Page 7 of Night Fever
Because that’s what it feels like - adream.
I grab my towels hanging from the door to the shower and fashioned one around my waist, draping the other over my shoulders to run it through myhair.
I’m in for a long day ahead of me. I have a new student coming shortly for a series of six ballroom dance lessons her dad gifted to her for her twenty-firstbirthday.
On my way into my office to change into my dance clothes, I stop by the front desk and punch in my login info to the computer, hovering over it and being careful to not let any drops of water get into the keyboard. I want to see the name of the girl who would be coming here shortly for her orientation and firstlesson.
Her dad’s a good friend of mine and has been for years. We met when I was in the marines and he was over in Afghanistan with Doctors Without Borders. We couldn’t be more different and were literally from opposite sides of the tracks - he came from a heritage clan of the New York social scene and is an accomplished surgeon with a perfect nuclear family, and I’m a public college dropout who’s always worked with his body and has no one in their life. But things like this never dictate what’s in someone’s heart, and we bonded over simple things and could chat allnight.
I pulled up the day’s schedule in Outlook to see who’s on thecalendar.
Taylor Macintosh. Her name is Taylor Macintosh, and I can’t wait to meether.
Taylor
The rideto the mystery outing was fast enough, though it was made a little bit slower by all of the happy birthday texts I keptgetting.
A steady stream of messages keeps popping up on my social media feeds, too. A local pizzeria, my favorite one, that I often tag when I visited for a hot, fresh slice, tagged me and offered twenty percent off my next order. Old classmates from high school popped up on Facebook to wish me a very special day, and I shook my head and rolled my eyes when I saw that some of them were people I was never really friendswith.
I’d never had any enemies, but as the quiet girl in the back of the class, lots of my classmates found me to be nearly invisible. Again, they weren’t enemies of mine. Far from it. I don’t know if I ever really got to be close enough to anyone for them to actively not likeme.
Still, it was weird to see all those birthday greetings from people who barely knew my name and were now telling me they hoped I’d have a fantastic day. If I weren’t friends with them on Facebook, they wouldn’t have known it was my birthday. In fact, they probably wouldn’t recognize me if we passed each other on thestreet.
I feel the cab slow down and pull over to the curb as the meter clicks off. My eyes meet the driver’s in the rearview mirror before I glance over to my left to see where he’s takenme.
And that’s when my stomachdrops.
“Have a nice day,” the cab driver says without emotion. It’s time for me to pay and get the hell out of his cab, but I feel frozen inplace.
Swallowing thickly, I take my debit card out of my purse and swipe it through the machine perched on the plastic divider separating me and the driver, thank him, and get out of his car, exiting into the thick, nearly damp morningair.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” I hear my dad say before I seehim.
Following his voice, I look to my left as the car door slams behind me. Dad’s there, holding two big mylar balloons - a “2” and a “1,” which I can’t help but give a little smileat.
I’ve never been one to like or even tolerate surprises, but...hetried.
Still,though...
“Hey dad,” I say as I walk over to him. He wraps me up in a big hug and swings us gently from side toside.
Dad is formal. He’s always been a bit distant. He’s focused and calm at all times, and even though he’s made it a habit of being a technically good provider to my mom and me through my whole life, I always would have traded in some of the prestige and privilege for a little bit more dad-and-daughtertime.
Now that he’s semi-retired, I’m getting what I always wanted. And I’ve tried to be grateful, but sometimes it’shard.
I smile and pull my shoulders back as dad hands me the two big, puffyballoons.
“Thank you,” I say, looking up at them against the big, bright blue sky. “These are verycute.”
“Come,” he says, putting his arm across my shoulders. He’s really trying, here, but I don’t want to face what’s coming next. “Let me give you yourgift.”
The big building we’re in front of looks like one of those kids’ birthday party places where they have the ball pits and the jungle gyms. Maybe there’s laser tag inside too, or an arcade, or probably all of theabove.
And I know there’s a distinct possibility that we’re here because there’s a dance studioinside.
I know he still thinks of me as his little girl, but I know he wouldn’t think it appropriate to throw me into a ball pit with a bunch of five-year-olds.
Inside, the lobby is big and bright, with high windows against the front wall. The sunlight is streaming in, making the cold of the air conditioning a little bit easier tobear.
