Page 47 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

Her gaze jerks to the closed door of Beth’s bedroom at the sound of her wheezing cough, and Jessica’s resignation turns into something else. Something unapologetic. The moment she walked into their apartment the previous afternoon, it was as if she fell face first into acceptance, her shame and guilt bruised and battered with her landing. The cramped space she shares with her mother, the meager assortment of food in the fridge, Beth’s medicine in the bathroom, it was enough to bring Jessica wholly into reality. Not just the reality in which Godrik isn’t her lover but a man using her—but a reality in whichsheis usinghimjust the same.

Wading through her lingering thoughts of Godrik, Jessica gets out of bed and makes her way to the kitchen. She rummages through some of the groceries she splurged on the day before and finds the box of green tea she thought her mother might like. She puts on a pot of water to boil and gets down a clean mug, placing a fresh bag of tea inside as she waits on the water. Leaning up against the counter beside the stove, she folds her arms across her chest and tries to think of somethingotherthan Godrik. She thinks of the more than twenty-six thousand dollars she now possesses and the best and smartest way for her to spend it.

By the time the water is boiling, Jessica has decided she’ll pay for the next four months of rent. She’ll then set aside an allotment of funds to cover their utilities and groceries for the same amount of time. Once she’s factored in the cost of Beth’s monthly prescription drugs, she breathes easy, realizing she’ll still have plenty in the event of an emergency. That also gives her a few solid weeks to find another job. Agoodjob, one that’ll help her take care of her mother so she can focus on staying home and resting.

As Jessica steeps the tea bag, watching as the water turns yellow-ish green, the unique comfort that comes with a sense ofsecuritymakes her thoughts go lax. Soon Godrik is weaving his way through her mind again. She sorts through the more subtle moments they’ve shared and the things he’s made possible for her. In a twisted way, he’s responsible for her finding any semblance of peace of mind. Moreover, he’s flipped a switch inside of her she’d turned off a while ago. It’s like he’s woken her up, and with a mind not so muddled with worry—even if only for a while—it’s given way for her to acknowledge a desire that’s been dormant for a while now.

She recalls the night she spent out at the club with Kierra nearly a week ago, and the longing that tugs at her heart is enough for her to make up her mind. She decides she’ll head to the studio later that afternoon. It’ll be a splurge, paying for a few classes; but with such a surplus in her bank account, she can’t reason her way out of it.

Jessica squeezes a bit of honey in Beth’s tea and then walks across their small apartment until she’s standing in front of the closed bedroom door. She knocks softly before granting herself entrance, smiling sweetly when Beth looks over from where she’s laying in the middle of the bed.

“Morning, mama,” she greets softly. “I made you some tea.”

“Thanks, baby. That—” She’s interrupted by another round of coughing as she sits up. Jessica tries not to whence at the sound, which seems to come from deep within her mother’s chest. Beth draws in a desperate breath after the coughing has subsided, propping herself against her pillows as she reaches for the mug. “That’s sweet of you,” she finally finishes.

“Why does it sound like your cold isn’t getting any better?” asks Jessica.

She hands her mother the steaming mug and sits facing the woman on the side of the bed. Beth shakes her head and then takes a sip before she answers, “You know how it goes. The cough is always the worst, but it signals the tail end. Just takes me a little while to get over it is all.” She studies her daughter over the rim of the mug as she takes another sip, then adds, “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll be fine, Jess.”

Holding tight to the secret she’s doing everything she can to make sure her mother is right, Jessica forces a small smile in response. Wanting more than the comfort of financial security, she stretches out across the bed, resting her head in her mother’s lap as she drapes an arm across her thighs. When Beth starts to run her fingers through Jessica’s long locks, Jessica relishes the feeling and closes her eyes. Again, she remembers herwhy, and any lingering sense of shame or guilt is shoved farther and farther away.

Walking into MiahMichael’s Dance Studio on the south side of Tribeca is like coming home. Jessica can feel the energy in the building as if she’s entering into an entirely different atmosphere. There’s an electric current bouncing off the walls, the loud chatter in the lobby almost drowning out the overhead music. The familiarity of that space and time between classes, people coming and going, makes Jessica’s heart beat faster in anticipation. She looks around, searching for a familiar face, but finds none. Even so, she feels no less welcome. There are no strangers in dance. These are her people. This is where she belongs.

“Jessica?!”

She twists her neck at the sound of her name, her long ponytail whipping around until the tail drapes against her chest. She barely has time to register the sound of that excited voice before Kierra has her wrapped in a tight embrace.

“Oh, my god, what are you doing here?”

Jessica is grinning when her friend pulls away, only to grab hold of her bare arms—as if she’ll bolt at any moment. Kierra’s mop of dark brown curls, with a ton of honey highlights, is pulled into a thick puff on top of her head. Her jade-green eyes, so striking against her pale brown skin, are alight in excitement; and the smile that’s spread across her face—bright in and of itself, with her straight, pearly-white, movie-star teeth—seems to make her whole face sparkle.

“I felt like dancing,” she answers with a shrug, a motion exactly the opposite of how she’s feeling. “I wasn’t sure what classes were offered this afternoon, but I don’t really care.”

“Girl, you know Miah,” she insists, letting go of Jessica only to fling her arm across her shoulders. “It’s Sunday afternoon. There’s only one thing she feels like teaching Sunday afternoon...”

Kierra quirks an eyebrow at Jessica and they both say in unison, “Hip-hop.”

“She is going toflip her lidwhen she sees you. It’s been forev-a!”

“She’s going to laugh her ass off when she sees me,” Jessica counters with a shake of her head. “I’m so out of shape. I’m sure she’ll kill me today.”

Miah is one of the best choreographers in all of New York. For Jessica, getting to dance under her instruction is an honor. It was always hard to afford studio time, but both Beth and Jessica scarified as much as they could to make it happen—until there weren’t enough pennies to scrape up to make it work. It broke her heart when she had to give it all up. Being back in the studio lifts her spirits so high, she feels like she’s floating.

It was in one of Miah’s classes where Jessica met Kierra. Kierra is among the most talented ballerinas in the city. After high school, she was able to train at the Joffrey School of Ballet, and now she performs as a principal dancer with the Parson’s Ballet Company. If she wasn’t such a pleasure to watch, Jessica would envy her success. There was a time when all Jessica wanted was to be able to dance for a living.

She shakes away the thought that if finances weren’t an issue, maybe she’d be the contemporary dancer she feels like she was born to be. There’s no sense in dwelling on whatmight have been. For now, she’s merely grateful for the opportunity to join a classat all. Even if it is an advanced class.

Even if it will totally kick her ass.

Miah offers a variety of classes, from hip-hop to contemporary to ballroom. She’s got some amazing instructors on her payroll, and she herself is called upon to choreograph for music videos and movies quite frequently. The fact that her classes are even remotely affordable is proof she’s got a big heart and she wishes only to foster a community of dance to keep the art alive.

It hasn’t been so long that Jessica has forgotten Miah’s weekend classes are mostly for the advanced group. Aside from a couple offerings on Saturday morning, Miah caters her weekend to dancers who spend Monday through Friday in whatever art schools or company practices they’re in. The weekends are for the rebels—herfavorite—the ones who want to step outside their norm and dance to a different beat. This explains why Kierra is here.

She’s classy as hell, in her pointe shoes and tutus, but the girl likes to getdown,Jessica muses as they make their way to the check-in desk.

“Hey, Miah! Look what the wind blew in,” Kierra calls out, stealing Miah’s attention from a conversation she’s having.

Miah’s flirting with fifty, her spikey hair tinged with gray, her light-blue eyes framed by crow’s feet, and the skin under her neck slowly losing its elasticity—but the smirk that tugs at the corner of her mouth at the sight of Jessica is all the proof she needs to know the choreographer is still just as spunky as she remembers. She’s thin, but not overly so, and stands no taller than five-two. She’s always said she’s too short, which is why she got into choreography.

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