36. Julieta
Chapter thirty-six
Julieta
“Nervous?”
“Oh, I’m a mess.” I chuckle. “Are you?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “You’re going to do great.”
We’re in the hotel room, warming up and getting ready. The doors open at six thirty, and the ProAm portion starts a little after seven. There’s a soft knock on the door and when we open it, Tara walks in.
“Tara?” I ask, shocked.
“Hi!”
“What are you doing here?”
“I wouldn’t miss this. Are you kidding? Besides, I’m here to help.” She sits down next to me, throwing her carry-on on the bed.
“How was your flight?” Logan asks.
“Not bad! Arizona isn’t too far.” She smiles.
“Tara,” I repeat, elated. “This is such a nice surprise.”
She reaches over to hug me. “I’m going to do your hair and makeup, okay?”
I look to Logan then back to her. “Are you sure?”
“Julie. I got on a plane to come here.” She laughs. “Yes, I promise I’m sure. This is what I’m here for. I'm going to make you look amazing.” She smiles like she thrives in this environment. She's used to it, of course, but maybe she's living through us this time around.
“I’m going to go walk around downstairs for a bit,” Logan says, then gives me a kiss on the forehead.
“Okay,” I oblige, and I let go and let her take over.
Once it’s time, I take one longer look in the mirror. Deep purple dress with a high slit, glittery flowers. Lush, red lips, my hair pulled back into some sort of intricate low bun that Tara styled. And the shoes. I can’t not feel powerful like this.
“Ready?” Logan calls out as he walks back into the room. He’s dressed in a suit. Fitted jacket, loose pants, the definition of handsome. But when he sees me, he stops short.
“How did I do?” I ask shyly.
“You look incredible.” His eyes roam across every inch of my body, from my feet to my exposed thigh, up to my face and my hair. He comes closer, holding my face in his hands, kissing my cheek lightly.
“Thank you for doing this with me,” I whisper, spilling my immense gratitude for this into my words.
He just smiles, as he says, “I’m so proud of you.”
I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t expecting to feel any more elated, now I wonder if I might possibly burst.
“You can’t say these things to me before we have to go on stage and dance.”
He just laughs, kissing me on the cheek again, and below my ear, and along my jaw.
“Oh, I brought you a snack." He holds out a bag of mixed nuts. "I'm sure you haven't eaten, and you need something.”
I just sigh in gratitude as I take the bag from him.
“Vamos a bailar.” He winks, linking his hand with mine as he leads me downstairs to the ballroom.
It’s the most magical thing I could have imagined. And I’m in it. I was worried it would be overwhelming, or intimidating, but in this ProAm part of it, everybody has been welcoming and kind.
This feels like being eight all over again, except this time I’m on the other side of it. And I’m with Logan, too.
“Maybe afterward, we can go celebrate,” he whispers.
“Oh?” My eyebrows lift.
“You and me. Somewhere quiet, somewhere nice. Relaxing.”
“Sounds like you’re describing my bed.” I smirk.
“Maybe I am,” he waggles his eyebrows and I laugh in response. He leans in to kiss me, out in the open, and this feels even more freeing than the dance has. This feels even more comfortable, even more familiar, even more like home.
We find Tara, Delfi, and T sitting at a table, waving excitedly, blowing kisses, taking pictures on their phones.
What started as a secret, something I found joy in behind everybody’s back, has become something to be shared. Joy that could no longer be contained, that found an outlet and support in everybody here right now.
In showing up for myself, they showed up for me, too, and that has been the best gift.
The announcers speak into the microphone, introducing the ProAm singles dance.
This is it.
I faintly hear the applause, the loud cheers from the friend table, because it’s drowned out by my own nerves. But then, a wave of calm. Like whatever happens after this, it doesn’t matter, because I’ve already won.
I squeeze Logan’s hand, moving in close to him. “I can’t believe I get to be here with you,” I say, a repeat of his words, and his gaze meets mine like he feels it too.
“From Florida, Number 110, Julieta Martí and Logan Beck,” the announcer calls out.
And as we walk out to the floor, I feel my grandmother with me for the first time. I feel her presence, a solid weight right beside me, like my very own approval.
We’re out on the floor with seven other couples, each of us spaced out enough to allow room for dancing. Logan gives me one quick smile, that small one that I’ve claimed as mine, and then the music begins.
Walking to Logan, ready to dance in these shoes, to this beautiful music: this is exactly where I was meant to be. This is somebody and something that was meant just for me.
His arm comes around me to settle in the middle of my back. Mine finds a place around his shoulders. Our palms meet, and he squeezes my hand just once, like a reminder that he’s here. That it’s just us.
And then we start to dance.
***
The awards are luckily handed out right after the dancing portion, moving the night along. Logan and I are standing on the stage with the other couples, awaiting news for first, second, and third place.
Third place goes to a couple from Texas, and they rush to grab their trophy, joyously cheering along the way.
“Second place goes to Number 110 from Florida, Julieta Martí and Logan Beck.”
There is polite applause, and then there’s our table, which has erupted in cheers. When I turn to look at Logan with wide eyes, he looks back in shock, and elation.
Second place. Second place!
We walk up to claim our trophy, and congratulate the other winners, too. When we walk off the stage, Logan wraps his arm around my waist, bringing me in for a tight hug, lifting me off the floor.
“You fucking did it!” His smile is the biggest I’ve ever seen, but mine must be mirroring it. One huge grin from ear to ear. My heart’s racing from what we did, from everything we’ve done, this wild journey from the beginning.
“That was amazing,” I gush.
“That was amazing,” I hear Tara say.
Agostina and Delfi come in for a big hug, too, squeezing me so tight. “We are so proud of you!”
“Ready for the next one?” Tara asks with a smirk.
“Oh, I think I got it out of my system.”
Logan laughs loudly, those eyes crinkling at the corners again. “So, this was it?”
“This was perfect.” I kiss him because I can’t help it, because I want to. “Thank you for this.”
“Thank you ,” he says. And he kisses me back, proudly, passionately, in front of everybody.
The very last time I saw my grandmother was on a family trip to Buenos Aires. I got to watch her dance there, and I felt so close and attuned to my culture and my family. I felt so understood, so complete. And I hadn’t felt that since. Not until Logan blindfolded me, and everything shifted. Before that everything had been, maybe naively, just something to do. Just something on a list, just a way to use the shoes. But that night it became bigger than everything else. It became bigger than me. The ghosts of everything before me led me to that very moment. They converged to build inside of me, overwhelming and terrifying.
And liberating.
It was like limbs that had fallen asleep, but bit by bit woke up. The tingling feeling sparkled throughout my body, bringing everything back to life. And I look around now and wonder, so fervently, how I ever could have slept through all this.
Those shoes, dropped on my lap, carried me to the studio, to the milonga, to Logan. To here.
My grandmother always said tango gave her the love of her life, but it seems for me, it gave me everything.