Page 41 of Two to Tango

We refresh the steps for the basic cross, the ocho, and the giros briefly. I revel in this dance with a proper tango instructor, one who leads like he means it. One who meets me where I’m at.

Towards the end of our time, he grabs his laptop and sits down on the floor, pulling something up. I sit with him, drinking some water, and catch myself staring at his long limbs, his loosely defined muscles, his body moving fluidly.

“Does anybody else in your family dance?” I ask.

“Nah, not really. Gavin can do some basic steps, but he’s not big on ballroom. More of a silent supporter.” He chuckles. “What about you?”

The question inexplicably catches me off guard, and I almost choke on my sip of water. “Oh, um. My grandmother.”

“That’s nice. Yeah, it was very popular with that generation. Is she an avid dancer?”

I smile now—a small one, close-lipped—and nod. “She was.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” I wave off. I don’t usually talk about her, but in this scenario, it almost feels sacrilegious not to.

“When did you move here?” he asks, and I’m grateful for the subject change.

“I was five.”

“Wow, you were practically raised here.”

I can only nod in agreement, this statement so common, then drink some more water as he continues doing whatever else on his laptop.

“Truthfully, I haven’t done private classes in a very long time,” he says.

This surprises me. “Why did you agree to do these then? You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” He looks at me for a moment before turning back to his computer screen. “So. Homework.”

“Homework?” I ask, surprised and maybe slightly appalled.

“Work on the steps we learned today at home. Practice, practice, practice,” he recites. “And, if you feel so inclined, Google some more videos,” he smirks. “Maybe look at some other dancers. I could give you a list of some favorites?”

“No, no,” I smile. “Thank you, but I’ve got it.”

“Great.” He gives me a grin in return. “We’re going to work on the basics, get them very polished, and then little by little work on improvisation, and then eventually, a routine.”

“Wow,” I say, almost tentatively. Maybe I’m in over my head.

“You can do it. One step at a time. That might be a tango pun.”

I laugh. “This was good. Thank you.”

“It’s only gonna get better.” It sounds like a promise, and I shouldn’t love how good it sounds. There's a sudden swoop low in my belly like I'm sitting at the very top of the rollercoaster, ready to fall.

“Right. See you next week, then?” I grab my bag.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Chapter fourteen

Julieta

“You’re too … stiff.”

I scowl.Well, then.

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