Page 20 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

It had been several months since the wonderful evening I spent at the ballet with Mom and Dad. I still couldn’t stop thinking about the magical experience.

I could still picture the detailed costumes, still hear the elegant sounds of the full orchestra, and still feel the butterflies swarming in my stomach. I could still feel the tears of joy flooding my eyes as I sat on the edge of my seat the entire night, watching the pristine and exquisite dancers on the stage of the darkened theater.

I even remembered a decent amount of the choreography. Well, that might be due in part to the fact that Mom purchased a video of the performance, and I watched it at least once a week since.

Dad even suggested we turn one of the empty bedrooms into a ballet room for me. He said it was so he didn’t have to listen to classical music constantly, but really, it was because he wanted me to have a safe place to practice.

I had learned almost every routine for every role, but my favorite was the Dew Drop Fairy in Waltz of the Flowers. I wasn’t sure if it was because that was the music from Wesley’s gift or if it was because of the exquisite and intricate choreography. But it was the dance I did most often, weaving around the furniture in my bedroom or the living room or the kitchen as I tried to remember the steps and imitate the ballerinas from the show.

It was this piece that I was dancing along with when my bedroom door opened, and my mom and dad came in with nervous smiles on their faces.

I paused my music and turned to face them, my hands on my hips as I caught my breath.

“Can you come downstairs, please?” Mom asked, her hands wringing in front of her stomach. “It’s time for dinner.”

I nodded and followed them out of my room and down the stairs. My ponytail swayed behind me as I took each step with a little hop.

When we reached the landing, they turned towards the dining room. Through the doorway, I could see Scott and Tiffany—their two adult children—standing near the table, whispering together.

“Hey, kiddo!” Scott called when he saw me, and I skipped to his side, a smile tugging on my lips as he hugged me.

He was twenty and was already running a successful graphic design business out of his home.

Tiffany gave me a soft smile and patted me on the head as I let go of Scott. She was twenty-three and worked the night shift as an ER nurse at a hospital in town.

The smell of the roasted chicken and vegetables Mom cooked for dinner reached my nose. My stomach growled, causing everyone in the room to chuckle.

We settled into our seats. I sat between Scott and Tiffany, and Dad dished out food for everyone, the casual conversation flowing between the adults.

I mostly tuned them out, swinging my feet under the table as the music I was dancing to earlier played in my head. I had to force myself to not hum the tune out loud. I focused on finishing my dinner so I could get back upstairs and continue dancing.

“Dad, you know how I feel about ‘alternative medicine’ doctors! They’re all charlatans, just trying to make a quick dollar by using terms like ‘natural medicine,’ when in reality it’s just a mix of random herbs that don’t actually heal or fix anything!” Tiffany declared.

“This woman was different, Tiff!” Dad argued. “She had credentials and certificates all over her walls!”

“Daaad,” Tiffany groaned, her head falling into her hands.

She shook her head as she continued speaking. “Dad, people can just buy those and print them. Unless they’re from an actual accredited university, it doesn’t mean shit!” She covered her mouth and glanced at me. “I mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“She gave me these new vitamins,” Dad said, ignoring Tiffany. “She said they’re supposed to help heal cancer cells before they begin multiplying in your body.”

Tiffany looked over at her brother for help, but he stared at his plate, staying out of their argument. My heart, however, leapt up to my throat at his words, a tightness forming there.

“You have cancer?” I asked, my eyes wide.

“No!” Dad said, reaching across the table to grab my hand and squeeze it. “I just like to make sure I’m taking proper care of my body so I don’t get cancer.”

I nodded, and the worry I felt slipped away, replaced by happiness to be sitting there, eating dinner with my family.

“Are you still writing to your pen pal? What was his name? Presley?” Scott asked me, changing the subject, a teasing smile on his face as he looked at me.

My cheeks heated, and I pressed my hands to my face to hide my blush.

“Wesley,” I mumbled in reply. “His name is Wesley.”

“Right, right, Wesley,” Scott said, nodding.

I swallowed down my embarrassment. “Yes, I still write to him sometimes.”

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