Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
“Yeah, who woulda thought that just two scant decades later, I’d finally be able to apply all the valuable skills I learned in Ms. Fabergé’s School for Emerging Ballerinas?”
I bark out a laugh by accident. “What’s that now?”
“When Stevie was a young man, we wanted him to be about more than just sports and video games. So, we enrolled him in a dance class,” Phyllis says.
“To be fair,” his dad adds, “we did make Essie join that rugby team as well. We always wanted our kids to be well-rounded.”
Steve looks like he wants to dig a hole and jump in.
“Well, it paid off. Your children are two of the most interesting people I’ve ever met,” I say.
“Aren’t you sweet?” Phyllis coos.
“Maybe? But I also happen to mean it.” I smile.
They laugh.
“And aren’t you a pistol?” Tom Smith chortles.
Just then, the white-dinner-jacketed, pencil-mustachioed bandleader up on the bandstand says, “All right, ladies and you couple of gentlemen”—he laughs—“we’re going to slow it all down for a moment and let everyone catch their breath. This next number is an Irving Berlin tune from 1925, written as a kind of a love letter to his soon-to-be wife, Ellin. This is… ‘Always.’”
The piano player begins with the delicate first notes of the song as the overhead lighting in the room dims and twinkle lights sparkle to life, replicating a starry night on the ceiling above. Steve grabs my hand again and pulls me to the dance floor.
“Oh, nice to meet—” I get out to his parents before I’m tugged away and Steve has me pressed against him, swaying me back and forth to the tender melody.
After a second… “Dance class,” I say, with a smirk in my voice.
“Don’t start,” he says, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s sweet.”
“That’s one word for it,” he says, smiling in spite of himself.
“They seem cute,” I offer up.
“They’re fine.” We dance in silence for a moment before he adds, “They don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“What you know. About me. SS. All that.”
I find this very… unexpected. “Really?” He nods. “Why not?”
“I dunno.” He pauses swaying with me for a moment. “I just remembered you telling me the other day that your parents don’t know what you’re writing, and… Doesn’t matter. I dunno why I brought it up.” He pulls me into him, we start dancing again, and I let my head rest on his chest. Because that’s as high up as my head goes. Which, in my opinion, is just about perfect.
We move in motion to the music and I decide to say something. I play it through a couple of times in my head to make sure it’s what I really want to say right now and, deciding it absolutely is, I don’t gatekeep my own thoughts, instead letting them out into the world. Even though it feels scary. Because I’m going to choose to live my life. Not just dream about it.
“I have to tell you something,” I say.
“Okay.” We continue moving in time to the piano.
“I’m not sure I believe you,” I say. He stops moving, stares down into my face, a worried expression. “I think… I think maybe you did steal something.” His brow furrows more deeply. “I honestly don’t think you meant to. That’s not what I’m saying. I don’t think you’re a liar or intentionally trying to be a thief, but you did steal something.”
He sighs and I feel the breath enter and leave his body. “What?” he finally asks.
I sigh in return and feel my own chest heave and press into his. “My heart,” I manage to get out before it stays trapped in my throat forever.
He doesn’t smile. His expression doesn’t change at all, in fact. He just looks at me, bends his head forward, kisses me gently on the mouth, and then begins swaying us both to the music once more.
The last of the crowd is filing out of the ballroom. It’s late and there’s still one more day. Things are winding down.
Steve and Essie are talking to the bandleader, settling up, giving the band a big tip for their service. As well they should. The band was awesome. The whole evening was awesome. I feel happy and bathed in the warmth of… I’m not sure what. Could be the warmth of having had sex in semi-public with a guy who later slow-danced with me and let me rest my head on his chest. Or it could be the warmth of feeling like I’ve possibly found my tribe. And my voice. My true voice, I mean—not the one I think people want, or the one that seeks to sound like Jane Austen, but mine. Cordelia’s voice.
Maybe still too early in these abrupt revelations to know for sure.
There’s always the possibility that this could be my Cinderella moment. That I could wake up in the morning and find myself sleeping in the fireplace again. But… I dunno. I don’t think so.