Finding Center (15 page)

Aly

Goats.

I roll my eyes and text Zed back.
We are not using goats for baby stuff. Goats are not a theme.

He replies within seconds.
Of course they are! Goats have KIDS. GET IT?

My mother smiles next to me. “He’s excited.”

“Incredibly,” I say, sliding my phone back into my pocket. “He’s ridiculous.”

This morning, I danced in the company class and a short rehearsal before leaving early. The only benefit of being cut from nearly all of the performances is getting to leave midafternoon. My mother insisted on taking a half day from her busy schedule to take me shopping for maternity clothes and baby clothes, neither of which I need yet. Over breakfast this morning, she outlined her plans for a baby shower now that my pregnancy is public knowledge. She’s overwhelming but at the same time, it’s kind of wonderful to have someone else steering me around for the day. It’s a weight off my shoulders.

My mother holds up a simple black dress to me. “This will work well for the gala. We’re invited to it right?”

“If I dance in the ballets,” I mutter, touching my stomach. There’s no hiding it now. I wore a properly fitted leotard this morning and I swear I look like I’m about to pop. Yevgeny, Yana and Sofia assured me that this isn’t the case but it’s hard to explain how incompetent I feel right now. I have to relearn balance all over again. What was once muscle memory is no longer a guarantee.

And then there’s Madison, dancing better and better every single day. It’s infuriating.

“You’ll do just fine,” my mother says firmly. “You forget that even if you’re a little off, you’re still one of the best American dancers in history.”

She used to say
the
best, not one of the best.

“I can’t believe you invited Dad,” I say quietly, standing there. “He hasn’t seen me dance since I left Philadelphia.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I can’t believe you haven’t told him you’re pregnant. We’re even.”

Everything with my mother is about being even. Giving and taking in equal measure. Pros and cons. Every move she makes is a countermove to another one, and to which she expects me, and everyone else around her, to reciprocate.

I shrug. “I want to tell him in person but I can’t really get up to New York. He’ll be here soon. I’ll tell him then.”

My mother makes a face but doesn’t say anything more. She puts the dress in our pile. “Anyway, can I ask you a strange question?”

I’m surprised she’s asking permission. Surprised enough to say, “Sure.”

“Why aren’t you and Zed getting married?” She sounds apprehensive. “Is it money? Because if it’s money, you should know that your father and I will help, of course.”

“It’s not money,” I say. I take a deep breath and shrug, turning back to the racks, looking through long-sleeve maternity shirts. “It’s just a difference of opinion in what we need in our relationship. I don’t think we need a piece of paper. He does. Right now, we’ve agreed to suspend that talk.”

Slight simplification. But she doesn’t need to know the details.

My mother sighs and says, “I wonder if it upsets his parents.”

“I know it does,” I say and pull out a sapphire blue shirt. “It bothers Zed, so it must bother them.”

“I thought they were letting his sister come to college in DC? I’m impressed. Maybe they’re more understanding than you think,” my mother says. “People change. The last time I saw them was at the hospital six years ago, and I’m sure that changed them the same way it changed me. And your father. Both of us.”

Her phone rings and she pulls it out, looks at it and sighs. “I have to take this. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Give me five minutes.”

I wave her off and pull out my phone. I text Zed again.
Shopping
with
my
mother
is
causing
a
headache.

He texts back.
This
play
practice
is
doing
the
same
thing.
What’s
Cara
doing?

Asking why we’re not married. She thinks it’s money. I wait, knowing, really, what comes next.

It’s not money. (Is it money?)

I know. No, it’s not money. Is it really important to you? Do you lose sleep over the fact that I said no?
I shouldn’t be asking this over text messages but I think, sometimes, when we’re together, our presence overwhelms each other. He wants to avoid it and kisses me instead. I hate confrontation so I let him. My mother’s not wrong. We do need to talk about it.

I try on most of the clothes and pick only two tops by the time he texts me back.
I don’t lose sleep over the fact that you said no. Yes, it’s really important to me, but I don’t think it’s something we should stress over now. I don’t think it’s the glue that keeps us together. I’m not worried about losing you.

He calls me and I close my eyes as I answer. “You know, the point of the texts was to avoid having to say this out loud.”

“I know,” he says, his voice low and warm. “I know these are things that both of us don’t like saying aloud. And if you don’t want me to say them to your face right now, that’s okay. I get that. But all those unspoken promises we make each day to each other? Those things we ask each other and everything that’s between the lines? There’s something powerful about putting those unspoken things into words, Aly, and to having witnesses to that. And if it takes us ten years to get there or it takes us twenty years to get there, because we do things at our pace and in our own way, that’s okay with me. We find our own way.”

I wrap an arm around myself, echoing him. “We’ll find our own way.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “You sure?”

I nod and then laugh a bit, swiping at the tears under my eyes. “One of us has to be the hopeless romantic. I’m glad it’s you.”

“Always at your service,” he says. His voice softens. “Are you okay? Where’s your mom?”

“I don’t know. Taking a phone call somewhere. But I’m okay. I promise.”

“I should get back to play practice. They’re probably slinging paint at each other,” he says and sighs. “See you at home?”

“Yes, please,” I say. “Go do your thing.”

“Okay. Love you,” he says.

The words warm me. “Love you.”

My mother shows back up a minute later with a bright purple dress and says, “For Christmas!”

I let her add it to the pile. It can’t hurt and by Christmas, I expect to be the size of a small house. I rest my head on her shoulder while we wait in the checkout line and she loops her arm around my waist.

“When’d my little girl get all grown up?” she whispers. “It feels like yesterday I was flying to Russia to meet you for the first time.”

I smile. “I wish I remembered that.”

“You were wearing Minnie Mouse ears,” she says, touching my head. “You wore them on the plane home too.”

She kisses my cheek, and I let her.

Zed

I trudge out of the Georgetown Ballet Academy and then lean against the wall to check my phone and catch up with everything I missed for the past hour.

My ballet bag’s slung over my shoulder and my body hums with the warmth and music still. The buzz from dancing lasts for hours and I don’t remember that from when I danced before. If it happened, I didn’t appreciate it. Now the buzz is worth the pain I wake in each morning.

My muscles are still adjusting to what I can and can’t do, the same as my mind. In my head I can do a turn
à
la seconde
on both legs and I can barely do it on my right, with my left foot unpointed, and I can’t do it at all on the left leg. The ballet mistress at Georgetown doesn’t really know what to do with me so she applauds everything I do. She tells me I’m inspirational. She asks for permission to put a video of me on their website and gets rather crabby when I refuse. That wasn’t me years ago, and it sure as hell isn’t me now.

If anything, I want to be seen
less
than I did back then. Or maybe I just need to be seen less. Besides, I can’t take the chance that someone who knows me sees it and tells Aly before I can figure out how to tell that I started dancing for a month without her knowing. I keep telling myself that I’m waiting until I’m good enough for her to see me dance. Then I’ll tell her. But I’m never going to get to where I used to be. I thought, maybe, I could.

After the teachers at Georgetown couldn’t help me, I called Jonathan at his office for help. He talked to me on the phone and at the end, he said, “You know what your problem is, Harrow? You think you’re going to be the prodigal two-legged rags-to-riches story again. You were on the cusp of being the type of dancer they follow around for the evening news and they interview for long magazine articles. And now you’re not. That’s not going to happen again. You have to accept that. The sooner that you absorb that into your bones, the sooner you find out how good you can be
now
.”

I won’t say it didn’t hurt. He might as well have kicked me in the balls after I was already down. It took me a few days to process his words. It took me until today to really feel them. I’m not going to be leaving teaching for ballet. That’s never going to happen. I’m never going to dance with Aly again.

And that has to be okay.

I want this. From the time I was thirteen, I thought I’d be a professional ballet dancer. I can barely remember a time when I danced competently and didn’t think of it as work. I want ballet to be a part of my life even if it’s not my
career
. I’m rediscovering the joy of ballet as something that stretches my mind, heart and body, and doesn’t pull in a paycheck. It doesn’t have an end goal. I won’t go anywhere with it. And finally, finally, that’s starting to feel okay.

“Zed?” Dan asks in disbelief.

I stop and turn slowly. Dan and Maddie, carrying Micah, step away from a group of people and walk a few steps toward me. Maddie, of course, connects it first. She glances at me, my clothes, the bag on my shoulder and the sign on the door. She raises her eyebrows and then grins, throwing her arm around me. She hugs me quickly.

“You’re—what are you doing here?” Dan says slowly.

“I’m, ah, taking classes.” I shift on my legs. “Thursday nights. They’re wild and crazy at this ballet studio. They even let us one-and-a-half-legged dancers in.”

Dan bypasses my quip. “Whoa! Dude! That’s amazing!”

He slaps my shoulder and I smile a little, despite myself, despite my heart hammering. “Thanks. Wait, is it? Amazing, I mean?”

“It’s incredible,” Maddie tells me, adjusting Micah in the carrier she’s wearing. “Aly must be thrilled for you.”

I laugh a little. “Yeah.”

Dan scrunches up his nose. “She doesn’t know.”

Maddie glances up, her eyes wide. “Zed?”

“I haven’t had the right moment to tell her yet,” I admit.

“There’s no right moment. You just have to go for it,” Dan says. “Man, that’s awesome. Are you doing like, performances or something? Can we come see you? Do you keep your leg on?”

“No, no and yes,” I say, ticking off his questions on my fingers. I shake my head. “I’m liking it not being a big thing. I’ll tell her when I’m ready.”

Maddie looks doubtful but she catches Dan’s arm and stops him from talking. “Alright. How
is
Aly?”

“Tired, less morning sickness, doing well. Everything’s going well,” I say shyly. I let Micah grab my finger. “How’s this monkey?”

“A champ,” Dan says proudly.

“Daniel!” yells someone from their group.

Dan looks embarrassed. “We’re out with friends from college. Catch you later? I’m serious. You should do something at the talent show. I bet the kids would love it.”

“Literally no chance of that happening but thanks.” I wave to them and put my phone back into my pocket. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

Maddie kisses my cheek goodbye. “Tell her sooner, Zed, than later.”

I promise to do that but I can’t figure out how. I think about it the whole way home, and up the stairs, and into our apartment. I try to make the words, “I’m dancing again” come out of my mouth when I see Aly but I can’t.

She’s cooking in the kitchen, a rare sight, her hair in a long braid down her back. Her hand keeps moving to her stomach out of habit, something she’s only started to do in the last week.

“Hi,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around her and kissing her neck. When I breathe her in, she smells like the resin they use on the dance floor and her shampoo. Some things never change.

She touches my cheek and lifts her chin for a kiss. I oblige her. She whispers, “Hi. You look—” and she twists, studying me with a frown on her face. “Happy.”

“Is that so rare?” I tease her, deflecting the attention. “Keep stirring. Tomato sauce will burn.”

“You usually look tired at the end of a school day especially a long one like today,” she says with a smile. “Everything’s going well with the play?”

I hate lying to her. “Everything’s going perfect. Maybe I’m just happy to see you.”

She laughs and pushes me away. “Plate the spaghetti, flirt.”

I’m happy because I’m dancing.
But I don’t know how to share that with you.
It should be so easy to say. Why can’t I say it?

Aly

Zed’s playing the piano downstairs in the café, bent over the keys like he’s praying and for all I know he is. I wasn’t raised religious and I’ve never believed in a higher power, but I know he does, even if he doesn’t go to church every week. I can see it the way he looks at the sky some days, in the kindness he shows the people who try to drag him into a church every week and the guilt over his parents not approving of the way we live. For a long time after rehearsal on Saturday, I sit behind him, just listening to him play an unfamiliar sad tune that plucks at my heartstrings. I wonder if this is what he plays when his fingers rest on my ribs like piano keys.

Finally, he lifts his head and says, “I know you’re here, you know.”

I love that he knows. I step up behind him, fingers running through his hair. I can feel his sigh through my fingertips. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. He keeps playing, a smile on his face.

“Hi, you,” I say, resting against him. His body braces to hold me and I let him.

“Hi, you,” he echoes. “How do you feel?”

Like I could go to sleep for days and quit my job and lie on my back eating brownies for the rest of my life. I edit my answer down a little bit. “Exhausted. You? How was your day, oh lucky one with real weekends?”

A cup of tea appears magically over the side of the bar and sits on top of the piano. Carmen gives me a wink as she goes to help the next customer. Zed stretches, pulling the cup down and handing it back to me. I take it gratefully and sit on the bench instead. Zed leans against me a little bit.

“Tired,” he admits. He has been tired lately. I’ve been trying not to mention it too much. Benefit of the doubt. I trust him.

“We had a hard rehearsal today,” I say, giving him space. “Killian’s out with an injury so now Yevgeny’s dancing the Dawson ballet too. He’s tired by the time he gets to
Rubies
. It’s probably Madison wearing him out in the other sections.”

Zed’s entire body stiffens and he picks up my free hand, running his fingers over all the lines of my palms. His voice is too careful when he says, “But
Rubies
is mostly footwork. There aren’t any lifts or jetés. That’s why Jonathan cut you down to just this ballet.”

“Yes,” I confirm. “Still, you know when you’ve done a hard rehearsal, it feels like the end of the world just to walk across another room and figure out a new partner. And Madison and I are not exactly built the same. Not anymore, at least.”

“What if,” Zed whispers, and then with a hard single shake of his head, cuts himself off.

I squeeze his hand, curious. It’s unlike Zed to start, then censor his thoughts. “What?”

“What if there was someone who could step in for Yevgeny for
Rubies
? Not all of
Jewels
, but just one act. Give his legs a rest.” His fingers run down the keys.

I tilt my head. “We’re short on male dancers. If they’re not out on injury, they’re dancing somewhere in the ballet. Yevgeny can do it. It’s just like dancing the main male role of a whole ballet. It’s the new choreography that trips him up.”

Zed doesn’t say anything for a long minute and then another possibility clutches at my chest. I hesitate and then say, “You aren’t still jealous of Yevgeny, are you?”

He lifts his head, his mouth tipping into a sideways smile. “No, Kitten. Never was and I’m not now.”

“You want to tell me what’s in your head then?” Zed ticks in mysterious ways sometimes.

He slides his fingers through his hair, a nervous gesture of his. “Christ, Aly.”

“Zed,” I say with an edge to my voice.

“Don’t be mad,” he says, and my heart bottoms out. I don’t understand what’s happening but my mind’s spinning anyways. “I—I’ve been kind of taking classes again.”

I blink. “Classes?”

The look he gives me is wounded and deep, like he’s offering me something I don’t understand. Then he says, “Ballet classes, Aly. I started—I wanted to see if I could still do it.”

When Zed danced, it was like the whole world darkened and he was the only light. Someone once said that you fell in love with him before you loved the way he danced, and God, it was true. His technique was sharp, when he wanted it to be, but he brought so much heart to the stage that no one cared if his lines were always a little off. He had character and soul. He woke up when he slipped ballet slippers onto his feet and he fell asleep when the curtain fell. I never understood how he left the stage. I knew why, but the
how
eluded me. I knew that losing me, ballet and the first pregnancy all in one fell swoop carved out a hole in him he tried to fill with alcohol and one-night stands. And I knew that he found teaching and theater to be the antidote to the poor coping mechanisms.

I knew all these things.

I just didn’t realize until just now how lost he must have been feeling to turn back to ballet. And I didn’t realize how desperately I missed him out there on the stage. I’ve missed his surety and confidence. I’ve missed him joking at the barre with the other ballet boys. I’ve missed watching him come alive and shake off the marionette strings still tied to him from his strict upbringing.

He’s been dancing.

He didn’t tell me.
I
should have noticed.
I
should have known.

He’s dancing again.

Zed’s dancing.

He scrubs at his face and mumbles, “Please say something. You’re killing me here.”

“Can I watch you?” I ask softly. “Can—can I watch you dance?”

He stares at me through his fingers and slowly lowers his hands back to his lap. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Of course you can. I had class this morning but we could—” he takes a deep breath, “—we could go to DBC if you want.”

“Right now,” I say, half to confirm and half to insist.

He nods, just once. “Yeah. Now.”

I want to touch him but maybe this isn’t real. I don’t want to break the dream in half. We get our stuff together silently and step back into the brisk autumn day. On the walk to the Metro, Zed’s hand slips into mine and he gives me an anxious small smile. We’re silent on the Metro ride up to DBC and on the walk up to my glass-fronted second home. We’re quiet even when we take the elevator to the main floor. We step out and a few people are still there. Jonathan stares at us, then shares a significant look with Zed.

I blink at them. “You’re in on this too?”

Jonathan shrugs. “I wanted to see if he could.”

“I can,” Zed says with the most confidence I’ve heard in his voice in months at least. For years he’s been saying that if he couldn’t dance at his previous level—which he couldn’t with a prosthetic—then he wasn’t going to dance at all. He wouldn’t even slow dance me around the floor at a wedding we attended together. He left dance completely behind him.

Until now.

We change in our respective dressing rooms, and then meet back in the studio right in front of Jonathan’s office. There’s a small audience and Zed gives them a nervous look. He’s dressed like a student again with a white T-shirt and black tights, the left side cut off at the start of his prosthetic. He looks vulnerable, and thin. He used to be filled-out and muscular when he danced, but he’s lost a lot of that.

His eyes watch me as I walk over to the iPod in the corner and turn on the Stravinsky music for
Rubies
. It’s set to loop. I walk back over to him and begin to walk him through the steps, demonstrating to him the choreography. In the mirror, he watches me intently, the anxiety and lust fading from his face as the intense dancer slips back into his eyes. I can barely tear my eyes from him to focus on my own dancing. I am in awe of him.

And when he dances the first few steps, I swear there are fireworks.