Page 131 of The Unraveling

Jordan was the good guy. Jordan was the one I didn’t need to push away. He was the one trying to look out for me. That relationship, its peace, was something I couldn’t accept. I was so used to turbulence that I couldn’t let things be still.

My attraction to Alistair was real, but it was based in nothing but sex. I never thought about the future. I never fantasized about growing old together. You could argue that I didn’t because it was just too early, but I thought about that the first night with Jordan. Not all of it, and not to a psycho amount, but I thought about it. The future was always a part of our present.

When I finish telling Jordan everything, all the way up to yesterday, he’s silent for a long moment.

When he speaks, he’s gentle.

“I love you, Jocelyn. I am so sorry I wasn’t there for you. If I had known you wanted to hear from me, I would have done anything I could. But I didn’t know where you were. I knew I couldn’t show up at your job. When I saw you at the gallery that night, I could barely keep it together. I wanted to reach my arms out and just never let you go.”

My heart feels carved out at his words. “I love you, I love you so fucking much, I’m so sorry I ever—”

“No, no apologies. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

I start to cry and he pulls me in toward him, allowing me to hide my face in his chest.

“Shh, shh, shh, no worrying now. It’s okay.” He gives a soft chuckle. “I always thought we had such good communication, but we just keep ending up on different planets. First after Vienna, now this.”

I laugh a little, too, pulling back and wiping the tears away. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

He nods. “It’s okay, Jo.”

We both take a sip of our second round of beers and then he asks, “So what now?”

“Well, now I’m probably going to get fired. And then…I don’t know. I really don’t. I missed ballet. I was right to go back to ballet. But something about this just felt wrong the whole time.”

“Maybe it’s just not the right company for you,” he says.

There’s a simplicity in his words that almost shocks me. I hadn’t really considered that this was an option.

“I…well, I don’t know.”

“You’re a good dancer, Jocelyn. A great ballerina. You’re not trying to prove yourself. The world knows you’re a great dancer. You don’t have to accept anything that doesn’t feel right. Maybe in the beginning, but not anymore. You don’t have to wait to be fired by this company. You just lost your mom, Jo. Whatever happened here, it happened, and it’s okay.”

“You think I should quit?”

“I didn’t say that. I would never tell you what to do with your career. I’m just reminding you that you don’t need to beg for anything. You don’t need to fight for a place.”

Now that he’s saying it, I realize that I didn’t feel completely relieved when I stepped offstage and saw Sarika and Charlie and they didn’t fire me. I had dreaded getting fired before going onstage, but after, it felt different. I had expected them to take me into the office and tell me I was through. And there was a part of me, I realize now, that had wanted that.

The idea of trudging through the next weeks, months, or even years in that environment made me feel completely miserable. Arabella and her harem of lovers eyeballing me. The Cavendishes and Mary Simon involved in my life. Even if I didn’t get fired, I would just be given to some other donor, and as Arabella told me all those months ago, it’s just different here. The donor-dancer relationship is different. It demands more. It demands something besides dance.

I think about a text I received from my old ballet mistress back in February. She told me to reach out if I ever needed anything.

Maybe I could do that. Maybe I could go back.

“Jordan,” I say. “Do you want…to be my boyfriend again?” I ask.

I’m so nervous I feel like I might slip out of my seat and onto the ground, but I have to ask. “If you need more time, I get it, I just—”

But I stop speaking when he shakes his head.

“No? No? What do you mean, I’m sorry, Jordan, please…”

I feel suddenly desperate. Angry at Arabella for everything. Frustrated that I got so distracted by Alistair. Missing the warmth of the Waverly Inn and the chaos of Washington Square Park.

“I’ll do you one better. Marry me, Jocelyn.”

I miss a step as I try to replay his words, making sure I heard them correctly. “Did you—”

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