Page 68 of Healing Eleanor

“I may have called a fifteen-minute break during the fifth combination.” My eyes dart between her and the rim of my tea cup, wishing I could just fall in and disappear. “She was struggling with a move and, well… I, uh…” My words trip over each other. No other dancer has ever left me this mixed up.

Mama leans in, eyes sparkling like I’m about to confess a state secret. “You what, Nik?”

I clear my throat. “I may have… grabbed her hips. To help loosen her up, of course.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I hear how they sound. “Oh—not like that. I mean, her hip was getting caught in the movement, so I guided her through it.” Heat crawls up my neck. “I also… uh… helped with her arm.”

Mama stares at me for a long second before she bursts out laughing. “Oh, Nikusha… are you blushing? How sweet.”

I grab a pillow from behind me and toss it gently in her direction. “I am not blushing,” I declare. “I just… I don’t know. She brings out something in me, and I’m not sure if I like it.”

Mama’s laughter softens, fading into something quieter. “You don’t like it because that heart of yours may feel something for her.”

I choke out a laugh. “Absolutely not.”

Though… maybe it does, in some small, insignificant way.

“Have you prayed about it, like I suggested a while ago?” Mama asks, watching me closely.

“I have.” Once. Which is enough for me. I wish Mama could understand that I don’t need the extra stress of adding someone new into my life. Everything currently happening is already enough.

“Hm,” she hums. “Why don’t I believe you?”

I shrug. “Beats me,” I smirk.

Mama’s eyes narrow. “How do you expect God to answer you when you don’t talk to Him?” She takes another sip of tea. “When was the last time a girl reminded you of Daria?”

Everything inside me stills. “Never.”

Mama never speaks of Daria. After her death, it’s as if she’s been paralyzed, unable to even say her name. Daria was my sister, yes, but more than that, she was my best friend. One I couldn’t save.

Mama sets her teacup on the coffee table. “And you don’t think God may have placed her in your path?”

I inhale a deep breath, ready to defend myself, but Mama holds up a hand.

“I’m not finished,” she adds firmly. “Even if she isn’t meant for your life in that way, you can’t deny she may be here for other reasons. It’s not every day a girl from the Metropolitan ends up at Hollingford, now is it?”

She has me there. Eleanor is the first dancer our company has brought in from a prestigious institution.

“Maybe you’re meant to help her in the ways you wish you could have helped Daria.” She pulls her blanket tighter around her. “Though I wouldn’t mind if you settled down, either.” Her smile turns sly and knowing.

The jingle of keys in the front door makes my entire body stiffen. That sound used to mean safety when I was a kid. Now it means I need to leave. I set down my tea and stand quickly. “I’ll pray about it, okay?”

“Nik, you don’t have to lea—”

The door slams open.

“What are you doing here, boy?” His voice has that same sharp edge it’s had for years, reminding me it wasn’t always like this.

I keep my back to him, jaw tight. “Just leaving.” I bend down, kissing Mama’s head gently, wishing I could stay and protect her from the storm he’s become.

“Well, out with ya then.” His hand flicks toward the door, a dismissive gesture that cuts deeper than it should.

That same hand used to toss me in the air until I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. Now it only pushes me away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mama,” I say softly, not sparing him a glance.

“Drive safe,” she calls after me, her voice trying to hold us both together as I close the door on the ghost of the man who used to be my father.

On my drive home, anxiety sizzles beneath my skin, crawling through every nerve like static. The dark road stretches out in front of me, headlights cutting narrow tunnels through the foggy fall night. Streetlamps flicker past in slow, lonely intervals, their glow making the shadows in between feel suffocating.