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Georgia gasped.
“Mal!” I grabbed a napkin and threw it at her, laughing and embarrassed.
“You’ve got Sierra,” Georgia said. “She can spend the night if you want some alone time.” If anyone knew what it was like to be cockblocked by a kid, it was Georgia.
I shook my head, then took a huge gulp of wine. “She’s at hockey camp. She left with the team and Dex and Lindy earlier.”
“You’ve got a week off of kid duty, so you have to go for it,” Bridget reminded. “For womankind.”
“Right. Sierra’s at camp,” Georgia said, cocking her head to the side and eyeing me with motherly concern. “You doing okay? Did you cry at drop off? I couldn’t imagine Andy going away for a week like that.”
I shook my head. “Oh, I cried, but not until I got back in my car.” Looking over my shoulder, I called to Otis. “Another bottle!”
He nodded to me from behind the counter.
“She’s going to have the best time,” Bridget said, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. “I don’t know a girl who likes hockey more than her.”
“I know.” Tears came to my eyes, and I grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and blotted them away. “My mother would lose her shit over how much of a tomboy Sierra is.”
“Doesn’t like sports?” Bridget asked.
Otis came over with an already-opened bottle of wine. He knew I needed it STAT, as if I was a doctor on TV and needed it for a triple craniectomy. I took it from him with a thanks and refilled all three of our glasses. I could feel the effects of the first finished bottle and was ready to get drunk. The reminder that Sierra–my baby!–was away and then adding my mother into the mix meant I needed more alcohol.
“The appropriate sports,” I clarified.
“That sounds posh. What’s an appropriate sport? Lacrosse? Squash?” Mallory asked.
“Ballet.”
“Ballet? You did ballet?” Bridget asked. She studied me while she filled her glass. “I can see it because you’re so flexible and I swear I’ve never seen you slouch.”
Otis returned with a basket of garlic knots and set it on the checked cloth between us. “You ladies need some carbs to go with those grapes.”
“Thanks, Otis!” Mallory called as he left, then snagged one and shoved half of it in her mouth and tried to chew. She looked like a squirrel with nuts shoved in her cheeks. “Ormygrd. S’grd.”
Georgia grabbed one along with a paper napkin.
“I did ballet,” I repeated, like it was no big deal. Like it didn’t consume my waking life for almost fifteen years.
“We’ve known you forever and you never told us this,” Bridget continued.
I shrugged, playing off that it had become my mother’s way to grade my worthiness of her attention and love. “I started when I was six and I was sent to ballet boarding school in Canada when I was eleven.”
“Boarding school?” Mal asked after she swallowed hard. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing for dance.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Ballet all the time. My parents had high expectations.” If my mother heard I was struggling with a skill or didn’t get the lead role in one of the performances, I didn’t come home for the summer. I stayed and practiced because she wouldn’t be seen with me unless I was the best.
Bergstroms are the best. What a family motto. Oh, and campaign slogan.
“I know what that’s like,” Georgia said. “Pageants require perfection. I didn’t have it.”
“Wow, you must be really good,” Mallory commented to me, not Georgia and her beauty pageant talents. “I can do the sprinkler or whatever that weird dance is called.”
Bridget covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head. “No, you totally can’t. You have zero rhythm.”
Mallory giggled. “It’s true. I actually can’t dance. Is it possible to be tempo blind? Like color blind but for any kind of musical beat?”
I shrugged. “I can probably pull off the sprinkler, but I doubt you do it on toe shoes. I was a soloist in Spain after I graduated.”
