Page 83 of Rome: The Ballerina

“Contact Aleena. Make sure she checks on Aliza tonight or first thing in the morning. Tell her to set Aliza up with the therapist she was referred to. Make sure she understands I will pay for her first twelve months in full. I’ll also finish the year’s payments for her condo. The title of her car will be transferred into her name by the end of next week.”

The line was quiet.

“Mom?” I was prompted to ask. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes. Yes, I heard you son.”

“Good. I’m going to head up for a shower.”

“Do you want to know what Aleena says?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I yawned.

I lowered the phone from my ear just as I heard my mother’s voice again.

“Sac–”

I lifted the cell again. Resting it against my ear.

“Yes?”

“Do you think she’ll make you happy?”

I paused, allowing the question to marinate. A mother always knows, was one of my mother’s mottos. She proved it was true year after year. Without mentioning Rome, she already knew. She always knew.

“Yeah,” I admitted, “I think she’ll make me a very happy man. The happiest I’ve been.”

“Me too.”

She ended the call before I had the chance to. Instantly, the burden of my relationship was lifted. I felt a hundred pounds lighter. The idea of corniness kept me grounded and not out of my seat for a victory dance. I wasn’t sure just how condemning my engagement was until now.

And, though I was enchanted by the newest member of my mother’s neighborhood, she wasn’t the reason for the conclusion of my relationship. She was simply the fuel to an already brewing fire.

I’d broken a promise. As much as I hated to admit it, I knew it was for my betterment. That would always be the main goal.

Even in her sadness,she stood out like a sore thumb. A pretty sore thumb. Aliza was draped in black. The darkness of her fabrics highlighted her light brown skin. Her hair hung down her back, resembling waves of the ocean.

“Vultures on three,” Coach Johnson yelled.

I leaned in, extending my arm. The huddle was full. Every team member was in attendance, surrounded by the coaching staff. I shook my head, ridding myself of my last memory of Aliza. It had been a little under twenty-four hours since our engagement had ended and I hadn’t received a text or call from her.

However, she was courtside with her feet against the wood. Her season passes were still active and would be until the season ended. Though our relationship had ended, our history wouldn’t allow me to bring her anymore turmoil. She’d enjoyed watching me play since we were children. I doubted that would ever change regardless of our relationship status.

“One. Two. Three.”

“Vultures!” We chanted in unison.

Prrrrrt. The whistle sounded, marking the start of the game.

I stuffed my shirt inside of my shorts as I strolled into the rectangle. My eyes scanned the crowd, weary of my efforts to locate a very particular, very impressive face in the crowd. Empty seats twelve people to the left of Aliza remained empty as I took my position.

I planted my feet on the court as I waited for the referee to toss the ball upward. From my peripheral, movement near the seats designated for my incredibly special guest garnered my attention. My chest swelled with pride as my line of vision cleared.

Denim on denim.

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