Page 61 of On Dancer
“Game’s on, Fred.” My father greeted Rudy’s dad, and the two of them left for the media room. I had a powerful urge to watch whatever sport they were discussing. I would happily watch any of the various ball sports if it meant avoiding this conversation. However, I was here now and might as well get the hard part over with. My months of physical therapy had taught me well in that regard.
“You’re not mad?” I addressed the question to Margie, who continued to beam like a lottery winner at a press conference. She certainly didn’t look on the verge of a lecture.
“Mad?” As soon as I was free of my coat, Margie swept me into a tight hug. “We’re delighted.” She released me to hug Rudy next as her tone turned mildly scolding. “Also, you’re terrible at keeping secrets.”
“You knew?” Rudy gaped at them, gaze moving back and forth between our mothers.
“Wait.” I studied my mother more closely. Between her and Margie, they likely had spies all over Hollyberry. It had been foolish to think we could hide this from two such formidable forces. I narrowed my gaze as I considered another possibility. “Did you two plan this?”
“Plan?” My mother gave her best attempt at an innocent expression with wide eyes and soft lips, but she wasn’t a great actress. “Darling, I long ago accepted I lack any power to force you to do anything.”
“We might have hoped.” Margie offered an encouraging look, but I wasn’t buying her innocence either.
“You should give us credit for not meddling this past week.” My mother threw an arm around my shoulders. “We let you work things out entirely on your own.”
“Entirely.” I made my voice drier than biscotti, but neither mother seemed to care.
“And you did work things out, right?” Margie prodded as we made our way to the kitchen.
“We did.” Blessedly, I found the coffee pot, and fortified, I joined Rudy in laying out our plans over brunch. Despite her lamenting over the state of her pantry, my mother had come up with a lovely quiche, bacon, and several side dishes.
“You’re okay with me working remotely some?” Rudy asked his mother as he took another piece of bacon.
“I look forward to emails full of spreadsheets and action items.” If anything, Margie seemed invigorated at the thought of taking back more of the day-to-day running of the school and letting Rudy handle the behind-the-scenes end of things.
My doubts persisted, though, and as we cleared the table, I waited until Rudy left with a stack of dishes to turn to Margie.
“You’re truly okay with us being together?” I dropped my voice.
“Do you love him?” She gave me the kindest of smiles, undoubtedly far kinder than I deserved.
“More than anything.” My voice was rough with emotion. “More than ballet.”
She, of all people, would understand the force of that declaration. Since the beginning, when she’d spied me outsideher studio, following along with Isabella’s class, ballet had been my first true love. She’d nurtured that love, watched me grow into the dancer I was today, and knew all of my sacrifices and hard work. I loved the career I’d built, yet it all felt hollow without Rudy in my life.
“Then I’m happy for you.” Margie patted my cheek. “I’m already debating what to wear.”
“To the show in Seattle?” I’d extended the invite to the Valentine’s Day weekend performance to both our families.
“Well, that too.” She bubbled with fresh excitement, nearly dropping the coffee cups she was carrying. “But I meant the wedding.”
I did a slow blink. “What wedding?”
“Yours, of course.” Her musical laugh made her seem far younger. “Your mother and I are thinking summer. Probably two years out? The best places book early.”
Her laugh drew the notice of my mother and Rudy, who walked over to where we stood.
“Yes, I’ve heard that.” I made a noncommittal noise. Rudy looked so horrified that I grabbed his hand in a gesture of silent support, but he stayed tense.
“You might want to hold off on booking until one of us does the asking.” He gave his mother a pointed stare.
“Don’t wait too long,” she chirped.
“And do give us notice on that proposal,” my mother added thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin. “I’d like to book a photographer.”
“Oooh, that’s a great idea.” Margie nodded with her whole body, like a puppet in a children’s play. “Rudy and Alexander will want pictures for their wall.”
“We might need a permanent place to live first.” Rudy’s frustrated tone said he was quickly running out of patience for his mother.
