4 #2
He looks at me quizzically, and thankfully that’s when the song wraps up and I take the opportunity to twist and applaud the band. I have to give it up for Audrey: She’s great and has found some amazing musicians. Their sound is awesome. She bows, hamming it up, and I can’t help but laugh.
The band starts their next song, and I take a moment to watch them play. Then I spy the group behind me receiving their food orders—maybe that burger would make a good bar bistro photo for my account—
“This band is fantastic,” Leo says, reminding me I’m supposed to be on a date with him and not daydreaming about food. “She’s such a talented singer,” he says again about Audrey.
He’s not wrong. I follow his gaze. Audrey is blowing kisses at the crowd as she sways during an instrumental break.
I tilt my head at Santa, who’s banging out his part on the keys like a pro.
Wow, he’s really good. As they wrap up their last song, I can’t help staring at Santa—there’s something familiar in the way he bounces to the music.
“Hey, do you want to dance?” Leo asks.
I hesitate at his outstretched hand. Because I’m on a mission to have a date for Noche Buena dinner tomorrow night, I accept with a tight smile.
We shuffle our way to the stage, where other people are already dancing.
I expect Leo to break into a side-to-side two-step shuffle, but as he starts swinging his arms, attempting the Floss, I know I’m in for a wild ride.
He’s so into his moves, he doesn’t even stop when the band finishes its song and the tavern switches to house music over its speakers.
As Leo goes into the Dougie, I have to give it to him: He didn’t look that flexible at first glance.
Soon Leo the Dentist is surrounded by a crowd cheering him on.
Usually grinding and dentist have to do with teeth, but with Leo they also include the dance floor.
I step back to give him space as he performs for his admirers.
Since I’m clearly not the center of attention, I don’t think it’s rude to return to our table to get my drink.
I cast a glance at Leo, who’s doing a move with his hips that I’ve never seen and think would be blurred out if he were on television.
Okay, I’m impressed. Maybe I’ll order myself another and take in the view.
A hand taps my shoulder, making me jump. “Can I join you?” I twist and find myself staring at Santa. My chest flutters. Up close I recognize those amber eyes, which are warm like the glow of a Christmas tree when all the lights in the house are off.
Santa removes his beard and grins at me.
“Robbie!” I laugh. Now it makes sense why the music was so good. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you on the stage.”
“Really? I can’t imagine why.” He rubs his fake belly and then reaches underneath his red top and removes a pillow. I blush at the flash of skin… and is that a six-pack?
A club mix version of “All I Want for Christmas Is You” starts playing over the speakers. I chuckle as Robbie throws a hand up and starts grooving side to side, biting his lip in deep concentration. I wonder if he remembers we used to dance to this song when we were kids.
“Come on, MGS, let’s see your moves,” he teases. I flush, hearing his old nickname for me. I check on Leo again, who’s doing some kind of pop-locking thing with another dancer, and figure he’s occupied. At least with Robbie, it’ll be easy to keep up with his dance moves.
I carry my drink high as we wind our way to the stage.
As we bop to the beat, the shock at not having seen Robbie all these years makes my head spin.
Yet from the way he beams, he doesn’t appear as confused as I feel.
“I saw the expression on your face while I was onstage,” he says over the music.
“You had that look like the time you had to play Mrs. Darling in Peter Pan.”
I recall the memory vividly. I thought I was for certain going to get Wendy, not her mom. “I did not want that role.”
“No… you weren’t designed for supporting roles,” he says, more to himself.
I bite my lip, pretending I didn’t hear him. “So, you’ve come to talk to me because I reminded you about our fourth-grade spring production?”
“And because you looked like you needed a good laugh.”
I tug at my skirt, wondering if it was obvious how awkward I felt around Leo. “Thanks for the assist.”
Robbie smiles. “No problem. You sing lead.”
“And you’ll be backup,” I say, completing our childhood phrase, which meant we had each other’s backs. Our eyes lock, but he quickly looks away and the warmth of the moment is gone.
“So, how’s your family?” he asks, clearly changing the subject. But I get it. It’s weird being so friendly after all these years.
I shrug. “The Silvas haven’t changed much—just our usual chaos during this time of year,” I say.
He nods. Robbie spent a lot of holidays with my family when we were kids.
I perk up. “But some good news! Juliet’s pregnant.”
Robbie’s face brightens. “That’s wonderful. I can’t believe it. JuJuBear is all grown-up.”
I laugh at the nickname we gave my cousin one summer. He shakes his head, looking pleased, as if Juliet was his own cousin.
“Speaking of growing up, I heard you were touring recently with your Broadway production,” I say. “So why are you at Evening Star Tavern playing with Audrey?”
He smirks. “Keeping tabs on me?”
My face heats. It’s not like I’m stalking him or anything.
“Other than foodie posts, I’m not really on social media,” I say.
And it’s true, lately my feed has been an endless parade of fancy jobs, promotions, engagement rings, sexy vacations, and cute babies.
All things to remind me how I still haven’t made it to the adult world yet.
Robbie nods. “Yeah, it’s been super intense. Six months on the road every year for the past three years. And when I’m not touring, it’s eight shows a week in New York.”
“Sounds amazing,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. I remember when we imagined that future together in his family’s music store… It’s nice to see he’s followed through on his dreams.
“Or completely exhausting,” he adds with a wry grin. “And no, this is not my regular gig. Just helping Audrey out since she was down a keyboard player this week. He got into some accident making a cheeseboard.”
“I hate it when that happens,” I tease.
“Well, they do say cheese is responsible for the most deaths in this country.”
“Only if you count clogged arteries… or being smothered by your cheesy jokes,” I deadpan.
“MGS for the kill!” He cackles. I join him as he laughs long and hard. He wipes a tear from his eye. “And what about you? What have you been up to?” he asks. “Are you home for long?”
Here we go. The inevitable “status” question.
When I was a girlfriend, it was easy to talk about my exes’ accomplishments, but on my lonesome, my résumé is on life support.
I take a deep breath. “I’m here just for the holidays.
I live near the university. I just finished grad school this past semester, and now I’m working on my certificate to be a speech therapist.” I decide to leave out that I’m single, broke, and wildly underqualified for adulthood.
Meanwhile, Robbie looks like I told him I won the Nobel Peace Prize. “Speech therapy? That’s perfect,” he says.
I agree but wonder why he thinks so. “Perfect how?”
“You’re a singer, Marygrace. It’s fitting you want a career that helps others find their voice,” he says.