Page 65 of Until We Come Home

“Keep it going, just like that, Ruby,” I call out, pacing the length of the room as the kids move through the sequence. “Let the weight settle, breathe through the movement, and really let yourselves feel the music.”

I watch as they run through the phrase, sharpening the routine for the benefit showcase in a couple of weeks. They hit a tricky transition together and a few giggles erupt across the floor, breaking the intense focus.

We stay past the hour working through the new track, refining the spacing until the whole group moves as one.

Then I end it with a free session to loosen them up, to let them dance without anyone counting, and a slow cooldown stretch to finish. They’re so confident, so unbothered for their age, and I keep thinking the same thing I think every week. Maybe the next generation is going to be alright.

I wrap up class and wave goodbye as the kids stream out into the hallway toward the lobby. Once the chatter fades down the corridor, the quiet settles back into Studio C, leaving me alone with my reflection in the mirror wall to mark through my own choreography for the benefit.

I keep seeing Mateo in this exact room, holding me up during that partner lift. He was discharged from Harborview yesterday afternoon. I tried convincing him to let me stay the night at the hospital, but between strict visiting hours and his stubborn insistence that he was fine, I ended up heading home. Though I suspect catching Derek’s name on my phone screen didn't help matters.

He’s flying out to Boston tomorrow morning to spend his medical leave recovering at his mom’s place. A part of me wishes I was getting on that plane with him.

I can feel the thick, unspoken tension lingering between us every time we talk, both of us dancing around it for so long now. I turn back to the mirror and spin, letting the momentum carry me up into an extension, my leg tracing a long line.

Spin, spot, drift up, twist down into the floor. Dancing normally empties my head, clears it right out. All I can focus on is the movement, the music, what the body is doing. I can pour my heart into it, frustration, sadness, joy, all of it.

But today it’s Mateo, just around and around.

I know if I stepped across that line, he’d meet me without hesitation. But could I really do that?

I’m leaving Seattle when my temporary teaching contract ends. I’ll probably be out on tour again, while he bounces between Boston and Washington. He’s so intense, the way he feels things, and it almost scares me. To be loved like that, that fiercely, to have someone that devoted.

What if I ruined it? What if I end up hurting him? I always seem to mess up the good things; my brain isn't wired for that kind of permanence. And then there's Derek, comfortable, familiar, the man I always end up drifting back to.

As if summoned by my messy thoughts, my phone buzzes against the wood floor. Derek's name flashes on the screen, and I pick it up.

“Hey,” I say, pressing the phone to my ear. “How’s it going?”

“Good! Hey, did Mateo get released from the hospital yet?” he asks, his tone light.

“Yesterday,” I say, sitting down on the floor and resting my back against the wall. “He’s heading home to Boston for a bit to recover and visit his mom while he’s on leave.”

“Man, that’s such an intense job,” Derek says. “I’m really glad he’s doing okay, though. Seriously.”

“Thanks,” I say. “So, what made you call?”

“Well, I’ve got some huge news,” he says, excitement bubbling through his voice. “I just landed the choreography gig for that upcoming pop tour!”

“Wait, what? Are you serious?” I sit up straight. “Derek! That’s incredible news!”

It’s a massive step in our industry, twelve-hour rehearsal days, full creative control, and non-stop grinding. Even with the artist’s reputation for being a workaholic, it’s the career breakthrough he’s been working toward for years.

“I’m so proud of you,” I tell him, a smile breaking across my face. “Seriously, Derek, nobody deserves this more than you.”

“Thanks, Mia,” he says over the line. “You were the very first person I wanted to tell.”

A quiet beat settles over the phone, and I catch the familiar shift in the air, sensing what’s coming next before he even speaks.

“Mia, listen...” He hesitates. “I don’t want to wait around until the end of the summer to figure things out. I know we said we’d take space, but... I really miss you. I miss us.”

I bite my lip. “Derek...”

“And I know that thing with Mateo happened,” he says. “But I’m not saying this to be a dick about it, really. I’m trying to actually talk it out with you. Do you really see a future there? We have our crushes, you and I, that’s fine. I don’t begrudge you feelings for him over a summer of hanging out. But can you honestly picture yourself settling down with a guy like that?”

His question hangs heavy in the quiet studio, making me weigh every terrifying possibility, every lingering doubt about what I actually want out of my life.

“Mia,” he says. “Just say yes. Let’s get back together. You know how we are when we’re good. And I love you, I really do.”