid myself of those who didn’t support me a hundred percent. I was like a phoenix rising from the ashes, still a small fledgling, but getting stronger every day. Spreading my wings in preparation to fly.
My phone rang, and I smiled when I saw my dad’s name pop up. Swiping my finger across the screen, I answered with a cheery, “Hello, Dad! Where are you?”
“Hey, baby girl. I have a layover in Amsterdam. I’ll be home tomorrow. How’s your shoulder feeling? ”
“It’s okay. I’m still resting it.”
“Aw, I’m sorry, honey. You miss dancing, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
There was a pause. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”
I squinched my eyes closed, searching for the words. I needed my dad on my side, but I didn’t want to cause him any undue stress.
Taking a deep breath, I said, “I was thinking I might shift my focus a bit.”
“Shift your focus?”
“To something other than dance.”
Dad’s voice held a timbre of confusion. “But you love ballet, honey.” Another pause. “Don’t you?”
Straightening that metaphorical backbone I’d recently acquired, I informed him, “Mama loves ballet. I actually enjoyed jazz a lot more.”
I’d loved the few jazz classes I’d been allowed to take. Especially contemporary jazz, though I loved some of the old stuff too, like the Charleston and the jitterbug.
“Mal, I know your mom can be a bit overzealous, but I always thought you liked ballet. Is she… pressuring you?”
Yes. No. Maybe.
I’d done a lot of soul searching the past few weeks, letting my mind wander to what I wanted for my future. The conclusions had surprised me.
“I think I initially gravitated toward ballet because Mama loved it so much. And I was good at it. You know how when you excel at something, you just keep doing it? Because it makes you feel good to have people tell you you’re great? ”
“I completely understand. Your uncle Sean went through that for a brief time after high school. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go into construction like the rest of the family. So he decided to go to college instead of straight into the business. Your grandpa wasn’t happy, but Sean took a lot of different classes his first two years and eventually found that he loved construction science. He needed to find out for himself though because he’s very strong-willed—much like my beautiful daughter.”
Stunned didn’t even begin to describe my feelings. I was his only child, so he had to be talking about me. “You think I’m strong-willed?”
“Of course I do, honey. You’re so resilient and driven. I’ve never seen a kid push herself like you do. You can do anything you want. Do you still want to pursue a ballet career, or is there something else that’s caught your eye? Any classes you’ve taken that you really gelled with?”
“I loved my anatomy and physiology classes. And I think…” Just say it, Mallori. “I think I’d like to be a physical therapist.”
Damn, it felt good to put that out into the world. To say the actual words aloud.
“Honey! That’s wonderful!”
“It is?”
Dad’s low chuckle vibrated against my ear. “Of course it is. That’s an excellent career.”
“And you won’t be disappointed in me?” My voice sounded meek, and I hated that. Phoenix, Mal! Be the phoenix!
“Because my daughter wants to be a physical therapist? Are you crazy? What kind of program is it? A master’s degree? ”
“Doctorate,” I corrected, my shoulders rising with excitement. Because someone else was excited for me. For something besides dance.
“I’ll be damned. My daughter is going to be a doctor. Baby, this is fantastic. If it’s what makes you happy, you should do it.”
“And you’ll back me up?”
“A million percent.”
“Good, because there’s something else…”
“No,” my mother said in her unequivocal tone, fork clattering to her plate.
“Why not?” my father asked, scooping mashed potatoes onto his fork. “It’s a wonderful profession, and I think Mal would be an excellent physical therapist.” He stuck the creamy bite into his mouth and chewed, his green eyes focused on my mother.
“Be-because she’s going to be a ballerina. She has so much talent.” Her eyes—full of indignation—flashed between me and my dad.
“But it’s my talent, and I can choose to do what I want with it, right, Mama?” I asked sweetly. Her gaze turned to me in disbelief, but I continued, bolstered by my father’s support. “I think I want to work specifically with dancers. Help them rehab after injuries. Gordon was so wonderful to work with after I hurt my shoulder. Or perhaps I’ll work with military veterans like Cousin Cam.”
“So you want to work with dancers instead of being a dancer. Do you even hear what you’re saying, Mallori?” The sneer was evident in her tone, but Dad shut her down .
“If that’s what she wants to do, then we’ll support her, right, Karen?” He lifted one eyebrow, and she spluttered before taking a sip of her water, which did nothing to tone down the flush covering her face.
“I don’t know how she thinks she’s going to pay for that. She had a scholarship for dance.”
Dad tossed me a little wink, his lips curling up at the edges. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve been saving for Mallori’s schooling since she was born in case she didn’t have scholarships.”
My mother looked peeved, and I shoveled some creamed spinach into my mouth before I launched into phase two. “I’ve had a lot of time to think lately—up in my studio.”
Dad’s brow creased. “I thought you were resting your shoulder, honey.”
I smiled innocently, watching my mother from the corner of my eye. “Oh, I was, but Mama thought it would be inspirational for me to spend some time up there. She was even nice enough to bring all my meals up to me.”
The look of raw panic in her eyes had me fighting a smirk, but the lines in Dad’s forehead deepened into thick ridges. “I don’t like that. You need to eat your meals down here in the dining room, Mal.” His gaze shifted between us. “It’s not healthy to spend so much time up there.”
“You’re right, Daddy,” I said, avoiding eye contact with my mother. “I’ll be sure to do that.” I could hear Mama’s teeth grinding from across the table.
“I’ll make sure of it,” he said, patting the back of my hand. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you two about. I’m not going back overseas for work anymore.”
My dad and his brothers ran Fitz and Sons Construction, with my cousins and Uncle Nolan handling the Northeast U.S. division, and my father running the international side. Their other brother, Sean, was in charge of the business down in Texas.
My heart beat a bit faster. There was no way Mama would confine me to the studio if Dad was here all the time instead of in the Middle East, Asia, Europe, or wherever the job took him.
“That’s so great, Dad! Do you have to go back and wrap anything up?”
He shook his head as he took a long pull of his beer. “Nope. The project is finished, and we’ve got someone to run the international stuff from now on.” Setting the bottle on the table, he rotated it around in circles, the lines around his eyes smoothing out. “I’m tired of being away from my family all the time.”
Mama’s face was a mixture of happiness and worry. I knew she would be happy to have her husband home, but his presence would eliminate a lot of the tight control she had over me.
I’d done a lot of research on enmeshed mother/daughter relationships the past five weeks, and it had been enlightening. Our relationship was something I hadn’t even realized was abnormal. I always thought we were just closer than most mothers and daughters.
I had been messaging back and forth with a really sweet counselor online, and she’d given me some strategies for setting boundaries with my mother .
Which brought me back to phase two. “I applied to some PT schools in Dallas,” I blurted out.
Dad gave me a gentle, encouraging smile—I’d already filled him in on my plans yesterday—as Mama’s mouth dropped open in shock.
“No. You are not moving to Texas, Mallori Fitz.”
Employing the boundary-setting methods the counselor had taught me, I kept my voice calm and firm. Form your responses as facts, not questions.
“It’s difficult to get in, but if I’m accepted, that’s where I’ll be going to school.”
“You absolutely will not,” she reiterated, and my fingers tightened around my fork until the edges of it were cutting into my flesh.
My father spoke up, for which I was grateful. I wasn’t confident at standing up to my mom, and it was nice to have the backup.
“Karen, Mallori is an adult, and if this is what she chooses to do, we will support her.”
The harsh ropes binding me to my mother slowly began the unraveling process. They weren’t completely untied yet because this enmeshment had been going on for years, but they felt looser, for sure.
“I won’t stand for it,” she insisted. “She can’t be away from me.”
“I can’t live here forever, Mama,” I said, again keeping a firmness to my tone.
“It will be fine, Karen. Cam lives in Dallas so he can take care of her.” Noticing my brows inching closer together, he amended that. “Let me rephrase. Mallori is a grownup and can take care of herself, but it’s nice to know her older cousin is there if she needs anything. ”
Mama looked wholly unconvinced, but it was two against one. Plus, she rarely argued with my father. “We’ll see about that,” she muttered at the mostly uneaten pork chop on her plate.
“Speaking of cousins, I thought I might go visit with Collin this weekend.” Collin was Uncle Nolan’s second oldest. Uncle Nolan had four sons, but I’d always been closer to Collin than the others. He and Cam always let me tag along with them when I was younger.
“That’s over an hour away, and I don’t like you hanging out with Collin,” my mother said, lifting her chin.
“Why not?”
“He’s with that younger woman. It’s disgusting.”
Tilting my head, I gave her a sweet, faux-innocent smile. “What’s wrong with that? I didn’t think you minded an older man with a younger woman, Mama.” Her green eyes narrowed on my aqua-blue ones, and I had to fight to keep from snorting out a laugh. “Collin and Jade are only sixteen years apart. That’s much better than, oh, say… thirty-two years, isn’t it?”
If a person could literally shoot daggers from their eyeballs, I would be bleeding into my mashed potatoes right now. My father’s eyes were flitting back and forth between us in confusion.
“Who’s thirty-two years older? One of your friends isn’t dating an older man, is she, Mal? That’s way too big of an age gap for my liking.”
As I broke my staredown with my mother, I could see a hint of fear in her eyes. Because Bernard Moreau was thirty-two years older than me.
Patting my dad’s hand, I shook my head. “No, not one of my friends. Just a story I heard recently. ”
He chuckled. “In one of those romance books you read?”
“Something like that.”
“Okay, good. Because it would concern me that she’s being taken advantage of. Fiction is different from reality, and anyone that old can’t have good intentions with a woman that young.”
I could feel the heat emanating from my mother as I focused on my father’s pretty blue eyes. “Dad, I couldn’t agree more.”