Page 36 of Two to Tango

“Pero Maria, por favor,” my grandmother had chided. “Déjala.” Let her be. She’s young.

But after that, I couldn’t let myself get off track. If only because I didn’t want to hear the shit anymore. If only because I kept being reminded how much my family had already sacrificed for me to have this opportunity. And how dare I not be grateful?

Sometimes it felt like the guilt trip wasn’t worth the fun I was having otherwise.

Would the guilt trip be worth the fun now?

Either way, I’m opting not to tell her. I’m choosing to keep this for myself. And even though my grandmother isn’t here to see this, she left me these priceless shoes. She’d probably want me to do this.

At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself.

“They are fantastic,” I hear somebody in the video whisper.

She’s right. And there’s a frightening feeling building within me that makes me think how much I’d like to be up there, too.

My phone buzzes with an incoming email, an inconvenient reminder from Barbara that there is too much to do, too much going on and leaving the office early is ‘not indicative of those who want to be here.’

Logan telling me about Gavin’s layoff was an unrealistic daydream. This email from Barbara is a harsh reality. What would happen if I got fired? What would it look like if I had to sit my family down and tell them that I was let go from my job? The intrusive thought is a jolt of fear to my heart.

When I graduated college and law school, my brother joked how I was the golden child that could do no wrong. He was so proud of me, he’d said. He always looked up to me. My parents were equally impressed, so proud, so honored. My mother consistently reminded me how smart I was, how she always knew I would do great things.

But what they didn’t know, what they couldn’t know, is just how stifling it is. How difficult it has rendered my life. And how I haven’t noticed the extent of it until recently.

Julie with the new haircut wants to create a life she’s proud of, just as she has silently wanted to do her whole life.

Iwantto do great things.

Suddenly, I feel a rush within me, almost like the swelling of a wave, the rising of a tide. I’m going to do it. I’m going to chase this one thing that is making me feel like something more. That is finally making mefeel.

Months ago, I would have folded at the sight of this email, but right now, I’m going to figure something else out. I’m going to fight back.

Chapter twelve

Logan

Before our parents’ divorce,there was a lot of fighting. Loud accusations, angry screams, flying objects. Afterwards, things weren’t much more peaceful. The thing nobody talks about with divorces is how the children become the pawns in it. Or maybe they do, but I was too young to realize that’s what would happen. Gavin got stuck taking care of me in the aftermath, but I wanted out of the house as often as I could manage. Our neighbor Alison’s house was always a bit of a refuge for me. She had a British father who would make us large plates of fries doused in malt vinegar for a snack. She had Nintendo and cable, and we spent a lot of time riding bikes outside. It was there that I also learned she took ballroom dance classes at the city rec center. And one day, not wanting to go back home, I opted to tag along with her instead.

It was a whole new world. Deborah, the instructor, probably taking some sort of pity on me, let me sit in, and it changed my life.

Because I was young enough, there was some sort of discount when signing up. I pooled most of my allowance with some extramoney Gavin gave me to pay for that first session, and I never missed a day. Not one day. I would hitch rides with Alison, and I would listen to Deborah and focus and learn every step. God, I loved it. I looked forward to that day of the week more than anything else. Maybe I loved it so much because of what it meant to me—a place of solace in between a shitty home life—more than what it actually was.

Except I kept going and going. I went on to compete, even with Alison as my partner sometimes. I kept climbing and climbing, holding on to the love I had for this dance with white knuckles. The thing is, once you do something long enough, even if you once loved it so much, it can wear on you. It gets tiring; It becomes a burden. Soon enough it's an ugly shadow casting everything in shade. The past couple of years have moved at a slow pace. Going through the motions: workshops and travel, festivals and shows. Like crossing off a to-do list out of habit.

And now here I am, suddenly looking forward to these sessions again. I could reason that it’s like the equivalent of putting in your two weeks, knowing you’ll be out soon enough. Except I haven’t been job searching. Not really, anyway. Haven’t had the time. No, this is something else.

And she just walked through the door.

Today Tara and I are teaching giros, turns in tango. Julie has moved up a row in the class, still focused on her feet in the mirror. Still determined to get the steps right.

“Logan and I are going to show you a proper tango hold today. You can practice this with a partner and get acclimated to it.”

Tara steps next to me, and I put my arms out like in an embrace. “For the leaders, your left hand will reach up just above your shoulder. You don’t want to go too high, it should be a comfortable height for you and your partner. And your right hand will come around and settle on the middle of your partner’s back.”

I continue. “For the followers, your right hand will meet your partner’s left hand in a hold, again just slightly above the shoulder, and your left hand will come around to settle onto your partner’s upper arm, similar to the practice embrace.”

Tara and I show the hold in action. “This is an open embrace, which is where we will begin.” Tara and I step closer, temple to temple, chest to chest. “This is a close embrace. We’ll work our way up to this one.” I smile.

And after Tara and I demo the steps, I see Ethan jump right in to ask Julie to dance. Maybe I just envision the quick look she gives me, but she moves closer to him, and they begin.

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