by Debra Doxer
His words slice into me. He just took my greatest fears and gave them substance, found my weak spot and stabbed it with a hot poker.
“You’re such a bastard.” I push the words past the tightness in my throat.
Tag releases a heavy sigh. “I’m just being honest. I’m sorry if the truth hurts.”
With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me to stare at the empty space he once filled. He couldn’t just say he wants to be with someone else or that things aren’t working between us. He had to make it my fault and rip me to shreds in the process.
When someone approaches and stops in front of me, I exhale and lean back against the wall.
“Are you okay?”
Deedee’s concerned face hovers before me and I nod, but it isn’t the truth.
“What happened? What did he say?”
“Nothing.” There’s no way I want to repeat Tag’s words to Deedee or anyone else, but they continue to echo in my head.
“Nikki, come on. Did you let him have it, at least? Call him any interesting names?” She examines me closer and scowls. “No. You didn’t. You’re too nice for that. Where is he? I’ll go do it for you.”
I grab her sleeve. “Please. No more drama. It’s been a long day.”
She gives me a sympathetic look, not unlike the one Tag just wore, except hers is genuine. It doesn’t turn my stomach.
“Come on,” she says, reaching for my hand. “I’m taking you home with me. Ian can go entertain himself for the night. I’ve got wine and free cable I steal from my neighbor. We’ll hang out, and then on Sunday morning, you’re taking Brandi to the park for a walk, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
I laugh, but the sound is hollow. “First I have to go out there and show everyone I’m okay.”
The truth is, I just want to go home and forget what Tag said because a quiet voice inside me keeps whispering he’s right.
There was a time when I believed in myself, but that time is long past. Ballet is too competitive, too cutthroat to encourage praise, but criticism exists in abundance.
Dennis fosters a brutal atmosphere in the rehearsal studio. He thinks it makes us work harder, but I think it’s breaking me down little by little, day by day, until someday soon I’ll have nothing but hate for the thing in life I once loved the most.
I peel my eyes open and see Renee, a nude silhouette, tiptoe around my bedroom in the dark as she picks her clothes up off the floor. She doesn’t want to wake me, wants to leave without a word.
My beautiful neighbor is a puzzle I can’t quite put together. Sometimes she comes on too strong and acts as if there’s more between us than there really is. Other times, she pulls away and becomes distant. Most often Renee pulls away, and it’s just as well.
“I thought your sitter was doing an overnight.”
She startles and places a hand over her chest. “Sorry, Cole. Did I wake you?”
“It’s okay.” I push myself into a sitting position to see her better.
“Isn’t your son coming in the morning?” she asks as she tugs her shirt over her mussed dark hair.
It’s an excuse. She knows better. “He’s not coming until lunchtime. I thought I mentioned that.”
“Oh, right,” she says, continuing to dress as she nearly trips over her own feet and then rights herself with a soft giggle.
I wonder if the wine she drank last night is still in her system.
“Even so,” she says, “I have a lot to do tomorrow. Langley needs a whole new wardrobe. She’s growing like a weed.”
“Kids will do that.”
Langley is Renee’s little girl, a sweet kid with long brown curls, but she’s quieter than most of the kids I’m used to, just like her mother is quiet. I don’t know who Langley’s father is or if Renee is divorced or ever got married. I only know that no one who could be the kid’s father ever comes around. No one really comes around at all. It looks like Renee and Langley are on their own.
When I ask Renee about herself, she speaks in generalizations. I know she has a mother who’s ill and a sister she doesn’t like much. I can’t blame her, based on what she’s told me about this sister.
Langley proudly says her aunt is a dancer with the San Francisco Ballet Company, and she obviously idolizes her. Renee teaches dancing to kids at a local studio, which makes me wonder if jealousy taints Renee’s opinion of her sister. Even so, from what I can see, this sister never visits, never comes to see the niece who talks about her all the time. According to Renee, she never helps out with their mother either.
When you leave your family behind and don’t look back, it says something about your character. I’ve met too many people like that. I was married to a woman like that. Never forget where you come from, and if you have the means, give back when you can. My parents ingrained that in us, and my siblings and I live by it.
Renee pulls on her skirt, and I admire the delicate swell of her hips. She’s a beautiful woman, but every time I’m with her she makes me feel as if I’m hurting her. Not physically, but emotionally, as if she doesn’t want me anywhere near her the moment after she comes. I dig deep, looking for some feeling that goes beyond lust and sympathy for Renee, but it’s just not there.
When she’s finished dressing, I stand up and pull on my jeans. “I’ll walk you home.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. It’s what? Thirty feet to my front door?”
There’s a smile on her lips but she seems flustered, brushing hair away from her face that wasn’t there in the first place. It’s a strange reaction, considering what we just did together in my bed.
“I want to.” I smile casually in hopes of putting her at ease. The more I think about it, the more I decide something happened to this woman, something terrible.
An awkward silence ensues as we walk through my house, and I almost wish I’d stayed asleep in bed the way she obviously hoped I would.
I agree to say good-bye from my front door, but only because I can see her house from there, and I intend to make sure she gets home safely.
When I automatically pull her in for a casual good-bye kiss, her body stiffens and I think, This is it. This is the last time. I don’t know why she’s here. Maybe she’s using me for something, but whatever the reason, I don’t think I’m helping. It feels more like I’m hurting.
I watch Renee until she disappears safely inside her house. Then I go into my kitchen and sit down at the table. It’s two in the morning, and dealing with Renee leaves me feeling empty. This was definitely the last time.
I look out the window, toward the old maple tree that grows in the middle of the backyard. When I bought this house, I knew that strong, thick trunk was perfect for a tree house. Derek and I are designing it together. We got the frame up the last time he was here, and I promised not to work on it until he comes back again. The promise was unnecessary because I don’t intend to cut a single piece of wood or hammer one nail without my son by my side. I wish he could be with me all the time, but thanks to Celeste, that’s not possible anymore.
Staying married to Celeste for Derek’s sake was a sacrifice I was willing to make, but my ex-wife didn’t feel the same way. When my hockey career ended, I had a feeling she wouldn’t stick around. I saw the writing on the wall.
She moved on to a teammate of mine because she didn’t intend to lose the good life she had, filled with parties, cheering fans, and championships. Celeste wants the limelight. She doesn’t want CT scans and rehab, or fans who move on to other players in the blink of an eye. Instead of being supportive, she was angry at me because I got hurt and her life changed.
Now Celeste and Luke, my former right defenseman, are getting married. Derek spends half his time with them and the other half with me. If I think about it too hard, it burns me up and makes me want to do something drastic, like take Derek and run. But I can’t do that. He needs his mother. So I try not to think about it and instead make my time with Derek count. Celeste was a mistake, but because of her
I have Derek, and I could never think of him as a mistake.
Before going back upstairs, I clean up from last night, wash out the wineglasses and put the plates that held our takeout Thai food in the dishwasher. When I toss the cartons in the garbage, I spot the empty bottle of wine sitting at the bottom of the pail. I know we didn’t finish the wine last night, and I left the bottle on the counter before we went upstairs. Now it’s empty and lying in the garbage.
Did Renee come back down and drink it after I fell asleep? Was that why she looked tipsy before she left?
I press my lips together as I push the pail back under the sink and wonder what demons are chasing Renee, not that I can ask her. She wants me inside her body but not her life. It’s for the best since Renee needs more than I can give her.
I reach for my phone and pull up my schedule. I’m supposed to pick Derek up this afternoon, but I can’t remember what time. It’s in my phone, along with everything else I can’t afford to lose track of. Sometimes trying to recall things is like grasping a tiny thread, frayed at the end and unraveling more each day.
One day it will become so bare that it slips from my fingertips and disappears entirely.
The beeping of my cell phone drags me out of a deep sleep, and the first thing I’m aware of is hot, dank breath moistening my cheek.
What the hell? It takes a moment to orient myself, but once I do, I smile. Siegfried.
I turn off the alarm on my phone as Siegfried jumps down to the floor. The sound of a seventy-pound dog hitting the hardwood makes me wince when I think of my downstairs neighbors and all the new noises that must be coming from my apartment. The fact that they haven’t complained is a surprise.
Then again, I have no idea who lives down there. I move too often to get to know my neighbors, always on the lookout for short-term cheaper rentals and ways to save money, but I respect their tolerance. I just hope it holds up, otherwise I’ll have to pack up and move again.
You’d think the world of ballet would pay better, but I barely make enough to live on. Every dollar I can save counts, which is why buying a dog was a really dumb idea. But I can’t seem to care when Siegfried licks my face and brings a slobbery tennis ball back to me.
Now that I’m awake, Siegfried is undoubtedly sitting by his bowl in the kitchen, waiting for his breakfast. With him out of the room, it’s perfectly quiet, as if the rest of the world is asleep the way I should be so early on a Sunday morning. But I’m excited to get to the youth center today. I always look forward to going, but today is different because I’m introducing the kids to my new old dog. New to me, old in dog years.
Deedee’s plan for me to walk her dog in the park for the purpose of picking up single men didn’t go exactly as planned. Instead of meeting eligible, animal-loving single guys, walking her dog made me want a dog of my own.
When I told Deedee I was going to the shelter to get one, she expected me to return with a carbon copy of Brandi, a pint-sized puppy who rides in purses and daintily nibbles snacks from your hand. Siegfried is the anti-Brandi. He’s more likely to eat your purse and leave a gallon of slobber behind.
At the shelter, Siegfried stared at me with the saddest eyes I’d ever seen, tracking me from the moment I walked in. My heart actually beat harder when his dark, watery gaze connected with mine, as if he was silently asking me to give him a home, not to leave him there the way so many others had done. The woman at the shelter didn’t have much hope of anyone adopting an older dog like him. His former owner was elderly and passed away, which was the only reason Siegfried ended up there.
When she told me his name, I knew his lucky day had arrived. Prince Siegfried is the name of the lead character from my favorite ballet, Swan Lake. It felt like Siegfried was meant to be mine. I know it sounds silly and sentimental, but I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving that place without him, and I feared what could happen to him if I did.
It’s been a week since Siegfried moved into my tiny apartment, and we’re still getting to know each other. For example, Siegfried is learning that I will not get up in the dead of night to give him snacks, and I’m learning that he likes to trip me. My apartment may be too small for the both of us because he tends to step directly in front of me when I least expect it, forcing me to stop abruptly in midstride or nearly tumble over him. Once I actually did trip over him and landed hard on my side. He then proceeded to whine and lick my cheek as if it wasn’t all his fault.
I fill the dog bowl in the kitchen with food, which I know will disappear in under ten seconds, and then I hit the shower. After I’m dressed, I make sure to put my pointe shoes in my bag. The kids love to watch me dance in them. There are a handful of girls around my niece’s age at the center on Sunday mornings. They always ask me to teach them a new ballet step when I come in.
Familiar regret washes over me when I think of my niece, Langley, and my sister. It’s been almost four months since I’ve seen them. I’ve spent just as much time trying to see them, but Renee always has an excuse.
The fact that she doesn’t want to see me is painfully obvious, although she never says it so bluntly. What’s worse is she keeps me out of Langley’s life too. She goes so far as to plan Langley’s birthday party each year when the company is traveling for a performance. It’s as if she looks at my schedule on the company website to ensure I won’t be in town.
Now I finally have plans to see my sister and niece, and each time I receive a text or a phone call, I’m afraid it’s Renee canceling. After keeping her distance for months, she called out of the blue and invited me to stay with them next weekend. I’m so thankful for the invitation, I don’t want to ruin it by questioning her too much. Instead, I’m determined to enjoy my time with Langley and wait for the right opportunity to talk to Renee.
Yesterday, the gift shop I pass on my way home from the studio had a pink jewelry box in the display window, and it made me think of Langley. When you open it, Princess Aurora from Sleeping Beauty pops up and pirouettes. It’s the perfect place for Langley to keep the necklace I sent for her birthday, and I plan to give it to her when I see her next weekend.
The familiar sound of Siegfried’s food bowl hitting the wall tells me he’s still hungry. He likes to lick the bowl clean, and the force of his tongue pushes it across the floor until it hits the first impediment. Then he continues to lick it until I remove it or refill it.
It would be too much of an imposition to bring Siegfried to my sister’s house, but I hate to leave him so soon after bringing him home. Thankfully, Deedee agreed to keep him while I’m gone, something I’m sure she did grudgingly, although she pretended she didn’t mind. I’ve taken Brandi enough times to earn some goodwill.
Once Siegfried’s leash is clipped on, I grab my shoulder bag and an envelope addressed to my sister. It contains the monthly check I send her to use toward our mother’s care. I could probably afford to live somewhere nicer if I didn’t send her money every month, but Renee handles everything. The least I can do is contribute financially.
But I’m always careful to make the check out to my sister and not my mother. If Renee decides to spend the money on herself or Langley, that’s okay with me. As a single mother, she may need it sometimes. If so, I hope she uses it.
All I know is Renee cashes the checks each month, which takes the edge off my guilt.
“Siegfried, no!” I shout, but not before Lisanne, the lovely middle-aged woman who runs the youth center, walks right into Siegfried’s unmoving mass and tips the tray of snacks she was carrying.
“Are you okay?” I rush toward them, already bending to pick up the spilled packages of cookies and fruit.
“Where did he come from?” Lisanne asks, scratching her head.
Maybe it’s not my apartment that’s too small for Siegfried. Maybe it’s the whole world.
“He has a knack for stepping right in front of you when you least expect it. I’m so sorry.” Awkwardly, I balance the oranges in my arms. While I’m still hunched down, Siegfri
ed approaches and licks my cheek.
I roll my eyes while Lisanne laughs softly and shakes her head. “Was he a service dog?”
“A service dog?” I ask, standing with the oranges piled in my arms.
“For a visually impaired person, maybe? I hear they’re trained to step in front of their owners if there’s some kind of danger in their path.”
I squint at Siegfried curiously. “The shelter didn’t mention that. They just said the owner was elderly and had no family that wanted Siegfried. I would have thought they’d mention it if he were a service dog.”
“Well, he seems like a nice dog. Keeps you on your toes.” She chuckles, eyeing the pointe shoes that hang from my shoulder.
I smile at the pun. With the snacks back on the tray and an innocent-looking Siegfried following behind us, we walk into the common room where the children are gathered.
Their chatter pauses when they spot us, and my heart warms at their welcoming smiles.
Lisanne and I hand out the cookies and fruit, but my eyes continue to dart in Siegfried’s direction. I wonder how he’ll handle a roomful of noisy, rambunctious children, and I’m relieved to see that he maintains his usual unflappable demeanor as the kids approach. In fact, as more children crowd around Siegfried, I realize he has the perfect temperament for this, sedate and gentle. All the noise and attention doesn’t bother him at all.
“What’s his name?”
I glance over to see Mia standing there, holding a chocolate chip cookie in one hand as she points at Siegfried with the other.
At twelve years old, Mia is tall, graceful, and perfect for dance. I suggested to her mother that Mia apply for a scholarship with the company’s youth division, but she never filled out the paperwork. When I went so far as to show up at her house and offer to help her mother with the paperwork, the woman flatly refused.
Mia was there and so was her brother. He had a hockey stick in his hand and was dressed in padding and a uniform. I couldn’t help but think, She’ll let her son play hockey but she won’t let her daughter take dance?
