Page 30 of On Dancer
Gaze darting around the bakery, I swallowed the bite. “Rehearsal takes up a lot of time, especially when we’re this close to the performances.”
“Alexander.” Isabella and Isabella alone had the talent to draw my name out for a good thirty seconds.
“All right. All right. I have a new obsession.”
“Do tell.” She perked up at the hint of confession in my tone, like I’d known she would.
“I’ve picked up this card game.” I kept my voice casual. There was nothing wrong with having a new interest, and maybe this admission would keep Isabella off harder topics. “I play in the evenings some. It’s a pleasant distraction.”
“It’s a solitaire-style game?” Isabella raised both well-manicured eyebrows.
“No.” I couldn’t lie, not when she rather clearly already knew the answer. “I play with Rudy. And some of his friends at the game shop. And?—”
“Back up. Rudy as in Margie’s youngest kid?” Isabella drummed a perfectly filed nail on the tabletop. The bakery had been styled to look European, with quaint tables, folding chairs, and shabby chic decor, but we might as well be in a police station interrogation room. “Is he even out of college yet?”
“He’s twenty-four.” I pushed my soup bowl away. Rudy kept telling me to stop dwelling on how ancient I felt, but our ten-year age gap seemed Grand Canyon big when I said it aloud. “Some of his friends are closer to our age. Besides, he’s not that much younger.”
“I suppose it’s not a scandalous gap for a…friendship.” Isabella gave a meaningful pause, voice tilting on friendship as if asking a question.
“Yes, a friendship.” I frowned at her, but I was more irritated at myself. Why not claim Rudy as a friend? He was delightful company. He took good care of me. Anyone should be so lucky. Yet the word “friend” felt decidedly small for the place he’d come to occupy in my life. “He’s a good person.”
“And you’ll miss him when you’re back in Seattle.” Isabella was nothing if not observant. “Perhaps we’ll get a few more visits out of you?”
“Perhaps.” I hadn’t thought about that potential. We could keep our friendship going. A game here or there if I landed in town. Maybe invite him to fly out…
“I wonder if you can play the game online?” Isabella interrupted my musing with a suggestion of her own. “It’s good to see you with a hobby. You’ve long needed something beyond ballet.”
“Rudy also says that about needing hobbies.” I might be cranky and overdramatic, but I could give credit where credit was due.
“He sounds rather wise then.” Isabella offered me an arch smile. “Oh! Maybe you two can teach the game to Bradley and me on Christmas Eve. Mom mentioned Margie’s family is coming.”
Her tone was all innocent curiosity, but I wasn’t buying. I signaled for our check.
“Why do I feel this whole conversation has been a setup?”
“I don’t need a setup. I have the twin stare of doom.” She gave me the same silly, yet soul-piercing look she’d perfected from toddlerhood onwards. “And if I really wanted to grill you, I’d ask how you feel about a return to the stage. And Seattle. Physically, your chart says you’re ready, but where are you at mentally?”
“I’m a mess.” I hated this topic even more than discussing Rudy, but there was little point in lying to my twin. “I’m due at the theater soon, and simply thinking about the stage makes my knees tremble. I want it so badly. I’ve told Seattle I’m ready, but…” I trailed off, thoroughly flustered, and enough out of sorts to let Isabella get the jump on handling the check and tip. “Hey. I was going to treat you.”
“Nonsense.” She returned her wallet to her bag next to that loaded planner of hers. “Do you want me to walk over with you?”
“You’re a busy doctor.” I made the weakest of protests. Knowing Isabella, she’d already made up her mind in any event. “You don’t have to come hold my hand.”
“But I want to.” She pulled her long red wool coat on and gathered her bag before ushering me out of the bakery. “Like I said, I’ve missed you. Mess and all. Your pre-performance jitters always give me perspective.”
“How so?” I paused as the frigid air greeted us. I wasn’t sure I liked being some sort of life lesson for Isabella.
“Whenever I get nervous about a patient interaction or delivering bad news, I simply remind myself that it could be worse. I could have a packed theater riveted to my every move.” She gave a dramatic shudder, one that rivaled any I could offer and revealed our shared DNA. “I’ll take medicine, thank you. I’m in awe of how you manage to defeat those nerves every time.”
“I suppose you can walk with me.” I pocketed her compliment for later examination. Isabella, who had performed surgery on actual NBA stars, respected my talent. Amazing.
“I already am.” She linked arms with me as my own steps lightened. If my twin believed in me, I had to do the same. I’d beat these nerves back to manageable levels.
We arrived at the theater for the afternoon blocking rehearsal walk-through with the professional cast members prior to the full dress rehearsal with the children after school let out. The old theater with its faded red seats and stately wood decor greeted me with a torrent of memories, one after another, everything from my earliest recitals to later performances, including manyThe Nutcrackershows. Too many to count. Much like the ballet school, I’d grown up in this building.
Nostalgia aside, however, the theater swelled with fresh life. A mother with an infant in a backpack led a parade of volunteers carrying garment bags toward the dressing rooms. Three strollers occupied by toddlers supervised last-minute touches on the set pieces by that committee while still other parents and volunteers worked on lighting and sound.
In my memories, Margie was always at the center of the dress rehearsal day mayhem, directing traffic and calming the chaos in a way only she could. This year, though, she was nowhere to be seen, and Rudy was at the helm, multiple clipboards at theready, headset in place, bustling from one group to another with as much grace as a carefully orchestrated dance.
