Magnolia
JULY
Ayawn escapes me as I dig the spoon into my coffee grounds. I scoop out a dose and exhale, lips blowing an exaggerated raspberry. Man, I'm tired.
I roll my ankle around, grimacing when I try to stretch out my left foot. It was terribly swollen last night, and I could tell I tweaked it at some point during the performance. Thankfully, it lasted through the show, and I have the next two days to sort -of rest.
I peek at the clock, wondering if I have time to ice it before class today. My phone rings, and I press the lid back on my container of coffee grounds, reaching for the phone and answering, tucking it against my shoulder for balance.
“Hi, Nana.”
“How’s my favorite granddaughter?”
Shoving the coffee grounds back into the cabinet, I reach for the carafe, moving to the sink to fill it with water. “Good. Tired. Sore. The usual.”
“Sore?” Her voice hitches.
“I think I tweaked my foot again last night. Nothing major.”
“You’re off today, right? No practice or class?”
“I’m supposed to teach the junior ballerinas today, but it’ll be fine. I can ice my foot and rest this morning, and I’ll pull out my old brace for class today.”
She sighs, a little hint of annoyance in her voice. “I know you love to teach, sweetheart, but I wish you would use your rest days to actually rest. I worry about you.”
Nana has repeated this line in every conversation we have on my days off.
When Lukas and I broke up, I needed something to fill the void both in my heart and my schedule.
My company normally gets a break from July to September, and I used to try to see Lukas or go home to Copper Ridge and spend a long vacation with my family.
When we broke up, the idea of returning to Copper Ridge, to the town where I fell in love with him and a town that holds so many memories, was too painful.
Much to Nana's dismay, I volunteer my time to teach some classes for the junior ballet program. The same program I started out in when I first was accepted to the Paris Opera Ballet. I’m only about ten years older than most of the girls but seeing the passion they have and the skill they’re arriving with at such young ages still astounds me.
“I’ll be okay, I promise. And hey, I’m the one that should be saying I’m worrying about you.”
Nana returned home last week after her stint in the rehab center.
She finally got clearance from therapy and the doctors, and even though she grumbled at the idea of switching from her precious cane to a walker, she agreed to take it home.
We’re certain it was just to please the rest of us and that she’ll toss it in a closet somewhere and pretend she doesn’t need it.
“No need to worry about me, sweetheart. I’m back where I belong. And besides, how on earth am I supposed to be lonely when I have your parents and Lukas stopping by to see me nearly every single day?”
I smile at that, and I’m sure she can hear it over the phone.
Lukas was already stopping by her house once or twice a week prior to her accident.
Now that she’s home, he’s taken it upon himself to stop there nearly every evening to check on her before bed, and again on the weekends.
My mom and dad check on her every morning, and my dad said that nana hasn’t been afraid to tell him how annoying it is.
“Can’t blame him, he loves you, Nana. And you scared the hell out of all of us with that fall.”
She doesn’t have a cocky response to that.
My coffee pot dings, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee fills my lungs. I open the cabinet door in front of me, wincing when I rise on my toes to pull out a mug.
“When do you think you’ll make it home next?” she asks, changing the subject.
“I wish I knew.”
Spending my break teaching class five days a week doesn’t leave much spare time.
When the season starts back up in the fall, it’ll be class and rehearsal and performance filling my schedule once again.
The holidays are the busiest, and while most people get a break to go home and spend time with loved ones around Christmas, I live too far away to take a real trip. “I’m homesick, Nana.”
My feelings of homesickness aren’t new, really.
They’ve wavered off and on ever since I moved to Paris.
When Lukas and I were together, I was homesick for him and for Copper Ridge, along with my family.
But knowing he was in the same boat, either traveling around the country to play baseball or overseas in the Marines, seemed to help us.
We could lean on each other, both homesick for a place that we knew we wanted to return to eventually.
When we broke up, a feeling of loneliness took hold on me like I’ve never felt before. I threw myself into my work, and yeah, it has paid off in spades, but lately, that feeling has been back, and I’m unable to shake it.
“Is this just because you made a quick trip home, or because the holidays are coming up?”
The holidays apart are always the hardest. My family loves to go all out for the holidays; it was always my favorite time as a kid.
Once I made ballet my career, I realized that I’d likely be performing Christmas Eve and Christmas day for the foreseeable future.
My parents have traveled to see me at some point each December, but it isn’t the same as spending actual Christmas day in Copper Ridge.
“Both.”
“Oh?” she prods. “We’d love to have you back, honey, but I know your place is over there for now.”
I purse my lips together, shifting from foot to foot as I stand at the counter.
“Do you ever think about moving back?”
Nana normally doesn’t ask me about that.
She’s always been my biggest supporter, even when I told her I was moving to Paris.
I could tell it hurt her, knowing that I wouldn’t be home to visit as often as we’d both like, knowing that we’d miss out on key years in both of our lives, but she knew it was what I wanted, what I needed, so she forced a smile and told me how proud she was of me.
“I don’t know what I want,” I whisper. “Well, I do, but I don’t. I want to be here. I want to keep dancing for the ballet, and I love Paris, but … but I miss home.” I miss her, my parents, and my small town. I miss Lukas, his family. Ivy. “I wish I could have both worlds.”
She’s quiet, and I can imagine her nodding along. She’s probably sitting in her recliner, resting in front of the living room window so she can keep an eye on the neighborhood. “Well, I think when the day comes where you’re ready for a change, you’ll know it.”
“Think so?”
“I do.” Her voice is calm, firm. Sure. “I think if you’re still questioning which path to take, then maybe you truly don’t know.
But there will come a day when you realize what you’re doing isn’t working for you anymore.
It might be next month, it might be another ten years from now, and then you’ll have a decision to make.
But the important part is that home will always be here when you’re ready. ”
The bridge of my nose stings, and I nod. “You’re probably right.”
“Always am, dear. Always am.”