Page 16 of Every Time We Touch

It takes me at least ten minutes of driving to shake off the trance that lesson put me in. I was after some fun, something to get me out of my ever-churning head, and I succeeded, but it was more than just the fun of dancing with Clancy. Is that what dance does? Is that why all the pictures on her website show such happy people? I catch my own glance in the rearview and nod. Yes, that must be it. This strange euphoric feeling must all be down to the magic of dance.

Traffic-wise, the rest of the drive to my mom’s house is uneventful but what is out of the ordinary, for me, is that it seems to happen in some sort of unthinking haze where my brain happily hums along to just being, to doing nothing in particular—just cruising through LA traffic—with zero objections.

When I arrive, I avoid everyone’s questions and head straight upstairs—claiming I’m too sweaty for hugs and kisses—for a much-needed shower. My first tango lesson wasn’t an overly sweaty affair, but I still feel like I need to rinse something off me.

To dance with someone means allowing them into your personal space and I thought I would have a bigger issue with that, but it wasn’t the case with Clancy. And perhaps it’s wrong to think this way about the woman my dad is dating, but she’s smoking hot—and certainly not shy about showing off her outrageous body, which she brought inches from mine for long stretches of time. I’m a healthy forty-two-year-old woman with eyes in my head and warm blood in my veins. And I’m attracted to women. So I turn the water from hot to cold as a way of putting the morning behind me—and of reminding me, the way a cascade of icy water will, how things are.

I can think Clancy’s hot all I want. That she’s an amazing teacher, which she is after having me hooked on tango after one hour. I can enjoy talking to her and engaging in some teasing banter, but that’s where it stops. It might not necessarily be where I would want it to stop if circumstances were different, but the situation is what it is. It’s as simple as that.

I towel off, slip into a pair of jeans and T-shirt, and head downstairs, debating whether to tell my family where I was before I came here.

“Marcy must have done a number on you,” Heather says. “You looked all out of sorts before that shower.” My sister holds me in her embrace a little longer than usual, as though she’s genuinely worried about me. “Did you hook up with her?” she whispers in my ear.

“Hell no,” I whisper back.

In many ways, having a twin is like winning the sibling lottery. To have someone in your life who is so much like you is extraordinary, but Heather also sees right through me. I can’t keep secrets from her and saying I was with Marcy instead of taking a lesson with Clancy is hardly a little white lie.

After I’ve hugged everyone hello, I stand behind my chair and put my hands on the backrest. “Listen,” I say. “Don’t all blow your tops, but I just had my first tango lesson with Clancy.”

“What?” Heather says. “You said you were with Marcy.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get into it in the car on my way there, but I’m telling you now.”

Heather’s the least dramatic member of my family—and also the one who understands me the most. She doesn’t make a big deal about it.

“Ooh,” Austin coos. My brother’s a bit different. Juan’s not with him today, which might make him extra theatrical, as a way of making up for Juan’s absence. “You spied on Dad’s new piece of—uh, woman.”

“I wasn’t spying,” I say. “I took a dance lesson.” I can hardly wait for my next class.

“Oh, come on,” Lauren says. “One doesn’t exclude the other.”

I take my seat and drink some much-needed water. I reach for a pancake from the stack in front of me. I should be starving after attempting to tango for an hour straight, but my stomach feels a bit funny.

“I guess not.” I wisely keep my encounter with Clancy from earlier in the week to myself. I might tell Heather in private later, but Clancy’s lingering presence on dating apps is not a subject for the brunch table. “But she offered and I decided to take her up on it.”

“And?” Austin asks.

“And… she’s a great teacher and a lovely person, actually. I really like her.”

“Did you ask her what she sees in our old dad?” Lauren asks.

“Grandpa is really old,” Lucas butts in.

“Not that old,” Nora says.

I turn to Heather. “Should we be talking about this in front of the kids?” I ask in a low voice.

“Why not?” She tilts her head. “Unless you discovered something they shouldn’t hear.”

“Not at all.” I smile at my nephews. My niece, Lily, is only four and obliviously drawing a picture of her favorite thing in the world: a dog. “Grandpa’s new girlfriend, who you met last week, is very nice.” Is she even Dad’s girlfriend yet? Is that what they call each other?

“She’s so pretty,” Wyatt says. “The prettiest lady I’ve ever seen.”

“Excuse me,” Heather says. “I’m your mom. I will always be the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen.”

Wyatt juts out his bottom lip, seriously pondering his mother’s statement. “I don’t think that’s true, Mom,” he says. “Do you think Grandma is the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen?”

“She sure is,” Nora says.