Page 52 of My Favorite Secret
Paul is tall and lanky. He wears glasses and has a preppy fashion sense. His black hair is always gelled to one side. We don’t have anything in common. All he talks about is coding and video games, which I know nothing about. I think he mentioned an older brother living overseas, but Ican’t remember if I’m confusing that conversation for one I had with someone else.
Paul likes to talk about how beautiful I am on stage. I think it’s the only reason he’s interested in me. Unlike with Tyler and Felix, how it pleases me to hear them speak about how beautiful I am as a ballerina, I get the ick when Paul does it.
“These are for you.” Paul holds out a bouquet of roses.
“Thank you.” I accept the flowers, then look for the first opportunity to get out of here. “Excuse me while I find a vase for the roses.”
“We’ll tend to the roses later. Sit,” Dad tells me.
With reluctance, I join Paul on the couch.
“How are you feeling about the funeral tomorrow?” Paul asks me while our parents talk among themselves. “If there’s anything I can do to offer my support, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
“Thank you but that’s not necessary. I’ll have my family with me.”
The tail end of my father’s conversation catches my attention. “It will be such a lovely event in honor of Clara. Thank you for hosting.”
“Dad? What are you talking about?” I ask, confused why the Fergusons would be hosting anything in regard to Mom.
Holly smiles and answers. “Your mother’s exhibition is opening soon. I thought it would be lovely to organize a private showing for friends and family before the opening. We’ve offered to host at our home.”
The news makes me hesitate, not understanding why these people are getting involved in Mom’s affairs. Then again, I suppose it’s not that odd with Dad and Samuel working together.
I make myself smile. “Thank you. That will be lovely.”
“It was Paul’s idea.”
Jesus. I guess that’s… nice. But I have the ick again. It’s not Paul’s place to be making grand gestures like this.
I look at the clock on the wall, seeing five minutes have passed. That’s all the time Dad said I need to make an appearance for. But there’s no way I can leave without seeming rude. So, I stay in my spot and it’s a miserable afternoon. I have to wipe my eyes dry several times over the stories I hear about Mom. Then I have to act like I appreciate Paul’s support when he places his hand on my knee, telling me it’s okay to be sad.
The only thing that lifts my spirits is when the front door opens. Felix walks in after school and all eyes turn to him.
Dad clears his throat. “Everyone, this is Felix. He and his brother are living with us for a while. Very important boys. Like sons to Clara and brothers to Harper. They’ve been a great help to me during this time, taking such good care of Harper.”
I blush at the mention of Felix being my brother. My legs clench. Dad has no clue just how well Felix takes care of me.
The slightest smirk plays on Felix’s lips. He knows why I’m blushing.
My father goes on to explain Mom’s connection with the Blackwoods. Felix introduces himself but doesn’t intrude on the gathering and heads straight to his room. I’m waiting for Tyler to appear through the front door, but after ten minutes, I’m disappointed and left to assume he got caught up at school.
As everyone continues talking, movement in my peripheral catches my attention. Felix is standing on the outskirtsof the room, mostly hidden from sight. A red poker chip weaves between his fingers while he rests a shoulder against the doorframe and watches me. Summoning me. My lips twitch with a smile, having missed him.
Felix looks at Paul and laughs quietly to himself, then looks back at me, amused, and mouths the wordboyfriend?
I laugh a little too loud and draw attention to myself. “Sorry, just… a memory of something Mom did.”
“It’s nice to laugh over special memories,” Holly says. “Dear, how has your dancing been? Your father tells us you have the lead in your school’s production ofSwan Lake.”
My smile drops. “I’m quitting ballet.”
Dad gasps and cuts in. “She doesn’t mean that.”
“I do mean it.” There’s no defiance in my tone. I’m not fighting him on this. My words are apathetic. “My desire to dance died along with Mom. I called the academy this morning and told them I won’t be dancing inSwan Lake.”
My father, appalled, digs his nails into the armrest. “You know your future depends on that performance. You should have discussed this with me.”
“There was no point discussing anything. Nothing feels good anymore. I’m never dancing again.”
