Page 60 of Christmas at Hart's Ridge

I nodded. “Okay.”

There was a flurry of hurried hugs and congratulations as the rest of Luke’s friends made a hasty exit. Until the only ones left were my parents.

And they were frowning.

“Bethany,” Mom said. “Let’s go home.”

My mom’s apple-cherry pie was nothing short of heaven. She made it every Christmas for me, never once whining about my small apartment’s lack of counter space or the fact that my oven was only two-thirds the size of a traditional stove. Tonight she served it up with a steaming mug of decaf coffee.

But I was too anxious to enjoy any of it. My mind kept replaying the moment Ethan discovered us. That was not how I wanted him to find out. It scared me, seeing him so distraught. Ethan wasn’t a violent guy. Not at all.

The matching frown my parents were sporting wasn’t helping my state of mind, either.

“I don’t understand,” Mom said, putting her fork down. “Is Luke your boyfriend?”

“Yes?” I said hesitantly, like it was a question. Even though there was nothing I was more sure of.

Dad’s frown deepened. “He sat in this very kitchen and you said not one word about it.”

“It’s a more recent development.” I fiddled with my fork, then took a big bite of pie. There. They couldn’t expect me to talk when my mouth was full of pie, could they?

“I suppose that explains why we haven’t seen you as much as we would have liked these past few weeks,” Mom said mildly.

There was nothing mild about the flood of guilt that hit me. It didn’t matter that I was twenty-five years old. I felt like a kid again, facing my mom’s disappointment when I broke her favorite lamp they couldn’t afford to replace—not and pay for my ballet lessons.

“I was working, too,” I defended myself. “And I had theNutcracker.”

“Of course, Bethany.” My mom smiled bravely. “Maybe your father and I can come visit you in New York this spring. We would love to see you as Odette.”

I took a deep breath. It was now or never.

“I’m not going to be Odette, Mom.” I delivered the news as gently as I could. “I’m not going back to New York. I’m resigning my position with the New York Ballet Company.”

Mom did an excellent impression of a woman turned to stone. Dad stared at me. “You can’t be serious.”

I clasped my shaking hands together so hard my knuckles turned white. “Iamserious, Dad. I’ve given this a lot of thought ever since I fractured my ankle. I love ballet so much, but I don’t love it being my whole life. I want more.”

“More.” My dad gave a snort of disbelief. “We gave up so much for you to have this life, and now you wantmore?”

“I—” I swallowed hard. “I’ll pay you back. Somehow.”

My mom found her voice. “It’s not about the money, Bethany.” She sent my dad a sharp look of rebuke. “It’s not. It’s that…Well, we thought this was your dream. We put everything we had into making it come true for you. Money, yes, but also time and energy. It was all worth it, because it meant so much to you. And now you’re saying that you don’t want it anymore. You’re giving up? That doesn’t seem like you.”

“I’m not giving up. Everything I wanted to accomplish in ballet, I did it. And that’s as much thanks to you as it is to my own hard work. But when I got hurt and it was all taken away from me, I realized that it wasn’t the end of the world. Not for me. It was the beginning of something new. And I liked that. I liked it a lot.”

I looked from my mom to my dad and back again, desperate for them to understand. “You say it doesn’t seem like me to quit ballet, but the truth is, I don’t entirely know what is me and what isn’t. All I’ve ever been is ballet. For the first time in my life, I’m more than that. And now I can’t go back. Not if I want to be happy.”

Mom and Dad exchanged a look.

“All we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy,” Mom said.

“But are you sure this is what you want?” Dad pushed. “Maybe you’re scared of going back to your life in New York. Are you worried you won’t be good enough after getting hurt? That you’ll be knocked down to soloist? You can work your way back up. I’m sure of it. No one works harder than you.”

I laughed. “I’m not scared, Dad. Really. I’m not scared of setbacks or hard work. I did it once before, and I could do it again. If I wanted to. But dreams change. It doesn’t mean that I love ballet any less. It was worth every sacrifice I made, every second of pain, all of it. I don’t regret my life. Not at all. But I think…”

I hesitated, sorting through the messy emotions rioting inside me. “But I think if I stayed on that path, Iwouldhave regrets. There’s so much more I want to do. Ballet will always be an important part of my life. That’s what I want. For it to bepartof my life. Not my whole life.”

My parents said nothing as they took this in.

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