Page 29 of Tension
“I know,” I admit, my voice cracking. “But I’m not that person anymore, Mami. Dancing didn’t destroy me. My choices did, and I’ve learned from them. I’ve changed.”
She studies me for a long moment, her gaze searching mine. Then she sighs, leaning back in the chair. “Paris,” she murmurs, as if testing the word. “Do you really think you’re ready for this?”
“I have to be.” I fall onto the couch and run my hand over my eyes. “This is my chance to prove to myself that I can do it. That I’m stronger than my past.”
Her lips press into a thin line, but there’s a hint of pride in her eyes. “You’re going to have to tell your father.”
My stomach twists, but I nod. “I know, but I need you to help me. He’ll listen to you.”
She releases her breath slowly, her fingers brushing through her hair. “I’ll talk to him,” she relents finally. “But you’ll need to show him… show us… that you’re serious about this. No more sneaking around. No more secrets.”
“I promise,” I vow, relief flooding through me. “Thank you, Mami.”
She rises from the chair, her movements still graceful despite the burden of our conversation. “Go to bed, Mateo. We’ll figure this out tomorrow.”
I nod, getting up from the couch to head toward my bedroom. When I get to the top of the stairs, I sink onto the bed, the stress inside my chest finally easing. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe. It’s not over, not by a long shot, because my father won’t make this easy, but the secret is out and I can finally be free.
The airport is crowded, the bustle of activity crowding us as travelers rush past with their luggage in tow. My mother stands beside me at the security checkpoint, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression pensive. Roger waits a few feet away, giving us privacy, though I’m certain he’s still listening. He always is.
“You’ll call me every day?” she asks, her voice softer than usual.
“Every day,” I promise, meeting her gaze. “And I’ll text you before my meetings and after. You don’t have to worry, Mami.”
She exhales, her shoulders dropping slightly as she steps forward and pulls me into a tight hug. “I’m your mother. Worrying is what I do. Christmas is coming. Are you sure you do not want to come home with your father and me?”
“No.” I shake my head as she pulls back, memories of Christmases flooding my mind. Grace and I would make a mess of gift wrap and toys as we excitedly ran around the room. “I couldn’t bear it without Grace and with Dad still mad at me.”
“He loves you, Mateo. He just needs time, and so does Grace. Gain their trust like you’ve started to gain mine.” She pulls me back in for another hug, her warmth and scent washing over me.
“I know,” I murmur, my voice muffled against her shoulder. “Thank you for trusting me.”
When she pulls back, her eyes are glossy but determined. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t,” I assure her.
She gives me one last look before turning toward security, her posture straight and poised, as if she’s heading for the stage instead of a plane. I watch her disappear into the crowd, the knot in my stomach easing slightly now that she’s gone. Yet the burden of her expectations remains, ramping my anxiety up a notch.
Roger claps a hand on my shoulder as we head back to the car. “She’s proud of you, you know,” he says, his tone unusually warm. “Even if she doesn’t say it outright.”
“I hope so,” I reply, sliding into the back seat of the SUV. The drive home is quiet, Roger sensing my mood and leaving me to my thoughts. When we pull up to my building, he glances at me in the rearview mirror.
“Need a ride later?” he asks casually. It looks like my mother might have filled Roger in on my dancing. I just don’t know how much. It makes me nervous, because what if he feels inclined to tell my father?
“No,” I say quickly, too quickly. “I’ll just be studying at home today.”
His eyebrows lift slightly, but he doesn’t push. “Alright. Call me if you need anything.”
I nod and step out, my bag slung over my shoulder as I head inside. The doorman greets me with a nod, and I force a smile in return, my mind already racing. I have to be careful now. With my mother gone but still in close contact, and Roger’s watchful eyes, every move feels like it’s under scrutiny until my father knows everything.
Once inside my apartment, I head straight for my room and change into my dance gear: fitted joggers and a lightweight hoodie. I glance at the clock. It’s still early, but I’ll need time to make it to the studio. Grabbing my bag and jacket, I take the now-familiar route to the roof, carefully pushing open the access door and stepping onto the fire escape. The cold metal feels shaky under my feet as I descend, my heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and nerves.
The studio is quiet when I arrive, the Saturday afternoon light streaming through the tall windows and illuminating the polished floor. Greyson is already there, adjusting the soundsystem, while Yvonne stretches near the mirrors. She glances up when she sees me, flashing a bright smile.
“Hey,” she calls out, her tone chipper. “Ready to get your butt kicked?”
“Always,” I reply, setting my bag down near the wall.
I try to keep my head down while I hang up my jacket and change into my shoes, but I find myself giving in and looking around the studio for my very own drug. She’s nowhere to be seen, and my heart sinks as my stomach rolls. It’s been nearly a week since our last interaction, and I can feel myself growing uneasy. I don’t know what will come of us, or this attraction that’s growing. She’s married, happily from what I gather, and I’m a recovering addict who’s latched onto a new fixation. None of it is healthy, but just like the first time I succumbed to the magnetism of the forbidden, I find myself doing the same.
