Finding Center (12 page)

Aly

I stare up at the glass front of District Ballet but I can’t get myself to pull the doors open. Stepping inside feels like surrender but in the wrong ways. The doctors told me to take a week off, return to dance slowly and see how I feel. I know if I do that, I’m risking losing my roles. And if Jonathan decides I’m not fit to dance, Madison’s likely to get those roles. And the principal roles she lands now will likely turn into more principal roles, and then my place at this company becomes miniscule. So does my grip on sanity.

But it’s not like I can ignore the doctor’s advice. So I pull open the doors and step into the air-conditioned lobby. Jonathan’s down in the front office and he greets me with a grin that fades off his face slowly.

“What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we talk in your office?” I ask. I’m ashamed of the way my voice shakes.

“Sure,” he says calmly and punches the elevator button. The doors open and he gestures me in first. For a second, I think he’s going to interrogate me in the elevator but the ride up to the second floor is silent and calm. When I close the door to Jonathan’s office behind us, he sits down hard in his chair. “Talk to me.”

“I need a week off,” I manage to say before the tears well up in my eyes. I take a deep breath and calm myself. Jonathan just watches me. I swallow and say, “It’s not the eating disorder, Jonathan. I’m coming back from this. It’s just a week.”

He nods slowly. “How sure are you that you’re coming back?”

“Eighty-five percent?” I grip my hands tightly, until my knuckles pop. “I’m sorry. I know it cuts into rehearsal time.”

“It does,” he agrees. “But you know these ballets. They’re part of your repertoire. I’m not too worried. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

I can’t tell him. I should, I know. It’s not like I won’t be dancing visibly pregnant soon, but I can’t make myself say the words. I shake my head. “Please. Can you trust me on this?”

“And Zed knows,” Jonathan says after a long pause. “You’re not telling him you’re here and hiding an illness from him.”

“He knows. He’s waiting outside.”

Jonathan nods. “Alright. I’ll see you here next Tuesday. Not a day sooner, Alyona. You wanted a week, and I want you to take that whole week. If you need more time, call me and we’ll discuss.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He stands up and pretends to look grumpy. “You’re welcome. Now get home. I have meetings.”

My smile’s shaky with relief. “Yes, sir.”

He lets me duck under his arm into the hallway. Madison’s pushed the studio door halfway open when she sees us. She smiles and says, “Jonathan, I’ve been watching carefully and I’m sure I know the
Jewels
choreography. In case you need me to fill in for anyone unable to dance their roles.”

I suck in a breath but Jonathan catches me by an elbow. I can’t tell if it’s to keep me upright or to keep me from launching myself at her. He frowns at her. “Get to class, Madison.”

“Just saying,” she says in a singsong voice.

I hate her.

Jonathan releases my arm. “Go home and rest, Alyona.”

Sofia gives me a little wave as she steps into the company class and then frowns as I wave back, heading for the elevator. I hold up my phone and she nods. At some point, I need to tell my friends. They’d keep it from Jonathan if I asked them to. But now isn’t the time.

Zed’s waiting outside for me, leaning on the wall, his fake foot up against it and his thumbs moving like crazy as he texts. He slips the phone into his pocket when he sees me and pushes his sunglasses on top of his head. His eyes are worried. “Hey. What’d he say?”

“To go home and rest. He seemed okay with it surprisingly,” I tell him. Zed’s relief pours over his face and he nods, offering me his hand. I take it but don’t walk yet. “What if he takes my roles from me?”

“He’s not going to take your roles from you,” Zed says confidently. “You’ll dance what you can dance and Jonathan will be happy with that.”

He says it less as a demand than a truth. But something else he says snags in my mind and I drop his hand. “What if I can’t dance?”

“We will handle whatever comes,” Zed says, and it’s an answer unto itself. I shudder and he pulls me against him, his fingertips hot against my skin. “I know you’re scared of life without dance but that’s not what this is. Don’t look for something that doesn’t exist. Come on. Enjoy your time off.”

I let him pull me, tucked against his side, down the street and toward the Metro. “What do you do with time off?”

“You watch a lot of crap television, you learn to knit—”

“I am
not
learning to knit.” My shocked voice earns us a smile from a woman pushing through the turnstiles just ahead of us.

I stand a step above Zed on the escalators, facing him. I play with the St. Anthony’s cross he wears and he closes his hand around mine. “Practice the piano. Don’t wear pants. Listen to podcasts. I don’t know. I’ve never taken time off either.”

I frown. “You’re not very helpful.”

We step off the escalator and jump onto the train just before the doors close. There are seats this late in the morning so we sink onto a pair. Zed leans sideways, whispering conspiratorially. “Completely unhelpful for someone who is fifty percent responsible for your predicament.”

At home, we last about three hours before we’re bored and annoyed with each other. Zed’s paying bills online, but he’s jiggling his left leg and the sound of the metal and plastic pieces is driving me up the damn wall. I roll over on the couch.

“Stop.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he murmurs, only half paying attention.

“Your leg.”

“You’re seriously complaining about my leg?”

“I’m trying to nap.”

“We have a bedroom, you know. With a bed. And a door that closes.”

I sit up. “You should go back to work.”

He glances at me over his shoulder, his fingers drumming against his bottom lip. “That was endearing.”

“I’m serious,” I tell him. “We’re going to rip each other apart right now. Go do something.”

His eyes move back to the computer. “It seems like a shitty thing to do, to leave you right now.”

His guilt complex could rival mine. And I don’t make that comparison lightly.

“I’m just going to sleep,” I say again, rolling my eyes. “I can’t do anything and that’s going to drive me nuts, so I might as well do the only thing I’m good at other than dancing.”

The corners of his lips turn up. “Okay. Sleep. I’ll finish what I’m doing and go for a walk or something.”

I stretch back down on the couch. “Wake me for dinner.”

“You should eat something before then,” he says. “I’m not trying to—”

“I know,” I murmur. “Wake me for lunch then. And then go back out.”

I don’t hear the next thing he says. I fall asleep on the couch, the blanket pulled up to my chin. It’s always been my superpower.

* * *

I wake with a gasp, my heart a lump in my throat, and hear the fridge door shut slowly. “Aly?”

“I’m up,” I croak.

Zed pokes his head out of the kitchen. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

He looks flushed, like he was just running or something. His white T-shirt clings to him in ways I’m definitely not allowed to look at right now, not while I’m this exhausted. I shake my head and lie back down on the couch.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly two,” he says, coming into the living room. He sits on the coffee table next to me. “Sorry I was out so long.”

“What’d you do?” I ask, tracing sweat up his forearms.

He shrugs, glancing at my fingers. “Went for a long walk. It’s hot out there.”

“Good, I’m staying in the AC,” I say, sleepily. “You should stay too.”

“Oh now you want me here,” he teases me and leans down, kissing me with soft, sweat-salty lips. I sigh. He whispers, “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” I say, tugging at the hem of his shirt. He closes his hands around mine but doesn’t follow me onto the couch. “Worried. About everything. If I don’t dance, I don’t know how I stay sane. If I dance, I could lose the baby and, Zed, I can’t do that again. I can’t.”

I can’t meet his eyes but he touches his forehead to mine. “I know. But you’re halfway through today and so far, so good. Take it day by day. That’s the best we can do right now.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay.”

He runs his thumbs over my knuckles. “Need a plan?”

“Please.”

“Okay. We’re going to have lunch. Then we’re going to go downstairs and play piano for a little bit in the café. Together. And then we’re going to come back upstairs. You’re going to nap and I’m going to grade homework next to you. And when you wake up, we’ll make the next plan.”

I finally look up at him. “What’d I do to deserve you?”

The corner of his mouth tugs upward and then the smile slips off quickly. “That’s a two-way street, Kitten. We’re both lucky. Ready?”

I sit up and swing my legs off the couch. “Ready.”

Zed

I check my phone again and text my sister Noelle for the third time this morning. I’m vaguely concerned she’s either lost or hungover from her overnight visit at Georgetown University. I had vouched for her with our parents so if she screwed this up, I’m going to be royally pissed off. I set up our day like this so I could tell Noelle about Aly’s pregnancy first. If things go south at our dinner with our parents, I want to count on Noelle backing me up. But if Noelle shows up a disaster, that’s going to derail the entire plan. Mom had been reluctant about Noelle applying to a school so far from home but eventually agreed I’d turned out all right and I had left home at thirteen. It was the first time she admitted that ballet didn’t permanently screw up my life.

I wonder what they’d say if they knew I was dancing again. I wonder what Aly would say. I can’t believe I’ve been able to keep the secret as long as I have. Jonathan quietly pointed out that any one of the company members who saw me might say something to Aly and since then, I’ve signed up to take classes at the Georgetown Ballet Academy down the street. It’s a good way to come back into it, even if I’m the only adult male dancer in the whole school.

The doorbells chime and I glance up from my coffee to see my baby sister crossing the room, no longer the scrawny girl I remembered. When I left home to dance at the Lyon School of Ballet, she was three. The next time I came home, after the accident, she was a third grader, terrified of her angry, broken, alcoholic brother. In the past two years, I’ve been trying to fix this, but it’s hard when she swaggers across the room, clearly wearing the same clothes from the night before. Her tight black shirt doesn’t meet her skinny jeans and she wobbles on heels I didn’t even know she owned.

She sits down in front of me and takes my coffee, sipping at it. She sighs gratefully and says, “Oh my God, this is so much better than the crap they serve on campus.”

“The parents,” I manage to say, “are going to kill you if you look like that.”

“Think I’d fit into some of Alyona’s clothes?” She bats her eyelashes over the mug at me. I roll my eyes at her, but she probably will. Like me, Noelle’s built like a dancer, all willowy and slim, though she’s a little taller than Aly.

“Fine,” I say, and then point at her. “This is what Mom was worried about. Just so we’re clear.”

“I didn’t drink,” she says, a little crossly. “I didn’t do drugs. I just stayed out late and danced a lot. When I came back to the dorm, my host student was hooking up with her boyfriend. I had to sleep in the hallway.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I snap. “Seriously? You should have called me!”

“So I could sleep on your couch while you and Alyona screw?” Noelle tosses her dark hair and grins at me. “Come on. It’s alright. I’m still here. And you’ll be able to keep an eye on me next year.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, holding my head. This is how it’s going to feel as a parent all the time. I’m pretty sure my heart can’t take the stress. I have enough to worry about with Aly.

“You and Alyona talking about kids?” Noelle says, perking up and fishing a crumpled dollar bill out of her butt pocket. I must have said something aloud. She holds up the dollar. “Can I get my own coffee?”

I hand her a ten. “Get yourself something to eat too.”

When she sits back down with a muffin and a coffee, she peeks up at me. “Soooo, you want to explain that?”

I rub my face.
Spit it out.
“Aly’s pregnant.”

Noelle coughs, choking on her latte. “Oh my God, seriously?”

“Seriously,” I say dryly. “You think I’d joke?”

“Well, no, but oh man, the parents are going to kill you,” Noelle says admiringly and sits back in the booth, grinning from ear to ear. It’s more than a little disturbing when your only younger sibling takes an inordinate amount of pleasure in your imminent death.

I take my mug back from her side of the table. “They’re not, because both Aly and I are adults and we have stable careers. We’ll be fine. They should be happy.”

“Right. Happy. Our parents,” Noelle says, her grin fading into a flat line. “You understand they’re allergic to that word, right?”

I grimace at her. “Easy, Noelle.”

“Look, neither of us are the kids our parents wanted, right?” She picks the blueberries out of her blueberry muffin, still talking a million miles a minute. “I mean, you danced and now you live with your girlfriend you won’t marry, and I’m going to college far away from them to be a lawyer which, in case you’re having trouble keeping track at home, is basically the opposite of what a good wife does.”

I try not to smile. “And your point?”

“It’s less that they’ll be happy for you than it’ll no longer matter to you, Zed,” says my sister, her voice dropping and softening. “It’s your life. You’re happy, right? And Alyona’s happy?”

“Yeah,” I say, and shoot her a quizzical look. “When’d you get wise?”

“I was born wise,” she says, and pushes the small pile of baked blueberries at me. “Want one?”

“You’re so weird,” I say. “What’s the point of the blueberry muffin without the blueberries?”

She smirks when I do, in fact, pick up a few blueberries. “I like the blueberry muffin batter, but not blueberries. But they don’t sell plain muffins like this. They make them corn muffins and those are just gross.”

“You overthink breakfast food,” I tell her.

“To your benefit,” she says, and steals a blueberry back. “Ugh. Still gross. Ready to go be tourists?”

I down the rest of my coffee. “Yes, ma’am. But first, upstairs, so you can change.”

When she stands up, Noelle looks at me with shining eyes. “Oh my God. I’m going to be an
aunt.
”

She’ll have my—our—back if my parents lose their minds over this tonight. I put an arm around her shoulders. “You are. I’m sure you’ll take those duties very seriously. And no, you can’t babysit. Not after showing up like this.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Oh my God, I wouldn’t take the baby to a party. God, Zed.”

Late in the afternoon, after Noelle and I conquered half the Smithsonian museums, we head to the restaurant for dinner. Even from a distance, I can see my parents standing outside the restaurant. They stand out, with my mother wearing a long dark skirt and dark shoes, her wavy hair tied back as it has been every day in my memory. My father wears a button-down shirt, his blue tie the only bright color visible on either of them, his suit jacket draped over his arm.

Modesty is not just a virtue but a requirement in our Mennonite-offshoot community. In some ways, it was more liberal than some of the other churches around us—we went to public school as kids—but in other ways, it was just as confining. Neither Noelle nor I did well under confinement and restrictions, apparently.

Mom kisses Noelle’s cheeks, her eyes narrowing as she looks at the long-sleeve black dress we took from Aly’s closet. It ends above my sister’s knees given the height difference. “This isn’t yours.”

“No, I forgot to pack something nice for dinner so Alyona loaned me this,” Noelle says sweetly, and Mom visibly relaxes.

I kiss Mom’s cheek and shake Dad’s hand. “Why don’t we go in? Aly will be here soon.”

We’re seated and ordering drinks when Aly arrives, her face flushed. She brushes through the tables, and someone recognizes her. She stops to take a picture with a young girl, and then arrives at last, her dress loose at the waist. I stand up to kiss her, and she whispers a hello, her eyes sparkling.

“How’d it go?” I ask, keeping myself turned from my parents. Today was her first day back at the company after her week away. Thanks to Noelle keeping me busy, I didn’t text or nag her all day but all the worry surfaces now.

She squeezes my hands. “I feel okay. It went well.”

She slips around me to hug my parents and Noelle. She’s beaming as she sinks into the chair next to me. No one would ever guess that she’s exhausted and probably really would rather go home and sleep. She squeezes my hand under the table.

“Before we place our orders,” Aly says, glancing at me. I keep waiting for her to back out, but I guess we’re going through with this. She’s eleven weeks now, and we’re both breathing a little easier each week. She’s showing now, if anyone actually blinked at her midsection for more than ten seconds.

“Aly’s pregnant. We’re expecting a baby,” I say, picking up where she ran out of steam.
Expecting a baby
still sounds weird even though Aly insists that it’s not weird for me to be the one who says it. “April 1st. And this isn’t an April Fool’s joke, I promise.”

There’s a silence so still I swear I can hear Aly’s heart pounding next to me as well as my own, as my parents stare at us, their faces blank with horror.
Not married
practically flashes in neon lights over their heads. Then Noelle, God fucking bless her, leans forward, grabbing Aly’s hand, and says, “I’m so excited! Do you know what you’re having yet? Is it a boy or a girl? Are you going to move?”

Aly laughs and answers Nicole’s questions, but I’m not paying attention. All I can do is stare at my mother and the tears in her eyes. I’ve never been good at understanding her but I honestly can’t tell if she’s happy or sad. I clear my throat and say, shaking, “Mom?”

“I’m—” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. When she opens them, she smiles. “I’m so happy for you. For you both.”

I slump sideways with relief into Aly who wraps her arm around my face, her fingers in my hair, and lets me lean against her. When Aly says, “Thank you” her voice hums through my whole body.