Page 180 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

“We’ll reschedule the meeting.” he interrupted. “Or send someone else.”

I rolled my eyes at that suggestion. “This isourdance company. We’re not sending someone else, it would look unprofessional.”

“Then we reschedule.” he replied firmly, standing up and stretching his arms high as he rolled his head around his neck.

“Again,” I reiterated. “Very unprofessional.”

Dante and I were at loggerheads. There was a potential opportunity to perform at Birmingham Hippodrome. The Ice Queen and Princess was a smash, and the ballet community knew it. They knewus. Performing the production at the Royal Opera House had catapulted us into a higher arena, and we needed to capitalize on our success or fade back into obscurity. I didn’t want obscurity for my dance company, not after being on the big stage under the bright lights. Intake of students was at an all-time high, my corp was eager and hardworking; business was good. And my birthday loomed closer, one week away to be precise. After that, well, I knew what came after but this year I was going to slay my demon. This year I wouldnotfall apart on the anniversary of their deaths. This year I would grieve like a…a normal person? What was normal with grief? Soul destroying, mind warping grief. Hell if I knew, but I was going to do it. Maybe I shouldn’t have stopped my sessions with the good Dr Brown.

“Madi, I’ve watched you fall apart each year since we were kids,” Dante said with a heavy dose of sadness. “And I’m not letting you go through this alone. God only knows what you’ll do.”

My eyebrows shot way up at his worried exclamation. Why did he sound as if he feared I would do something stupid? I mean, since my teenaged years there was always drink andlightdrug use involved; and he was always right there, but not this year. This year I was facing it sober.

“Dante,” I fiddled with the straps of my leotard and tried to smile. “I’ll be fine. It’s time.”

I squirmed under the scrutiny of his warm brown eyes and recognized the tense line of his shoulders and clenched hands. He wasn’t planning to back down on this issue.

“Will you really?” he asked, mockingly might I point out. “Especially now with the added problem of your dickass husband. And why haven’t you gotten a lawyer as yet? You told me he has one. He’s going to screw you over, sweet cheeks. I can feel it in my bones.”

I forced a laugh to lighten the atmosphere. “In your bones, huh?”

When Dante let out an irritated huff, my gaze slid quickly away from his. I was fearful Dante would somehow magically guess what had happened the weekend he was away in Amsterdam. Matt hadn’t called. Three weeks had passed since our sex-fest and he hadn’t contacted me. The first few days after, my cell had been practically glued to my hand as I waited for the expected call. My hope that we would reconcile was sky high. The loving had beensuperb, omitting the incidents before and during the shower. Once a week had passed, I figured it must be work keeping him busy. The oil economy was still dealing with the ongoing lower than expected prices per barrel. Yeah, I had looked into it…and the powers that be were already warning that it was unlikely any significant recovery of oil prices would even take place in 2016. Also he probably didn’t want to seem too eager. He had an over-abundance of pride.

By the second week, I was furious, mentally cursing him out and feeling like a pathetic idiot. I had let him hit it then quit it, the douche. Yeah, I was mad, until I caught a bit of news announcing the birth of Nathan and Bella Walthamstow’s first child. So once again my hope had rocketed to the heavens, Matt was obviously caught up with his best friend’s life, right? That’s why he hadn’t called. Then I thought maybe he was waiting for me to call him, it was the 21stcentury after all and women were allowed to be forward in relationships. But Matt was the type of man who liked beingthe man. He preferred doing things on his own terms, in fact, that was the only way he liked doing things.

So I waited.

This was the third week and my hope was dead. He wasn’t going to call and probably never planned to. I had experienced my first one-night stand. A weird spousal version of the one-night stand that had me confused as hell. Maybe he just wanted to sex me one last time. Maybe he hadn’t expected it to happen. Maybe he was a douche who I stupidly gave the goodies to and he hadn’t given me a second thought since. He had left while I was sleeping. Who does that? It was simply good manners to bid someone goodbye after covering them in come. And it had gotteneverywhere.

“See?” Dante’s exclamation startled me out of my musings. “You’ve been spaced out for weeks. You always get like this around your birthday. I’m staying, deal with it.” With that pronouncement he spun on his heels and stalked out the changing rooms.

“I can do this on my own.” I grumbled to the empty locker room.

In fact, I needed to do this on my own. Although I had ended my therapy sessions in under a year, Dr Brown’s assessment had been accurate, and brutal. I was guilty of using the people I loved like crutches. How would I ever be a well-adjusted person if continuously avoiding the hard issues in my life? A frustrated grunt escaped my lips. Why did things have to be so hard? Why wasmylife so hard? I headed out the locker room with slumped shoulders. Aunt Cleo always said the Lord never gave you more than you could bear, but it felt the load I carried was too much. Pathetic. I was a pathetic excuse for a woman. Where was my inner strength? I was broken, had been since the death of my parents; it was time to fix that. I just had to figure out how….

It was the fifteenth and the normally silent house phone rang loudly. I reached over to nab it from the coffee table while balancing the bowl of soup on my thigh. A quick glance at the caller id confirmed my suspicions.

“Hey,” I greeted softly.

“I’ve been trying you all day,” My aunt’s tone held a trace of reproach but it was countered by concern. “How was it?”

“Fine,” I murmured, nestling the phone between my shoulder and ear. “How are you guys?”

“We’re ok,” she rushed to say. “Are you ok?”

“Mhmm,” I took a moment to pop a spoonful of soup in my mouth. We were both silent for half a minute until she let out a soft sigh.

“I don’t like you being alone today. It’s not right.”

“I’m fine, Aunt Cleo,” I wanted to stem her tirade before it began. Dante had gone to Birmingham yesterday. My threat to force a buy out of his 30% of our company and the destruction of his stuff on my property swayed his decision. He had stayed for my birthday, no celebration this year, then booked a return train ticket to Birmingham for the business meeting.

“You don’t sound fine.” she stated with sadness.

I popped another spoonful of soup in my mouth. The trip to the cemetery this morning was difficult for me to face on my own, but I had done it. Of course, without Dante there to fulfil his clock watching duties, my time at their gravesides had morphed from an hour to three.

“Your uncle wants to know if you’re coming home for Thanksgiving this year.”

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