by Linde, K. A.
“What’s happening here tonight?” I asked, gracefully sliding out of the passenger side.
“Nothing. Just the normal high school crowd.”
I arched an eyebrow but followed him inside and immediately saw what he meant. The restaurant was packed with high school–aged kids sitting around with ice cream cones and gossiping like their life depended on it.
“Is it always like this?” I asked as we got in line.
“Pretty much.”
“Huh. We used to go to Holly Hop,” I said before I thought better of it.
He froze momentarily, and then the tension disappeared. “Holly Hop is all the rage. Probably still my favorite ice cream in town, but Braum’s is open later, and their ice cream is affordable.”
“Hence the high school crowd.”
“Yep.”
The frenzied worker stepped up to the counter. “Has someone helped you?”
“No. I’ll take a single scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough in a waffle cone.”
“Got it.” She looked to Isaac. “And you?”
“A scoop of chocolate-toffee and chocolate-chunk chocolate cheesecake in a chocolate waffle cone.”
The woman dashed away to prepare our orders. I couldn’t help but laugh at him.
“You didn’t want pizza, but you ordered that?”
“Hey, ice cream is always a good idea.”
“Confirmed,” I said with another laugh.
I hadn’t laughed like this in…years. I had friends in the city and, of course, all the women that I danced with, who I loved. We had a good time, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t Isaac.
“Plus, chocolate is the flavor of life. Aly inherited that gene from me, I’m afraid. When we come here, she always ends up with chocolate smeared all over her face.”
I giggled. “I could see that. She seems like a precocious kid.”
“You have no idea.” He glanced away. “Sorry to keep bringing her up. I’m sure that’s not—”
“Hey, don’t do that. I haven’t seen you in sixteen years. If you didn’t talk about your kid, I’d think there was something wrong with you.”
Isaac nodded thoughtfully and then took the ice cream offered. He stepped forward to pay, but I got in front of him.
“I can get mine,” I said quickly.
I didn’t want him to think this was a…date. Or anything. He didn’t have to pay for me.
But he scooted me to the side with an eye roll. “It’s three dollars, Pey. I think I can handle it.”
I opened my mouth to object, but he’d already tapped his credit card. And that was that. Well, all right then.
We took our ice cream to the very back of the restaurant, farthest away from the crowd of rowdy teenagers. Another family seemed to have the same idea. They sat in silence against the windows as “Last Christmas” finished playing, and the Pentatonix version of “Hallelujah” trickled in through the speakers.
I nibbled on my cone as Isaac devoured his. It felt strangely reminiscent of old times.
Ice cream had been our first “date.” We’d both been freshman in high school. The very first week of school, Isaac approached me and asked me if I wanted to get ice cream. We’d gone to different middle schools, and I had no idea who he was. But he did it in front of all of my friends, and I was too embarrassed to say no. Who was this kid with this much self-confidence?
Well, it had turned out to be a dare. Not that it made the ice cream date any less wonderful.
Our parents had dropped us off at Holly Hop that weekend, and he insisted on paying. We got to know each other and found that we had a lot in common. We liked the same TV shows, we read the same novels, we both had athletic aspirations, and, well, he was really cute. Monday, when we got back to school and I found out the whole thing had been a joke, I cried in the girls’ bathroom and vowed never to date again.
We all know how well that went. He’d sent a letter that said he was really sorry and asked if I’d be his girlfriend with little squares underneath it to check yes or no. I’d checked yes…and the rest was history.
“So, what happened with your soccer career? I know that you wanted to play professionally. I’m not on social media or anything, so I haven’t kept up with anyone’s life.”
I didn’t say that I’d avoided his life in particular. Thinking of him after I’d left was too hard.
“Well, not much to tell, honestly,” he said after he finished his bite of ice cream. “I went to SMU for two years on scholarship. The first year, I loved it. I was getting recognized by scouts for the MLS, and I even spoke to a training group for Barcelona.” He shrugged. “But then SMU got a new coach for my sophomore year, and we…didn’t see eye to eye.”
“Ugh!”
“Yeah. He stopped starting me. My prospects dwindled. It was a year of turmoil and so…I left. I couldn’t stick around and be hamstrung by a coach who had killed my chance at doing this full-time. I transferred into Tech and played on their club team. It wasn’t the same, but I got my degree, and I work for Wright now.”
“Wow. I’m so sorry, Isaac.”
He waved me away. “That was a long time ago. I’m fine with it now. If I’d taken a different path, then I might not have Aly, and she’s my life.”
His face glowed when he talked about his daughter. It made something in my chest tighten.
“Did you…meet her mom at Tech?” I asked carefully.
He looked up in surprise.
“Piper told me what happened.”
“Ah…that makes sense.” He finished off his cone with one final bite. “Abby and I met at SMU actually. She was from Dallas, and her brother was on the soccer team. When she graduated, she moved to Lubbock to work for Wright. We met up again at work and hit it off. We got married and had a kid, and then she was gone.”
Without thinking, I reached across the table and grasped his hand. “That must have been devastating.”
He gave me a wan smile, squeezed my hand back, and then withdrew it. “It was. It was pretty rough at the time. My parents helped a lot. They still do actually. Abby’s parents live in Dallas, and they help out when they can. But they’re not here, so it’s different.” He shook off the sadness that had washed over him and returned to his regular self. “That was five years ago, and I’ll never regret having Aly. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“You’re lucky to have her.”
“I haven’t had much luck in my life, but if I did, then she would be it.” He laughed and ran a hand back through his red hair. His green eyes were bright when he made eye contact with me again. “Enough about me. Tell me about you. I might or might not have seen that you were dating someone in New York. Some famous ballet dancer?”
I flushed at the words. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”
“Peyton, your life is sometimes chronicled in celeb mags, and you had a piece in Time magazine.”
“Oh God,” I said, covering my face. “You read that article?”
“Don’t be embarrassed. It was great. I would have never known that you had a career-threatening injury without it. It’s a miracle that you’re even dancing right now.”
He wasn’t wrong about that. I cringed at the thought of the start of last season when I’d been performing the lead for Giselle and something in my knee popped. To this day, I had no idea how I’d finished that show. But I hadn’t been allowed on pointe again for six months. Six. Months.
I’d thought my career was over. But after intense rehab, I was finally back full-time again. Who cared that my knee still screamed after every performance? A ballerina knew only one truth: your days as a dancer were limited. I intended to use every one that I had.
“I forget sometimes that everyone knows about in my life. I didn’t even want to do that Time article. My friend Macy works there and kind of hassled me into it. I really would prefer to be more private.”
“You get the good with the bad. You followed your dreams. You are the principal ball
erina that you always wanted to be.”
“You’re right,” I said quickly. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I love my job. I am so lucky to still be dancing full-time at thirty-three.”
“You don’t sound ungrateful, and we both know it isn’t luck. It’s a lot of hard work,” he insisted.
“True. I am in the studio constantly right now. Especially with the rehab on my knee. I started working with a personal trainer after I got out of physical therapy to try to build up the muscles so that I could compete against eighteen-year-olds again. It’s been an uphill battle.” I looked down and bit my lip before continuing, “As you can imagine, more time in the studio isn’t exactly conducive to dating. I was already there eight, nine, sometimes ten hours a day. With the extra PT and training, well, I’m sure you can imagine. Serge and I just sort of ended during that.”
He scoffed. “You were busy trying to get your career back. That doesn’t sound like the time to give up on a relationship. It sounds like the time you needed someone to be there more than ever.”
A knot formed in my throat at the words. Those perfectly placed words that I hadn’t realized I needed to hear until he said them. I had needed someone during all of that. And instead of staying, Serge had vanished.
“It was for the better,” I finally said when I could get my voice under control. “Serge and I started dating when we both made principal in the same year. It went well for a while. We moved in together. Then it became …convenient.” I shrugged. “It was ending anyway. We were both just too busy to say it. Then, when I got injured, it was the excuse he needed.”
It was Isaac’s turn to reach forward and take my hand. “That wasn’t fair to you. He should have been there.”
I waved him away. “It’s fine. Really. Ancient history. I’ve been better without him.”
Before we could say anything else, a group of the high schoolers burst into song in the corner. I jerked at the sudden rendition of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” A beatboxer joined in, and a Latina girl began to belt out the chorus.
“Do you suddenly feel like you’re in a bad musical?” I asked Isaac.
“Totally. They’re not that bad though.”
“I think that’s the Frenship High School a cappella group. The main girl is wearing their T-shirt.”
He laughed as the crowd cheered the end of the song, and they launched into another one. “You want to get out of here?”
I nodded. “I don’t know if I can take much more of the random bouts of singing.”
We hastened out of Braum’s and back into his truck. I shivered as I waited for the heater to kick on.
“You know, I could call an Uber if you wanted to get back to Aly sooner,” I offered.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to abandon you to find your own way home.”
“I’ve lived in New York, Isaac. I think that I can find my own way home.”
“That’s New York. You’re in Texas now.”
He put the truck into drive, and that ended the argument. It was only a ten-minute drive back to Piper’s house.
“Thanks for the ride home,” I said gratefully.
“Anytime, Peyton.”
I flicked the lock and stepped out of the truck. Then, I dipped my head back inside. “It really was good to see you again.”
He smiled, and for a second, I thought about getting back into that truck and being seventeen again. Putting the car in park and making out in the driveway until it was past curfew. But that was a different Peyton and a different Isaac.
“It was great to see you, too, Peyton. Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t. Night.”
I slammed the door shut and began to head up to the front door. But then, before I got there, I jogged back to the driver’s side. He rolled down the window with raised eyebrows.
“Can I help you?”
“Well, there’s an LBC charity event on Wednesday before the first show on Friday night. We’re giving an exclusive sneak peek of the cast, plus drinks and appetizers. I didn’t know if you might be interested in coming. I can get you a ticket.”
“And I’d get to see you dance?”
I nodded once.
“I’ll have to figure out what to do with Aly, but…I’d like that. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you dance.”
I beamed, all the while chiding myself for inviting him at all. “Well, great. I’ll…I’ll see you there.”
“Sounds good. Night, Peyton.”
“Night, Isaac,” I said softly before walking back to the house.
For the first time in a long, long time, I felt as light and airy as the characters I portrayed onstage. I didn’t know what was happening with Isaac and me. I didn’t know if it was even smart to do it. But for once, I didn’t care.
7
Peyton
“Seeing you in a tutu just makes me all teary-eyed,” Kathy said, waving her hand in front of her face. “Or maybe it’s the hormones.”
I chuckled and pulled Kathy in for a quick hug. “You’re just nostalgic.”
The Sugar Plum Fairy tutu had finally been finished and fitted with my measurements yesterday, but we weren’t doing a full-dress rehearsal for the Open Barre charity event tonight. I was currently in a plain white tutu along with the rest of the ensemble cast, who I had been rehearsing with for nearly a week. It wasn’t like dancing with my family back at New York City Ballet, but I fit in just fine.
Thankfully, most of my role was the solo “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” and my pas de deux with the Cavalier. Both were the traditional Balanchine choreography, which I had danced hundreds of times. So, the most important part had been extra hours in the studio with my partner, Reginald, to perfect the duet.
Cassidy, the production manager, tittered energetically in the wings. She was a longtime feature in the studio. When I had been dancing at LBC with her daughter, Beth, she had just been a stage mom, but she had worked her way up over the years. She ushered about the high school students, moving them into formation. Kathy waddled after her to talk to the lot. I could see their nerves from here.
Reginald came to my side with a smile. He was fair-skinned with dark hair and eyes. Not as good as the men I was used to performing with, but he was solid. His girlfriend was also in the company, and I knew she was sad that she hadn’t been given the role of Sugar Plum Fairy beside him. Ah, the challenges of dating in a company.
“Ten minutes,” Kathy announced to the crowd of dancers. “They’re all filing into the auditorium now. Places, everyone.”
I bustled into the wings beside Reginald.
“Good luck,” he whispered.
I almost laughed. This wasn’t a real performance, of course. Just a staged rehearsal, but the exhilaration right before getting onstage hit me all the same. “You too!”
I pranced up and down on the box of my toe shoes, stretching out my arches and calves, rolling through the hard shank on the bottom of the slipper that held to the shape of my foot. This was my twenty-eighth year of dancing in The Nutcracker. I had started as young as Aly and continued every single year in my career. It was the cornerstone of my dance performances. I didn’t know a single dancer who had performed the same dances more than in The Nutcracker. During performance weeks, when we were doing two-a-day shows, I would still hear “Waltz of the Flowers” in my dreams.
The curtain rose, lights flickered to life, and Kathy stepped onto the marley floor to a round of applause. A minute later, she was introducing us. I held my arms in front of me as I gracefully ran out onto the stage along with the other dancers. I took my mark on stage right and waited beside Reginald.
Kathy moved us through what would appear to be a regular rehearsal schedule, focusing first on the difficulty we were having with the Arabian couple.
“One more time through, Amanda,” Kathy said evenly. “Use your whole body in the lift this time. Let Mateo guide you rather than forcing it.”
Amanda nodded along
with Kathy and then tried it again. I was glad that I was onstage and couldn’t cringe because it was definitely worse the second time. They were going to get it by opening night, but they weren’t quite there yet.
“Peyton,” Kathy said after Amanda was on the ground once more, “do the pas de deux lift with Reginald. Everyone, watch her form to see what I mean.”
I stepped into position, too used to being an example to feel flustered, even here in front of the eyes of an audience. Kathy counted us in on a five, six, seven, eight, and then I was moving. My limbs an extension of my body. I knew Reginald would be there for the leap, and I launched effortlessly into the air. He lifted me with my arms overhead, legs in a split.
“See how Peyton appears to be light as air? Look at the placement of her hands, the strength of her point, the tilt of her head. Every aspect of her is incorporated into that movement. She isn’t fighting Reginald on the lift. He’s the base, the support. She trusts him and herself.”
I landed back on my feet to a spatter of applause. She made Amanda go one more time, and this time, she was better. Not quite there, but she’d gotten the dynamics back into place. I’d seen them perform it better in studio than they were today. They just needed to get the kinks out before they went onstage.
“Okay, places, everyone. Let’s run through ‘Entry of the Parents’ in Act I.”
I wasn’t actually in “Entry of the Parents,” but we’d practiced it this week with Reginald and me included in the piece for this event. It wasn’t a real struggle. We’d both already known the part. It was just rearranging the partners. The dance itself was a formal nineteenth-century ballroom piece, typically performed in full-length dresses and suits.
Kathy started us all at the midpoint of the dance and counted us in, and then we were off. As so often happened when I danced, everything else disappeared. There was no stage. No lights. No faces watching from the crowd. It was just me doing the thing that I loved most in the world. The job that had chosen me as much as I had chosen it. I’d sacrificed nearly everything in my life so that I could have this. The feeling that coursed through me was indescribable and unlike anything else I’d ever experienced.
