Page 62 of Cause When You Love Someone
She dusted off her hands as if ridding herself of me. “All right, smart ass. I’m going to let you bump your head. You’ll crawl back when you need me to nurse you back to health. Just like I told you that the fling with you and Ishmael wouldn’t last.”
At that point, my mom didn’t deserve to know the details of my love life, so I put on my shades and relaxed until we got to the studio. By the time we pulled up, Jerry waited outside at the curb. As soon as I stepped out of the truck, he roped his arm around mine and whisked me off before anyone else could get to me.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“No problem. Judging by the voicemail I received from your mom a little while ago, I assumed the car ride would be tense.”
I smirked. “You know us so well.”
Aside from the dance instructor, Kori, there were two cameramen and three dancers in the large room. I didn’t know if the small class size was a strategic decision, but the less eyes, the better.
“Ms. C. Rose!” Kori walked over and embraced me. “I’m so happy to welcome you back to your happy place.”
“That is music to my ears. I appreciate you allowing us to film at your studio. I know the cameras and all that jazz are . . . a lot.”
The pretty lady with the honey brown skin placed her hands on her midsection. “It’s an honor. I love providing a space and opportunity for a fellow dancer.”
“I needed to hear that,” I admitted. “Where should we start?”
I removed my jacket, instantly conjuring a laugh from the back of the room. I peered over my shoulder to see my mother smiling with a camera in her face. It wasn’t one of those proud, nurturing smirks, but a condescending grin.
“You are too thick for that costume, C. Rose,” my mom suggested in a sarcastic tone. “Girl, you are going to make a fool out of yourself.”
Kori’s mouth fell into a disgusted shape. “Do I need to make this a private session?”
“You sure don’t. I’ll be quiet.” My mom raised her palms in the air.
For the most part, we went through basic stretches and warm-ups before Kori taught me a jazz number. The bass from the music tickled the bottom of my feet, ushering a smile onto my face. My attention to detail helped me through the steps, and despite the weight I’d gained over the years, my stamina was top tier. Like riding a bike, I remembered to keep my shoulders squared or to shift my weight to the ball of my foot to increase my speed while turning.
Enthralled with the sensation of freedom, I didn’t remember the cameras were in the room until Jerry asked if we could add ballet into the mix.
Once my lesson was done, I had a one-on-one conversation with Kori about my plans to convert the property I inherited into a dance studio. We planned to meet again—without Jerry and the cameras—and she asked that I have a sports physical done before our next lesson.
Though I had more scenes to film, I had a few hours to kill before I had to be in front of the camera. A quick call to mydoctor gave me the opportunity to complete my physical without having to wait weeks.
“Mom, we’re about to run to Dr. Stewart’s office. I want to get my physical handled.”
“That’s fine. I want to see how much you weigh. You think because you carry it in your ass and hips, it doesn’t matter.”
“Mom, if you’re going to be nasty about this, maybe you should skip the doctor’s appointment. Jerry isn’t coming, so there won’t be any camera time.”
“Clarke, stop talking to me.” She snarled. “Sage, call Rock and tell him we’re coming out.”
Just like during our ride to the studio, I remained quiet until we reached our destination. The less I spoke to my mom, the less I ran the chance of being discouraged.
The doctor’s office was empty, so we were escorted to a room within a few minutes of arriving. Since I was only getting a simple check-up, I didn’t stop my mom when she followed me. Instead, I asked Sage to come to the back as well.
“Ms. Clarke,” Dr. Stewart sang when she joined us in the room. “Is everything okay? You’re not due for your semi-annual appointment for another three months.”
“Well, I need a sports physical.”
“Sports physical? Okay. What are you getting into?”
“A fairytale,” my mom answered in a mocking tone. “She has the nerve to try to get back into dance.”
“Mama. Please. Stop.” I offered my doctor a smirk. “I’m taking classes with Kori Soles, and her studio requires every student have a physical in their file.”
“Aww, Clarke! I love to hear that. I remember you coming to me for your first physical. Whew. You’re making me feel old,” she declared before seizing the clipboard hanging on the door.
