Page 111 of The Breaking Pointe
All in all,I’ve spent hours obsessing over finding the perfect place to build her dream dance studio.Honestly, fuck hours. It’s been days now, and as a result of relentless frustrations, the price is a non-factor for me. I’ve congre- gated all of my concerns and picked the most important ones out of the list.Those concerns relate to whether the location is child safe, and how many square feet I’m allowed to go crazy with.You’d think that the rest would follow suit— assuming it would be easy to find these amenities together, but apparently property sellers are a lot more strict than most business people. Every possible option has one giant deal breaker that lands me at a dead end, with no choice but to start my search over.
On the other side of my search, there’s an additional big job. Another reason for me to hide in my art studio.
That would be drawing out a floor plan and map of what needs to be built, and hiring the proper team to execute exactly what I need to be done. Something I selfishly wish that I could do on my own, but won’t out of fear it might not come out how I need it to.If it weren’t urgent, I’d absolutely try. I would try just about anything for this woman, scarily enough.
But this? I need this done as quickly as possible. At least by the end of the year. No later.
A few knocks on the door echo throughout the art studio, sending my work into a pause.
“Come in.” I spin my chair around, waiting to see Steven come in.
He takes a couple of steps into the room, his eyes wander- ing about.
“I um…I’m going to Jake’s,” he says, rocking on his heels. “Okay,buddy.Goforit.Butbehomebeforedinner tomorrow.Noellereallywantsusthere.”Inod,tapping
my pencil against my hand.
“You’re not mad?”He licks his lips.
“Why would I be mad, Steven? You can’t stay cooped up in here, forever.” I inhale, assuring him.
“Neithercanyou,Cole,”hequietlycomments.Fair.
“I know. I’ll be alright though. Tomorrow’s outing will be enough for me,” I respond.
“Okay…” he mumbles, looking at the floor then back at me. I can tell he has more to say, so I remain quiet.
“Soyou’reokaywithstilltakingmetothedormsthis weekend?” he asks.
“I would rather you stay here,but you’re eighteen.I can’tdecidethatforyou,orforceyoutooblige,”Itell
him.“Besides, you’re already late in the semester, and I don’t think your roommate wants someone moving in in the middle of the first year.”
Helooksdownagain,ignoringmyminimalhumor.
“I know I’m not your favorite person, Steven.But I’m trying to change that,” I add.
“I want to be as far away from here as possible. It’s just a reminder that things won’t get better,” he reveals in a louder voice.
“That’s not true.” I roll my chair closer to him, watching him slowly back away.
“Then what about you?You haven’t made it seem like I’m wrong. I just miss how we used to be.Before Hannah.Before you were…this.” He watches me.
Like this—meaning drained, empty, and lost? Luckily he’s a much brighter and less tormented kid than I was.
“I’m sorry that I’m like this, Steven,” I say, seriously. “Don’t apologize to me.Look in the mirror and apologize
to that guy.”He sighs.“He’s wasting his time being mad at the world when he could be basking in the glory of his hot girlfriend, all of his money, and his pro boxing career. You might’ve lost Mom, but you didn’t lose everything else that’s good in your life.”
Bringing my gaze to the space between us, I sigh back. “Bytheway—Treyishere.He’sinthelivingroom.I’ll
text you.Let you know I’m safe,” he finishes his speech, backing out of the art studio to leave me alone.
Forthefirsttime,hesaidwhathehadtosaywithout yelling. Maybe that’s progression.
Or maybe he’s sick of repeating himself.
Thatwasn’tarepeatofanolderspeech,though.Him
