Page 51 of Dance with Me on New Year's Eve

What was wrong with me lately? I couldn’t stop blurting out mortifying things wherever I went lately. I used to beso good at keeping it all under wraps.

“You used to be good at this, right?” Mari said, reading my mind. “Then things start to spin out of control.”

My lower lip wobbled as I tried to swallow around the lump in my throat. I needed to change the direction of this conversation. The pity in their eyes was killing me.

“It’s OK, you know,” said Mari, putting a gentle hand on my forearm.

I forced myself to meet her eyes. “What?”

“It’s actually agoodthing that you’re no longer good at denying all your feelings. Because that’s bad for you,” she said.

“And you know that too,” said Hazel in a much softer voice than usual.

I swallowed again with some difficulty as I looked down, hoping a hair curtain would help. I crammed my hands under my legs on the seat to keep them from shaking.

“Agh—” I croaked.

“Here, have a glass of water,” Hazel said, sliding a glass toward me.

I accepted it hesitantly and then proceeded to guzzle half of it. Staring at the wooden table separating us, I cleared my throat and then pasted on a small smile. “I’m perfectly fine. Really.”

Mari shook her head sadly. “You’re not fine. But you’re not ready to talk about it. I get it.”

My brows scrunched together as I processed this. She didn’t believe me. She knew I was lying—sheknewshe was right that I was denying my feelings and hiding it all from others.

And she wasn’t ever going to believe me, because sheknew.

I remembered the old Mariana. She was one of the most controlled people I’d ever met, showing no emotion most of the time or at least believing she wasn’t. Some people, including me, had considered her cold and lacking humor. But she’d proved us all wrong. She was anything but cold and unfeeling; the real Mari was warm, deeply sensitive, and one of the kindest people I’d ever known.

Still, I wasn’t her. I didn’t have a great, wonderful person inside me just waiting to be freed.

“It’s just … I don’t do pity,” I said, unable to meet their eyes.

Hazel scoffed. “It’s not pity, at least not from us.”

“It’s empathy,” Mari said softly. “Maybe you haven’t had a lot of that in your life.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not—” I stopped to steady my breathing. “I think we should shift gears. I wanted to talk to you both about my workload and—and maybe strategize about how to optimize my time and responsibilities.”

Fortunately, I’d rehearsed that line quite a few times before I arrived here. I started breathing a bit easier after having declared my purpose for being here. I tried to look steadily into their eyes, but it was hard.

“You haven’t touched the coffee in front of you,” Hazel said mildly.

My eyes widened. I hadn’t even noticed a waiter bringing it to us. “Oh, uh, you’re right. I mean, I don’t like it really hot, so I was waiting till it cooled down.”

Lying isn’t bad if it’s for self-preservation, is it? Yet I knew the answer to that. And I think they did too, judging by their expressions of disbelief.

Mariana looked at Hazel before asking me, “Is that why you asked us to meet you?”

“Of course,” I said.

Hazel flipped her long, glossy black hair over her shoulder. “Oh, we thought you just wanted to hang out.”

I opened my mouth and closed it, unsure what to say. “I mean, it’s—hanging out is fine, but I know you’re busy. I promise this is just a work thing and won’t take too much of your time.”

They both frowned, and Mari fiddled with her wallet on the table.

“Did I say something wrong?” I squeaked.

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