Chapter 20
Twenty
Denise
“You’re late.” Mom doesn’t even bother with greeting me when I enter the kitchen of her and Brian’s house.
She’s aggressively wiping the marble counters with a rag. Her usually neatly done blonde hair is frizzing up, as if she ran her fingers through it way too many times. Brian is standing near the fridge, putting away what I assume are the leftovers of the dinner I missed.
In my defense, I didn’t actually want to come. I just wanted them to stop asking.
I lean on the counter, my arms crossed. “Well, considering I wasn’t even planning on coming…you’re welcome.”
She stops cleaning, throwing the towel onto the counter. “I don’t know how to help you, Denise. If I could take this pain from you, I would.” Her voice cracks. “Just tell me what to do. Tell us how we can help you.”
My breath hitches in the back of my throat at her sudden confession. Brian gently steps closer, resting his hand on the small of my mother’s back.
“We’re just worried about you, Denise. We want to make sure you’re okay. Your dad says you’ve barely even talked to him.”
My eyes narrow and my entire body freezes. I’m still for a moment, looking back and forth between Brian and my mom. I knew coming here would lead to this sort of conversation. It’s why I’ve avoided coming for so long.
“Right,” I scoff, pushing off the counter, running my hands through my hair to keep from storming out of the room.
Honestly, that might be the best option right now, considering I’m on a roll of saying shitty things to people I care about.
“Because we’re the fucking Brady Bunch. What on earth would you guys even talk about? ”
“You and Amiyah,” Brian admits.
My pacing stops, taking a step back away from both of them. “Why?”
My mother laughs but there’s no humor. “Because we love you.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. Yeah, maybe a little too much.
“We’re just worried,” Brian adds softly.
“Oh my god,” I groan. “What is it with you guys? Amiyah and I are fine.”
“It’s not Amiyah we’re worried about.” Mom raises her voice.
My head snaps in their direction, jaw tightening. “You know, just because I’m not smiling and laughing all the time like you two, doesn’t mean I’m not happy.”
“Are you?” Brian asks.
“You don’t know me, Brian.”
“Well to be fair, you don’t give most people the chance to.
” He takes a single step toward me but he doesn’t move closer than that and I hate that he knows trying to reach out to me isn’t going to help.
Not like it would with Amiyah. “This isn’t about me.
Or your mom. Your dad or even Amiyah. I think you lost a little piece of yourself when you stopped dancing. ”
A little?
Most days it feels like I lost everything. My anchor, my sanity. My safe space. Sure, I can still dance, but not like I used to. Not in the way I crave. I can never go back to spending days upon days practicing just to be able to perform three-hour long shows.
And even if I did push through all that pain, I know it wouldn’t look or feel the same. There’ll always be a stutter in my movements. A pause in my leaps, falling out of my pirouettes more often than not.
My body is literally broken and to a dancer’s eyes, they’d be able to see it too. I never thought much while I was dancing. It’s the one place where I allowed myself to feel, but after everything that’s happened, all I seem to be able to do nowadays is stay stuck in my head.
Think about how I could fix this or what I’ll do if I can’t. Think about why nothing ever seems good enough for me. Think about why I’m so afraid to want things anymore.
It hurts to not be who you once were.
“You know what your dad told me after we found out you had to quit ballet?” Mom asks, her eyes glossy.
I shake my head, not being able to speak without fear of my voice cracking.
“He said, ‘You know, DD has always had a way of tearing herself down when things don’t go how she hoped. Like it’s her fault. Like maybe she wasn’t ever good enough to begin with.’”
My laugh comes out weak and wet. “Okay, I get it. You guys don’t have to psychoanalyze me.”
“I’m just saying, sweetheart, that it’s okay to not know what you want anymore.
Or to not have it together all the time.
It’s even okay to want things even if you don’t know if they’ll work out.
” She steals a quick glance in Brian’s direction before looking back at me.
“And even if things don’t go the way you planned, you need to be able to trust yourself that you’ll make it through it because knowing you, you’re never going to feel alive again if you don’t take chances. ”
It grows quiet in the kitchen. I can’t bring myself to look at either of them, so I continue to stare out the back window at the fairy lights that light up the backyard.
’Cause what can I say? That they’re right? That this isn’t about my mom or Brian. Or even my dad.
How can I admit that this ache in my chest is all because I don’t know who I am anymore? That I can’t let myself want anything without ruining it before it ruins me?
Mom and Brian have been there for me even when I shoved them away. Mom took care of me after surgery, no matter how hard I made it.
Brian literally pays for my tuition at Kingswell.
My car.
Apartment.
Unnecessarily expensive shopping sprees just because I know Brian wouldn’t bat an eye. He’s a surgeon. Sure, he makes good money. But I have not only taken advantage of that, but also of their patience.
I really am an awful daughter.
“We invited you over for dinner tonight because one of Brian’s coworker’s wives is opening a ballet studio in a few months.” Mom is the first to break the silence.
Brian nods his head. “He was talking about it and I mentioned that I thought you’d be a good fit. Said he’d be able to get you an interview. I think her name was Kimberly. He said she’s been teaching professionally for years.”
Kimberly who’s been teaching ballet professionally for years? There’s no possibility that he could be talking about who I think he is. Could he be?
“Is her last name Monet?” My voice shakes but now for an entirely different reason.
He nods and my heart drops.
I have a chance at teaching at The Kimberly Monet’s ballet school? She’s one of the most beloved and impressive ballet teachers there is but she won’t just teach anyone. She’s known for being extremely selective with who she teaches and now she’s opening a school right here in Ellingbrooke?
Brian gently smiles. “But if that’s not what you want to do anymore, I’ll tell him not to bother. I just wanted you to have a shot at it…if you still…you know.”
Loved ballet?
Yeah, I do. More than anything. I try so hard not to think about it.
Or what could’ve been. How eight months have changed my whole life and the things I want.
My mind was so stuck on the act of never getting a chance at my ballet career that I don’t think I ever considered other ways I could make it happen.
Sure, I’d never be able to become one of the greats but maybe I can help other little kids.
I’m not saying I’d be Miss Honey or anything, but the idea of teaching instead of performing doesn’t sound like the end of the world. Not like how not dancing at all feels.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll hate it. Maybe I won’t even get the job but I’m so tired of waiting around for my spark to come back. It feels like I’ve been wasting away, just waiting for something. I don’t even know what, but I thought when it happened I would.
Maybe this is that something. Maybe it’s nothing.
But I can’t wallow away in anger anymore. I need to claw my way out.
“Why’d you do that?” I ask, not able to fathom Brian ever thinking about me outside of my mom or even Amiyah. I’ve never exactly made that easy to do.
“I know you don’t believe me when I tell you, but I do love you, Denise.” He chuckles softly, pulling my mother into his side. “We both do.”
I think I’ve always been aware of that, I just felt too broke. Too incomplete to believe that I deserved them, or anyone, to care about me when I hadn’t done anything to deserve it. I’ve been selfish, mean, and angry. And I’m just so tired of pushing everyone away.
“I’m sorry.” I chew on my bottom lip, really fighting the urge to cry. “I’ve been kind of an asshole.”
They both laugh. My mom steps closer, resting her hands on my cheeks.
I lean in, suddenly remembering the feeling of the times I’d be upset growing up and my mother would soothe me in the same way.
Her perfume still smells faintly of powder and peaches, reminding me of the summers she’d chase me and Amiyah through the sprinklers in our front yard.
“You don’t have to apologize for having feelings, sweetheart.” She kisses my forehead. “But it is okay to let people in. Life is sometimes a little easier that way.”
Yeah, I just wish I realized that sooner.