Page 14 of All's Well that Friends Well

“That outdoor equipment place?” she says, shooting a look at Indy.

“Yep,” I say. “That’s the one.”

“You don’t—” Aurora breaks off, but India picks up for her.

“You don’t do a lot of outdoors stuff,” she says, more tactfully than Aurora would have. “Will that be okay?”

“Yes,” I say. “Because I will be cleaning toilets and floors. I got hired as a janitor,” I clarify when they both look even more confused.

They barely miss a beat, which is to their credit, because as much as I am not an outdoors person, I am even less a janitorial person.

“Oh,” Aurora says with a nod.

“Got it,” Indy says. “That’s so exciting!” She tilts her head, her red ponytail swishing. “What’s the pay like?”

Hmm. Good question. “I didn’t actually ask,” I say, lilting over to the table and sitting down. I’m tired; breaking and entering is a physically taxing activity, and Luca’s words keep running through my brain.

“You didn’t ask?” Aurora says.

“It all happened very fast,” I say with a shrug. “But whatever it is, it has to be more than I’m making right now, doesn’t it?”

Zero dollars. That is how much I’m currently making.

“Good point,” India says. “And—” But she breaks off too, looking over at Aurora. They share a significant glance, and India nudges Ror with her elbow. Aurora frowns at her and gives her a little push with her still-swinging foot.

“Youask her,” Aurora mutters under her breath. “I don’t?—”

“Guys,” I say with a sigh. I let my head rest on the kitchen table, my blonde hair falling around me. “I’m right here. I can hear you.”

Someone clears their throat—Aurora. “Fine. Yes. We’re wondering how you feel about not teaching ballet anymore.”

It’s a nice little cave I’m hiding in right now, with my forehead on the table and my hair obscuring my vision. The wood is cool against my skin, and I appreciate the steady support.

“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice muffled. That knot in the back of my throat rises again, and when I go on, the words are tremulous. “I can’t actually tell if I’m happy or—or sad.”

“You can be both,” India says. “Bittersweet emotions and whatnot. You’re glad you found work but sad you’re not teaching dance.” She pauses. “You’re still our Dancing Queen, no matter what.”

It’s a sweet thing to say. My theme song has always been ABBA’s “Dancing Queen.” And she’s right about the bittersweet thing too, but my feelings are deeper than that. Despite being the most emotionally aware of the three of us, I’m not sure how to explain to my sisters. How do I tell them about the insecurity that’s always festered inside of me? How do I tell them that there’s something devastatingly disappointing about this move?

I don’t know how to say those things. I don’t know if they’d understand. And as dearly as I love my sisters…I don’t think those are parts of me I want to share. The lies my brain tries to tell me, the shadows that would loom if I left them unchecked.

So I remain silent, my only response a little shrug. Then I take a deep breath and sit back up.

“Mexican?” I say.

And Aurora and India smile. Because when all is said and done, I’m not sure they would know how to ask any more than I would know how to answer.

LUCA

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious.”

“Youreallycan’t be serious.”

“Say that one more time and I’ll wallop you.”

Rodney’s wide mouth is set in a stubborn, unyielding line, and his brows are furrowed in aggravation. Despite these clear warning signs, I go on.

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