Page 70 of Until We Come Home

Lark drops down beside me on the sand and leans into me, breaking the spiral. She eyes me over the rim of her champagne cup.

“So,” she says, nudging me again. “Jack and I finally worked out our schedule, and we’re definitely making it up for the benefit. Maren and Calvin are driving up from Dark River too, though I think Theo and Emma are staying behind to hold down the fort with the kids and dogs.”

“No way!” I squeal, my mood lifting. “Oh my gosh, I am so thrilled you guys can make it! The whole showcase is going to be incredibly special, I’ve seen the sketches for the stage setup. Jada says Meridian always goes all out for this, she’s performed in the last three. Plus the piece the youth company is doing is so moving, Lark, ugh, you’re going to love it!”

She laughs. “And not to mention the most exciting part of all. I mean, you don’t get to set your own original choreography on a stage like this very often, right? I almost feel guilty for hogging your time on the album when...”

“Don’t you dare feel guilty about that,” I say, laughing. “Noor is an absolute legend in the dance world. I’m honored just getting to work alongside her.”

“Well, fair point,” Lark says with a grin. “But we’re definitely collaborating on a future project where you choreograph. Either way, I can’t wait to sit in that audience and watch you perform. It’s going to be gorgeous.”

I smile back at her. “Yeah. I really hope so.”

The benefit showcase is only a few days away now, this coming weekend at the grand old theater downtown, and Meridian has been packed from morning to night all week getting ready for it.

The celebration, the cool breeze coming in off the water, the salt in the air, all of it feels like more than I can hold right now. My eyes go to my phone again, checking for a reply to the text I sent Mateo this morning about Derek.

Still nothing. I sigh and shove the phone back in my bag, trying to shake off the silence before it gets to me.

I walk through the doors of Meridian, under the soaring ceilings and past the old stone walls, and head down the long hallway toward the dressing room to get ready for the morning class. My bag’s heavier than usual, costume pieces for tomorrow stuffed in with my shoes, and I shift it to my other shoulder as I go.

Tomorrow is the big benefit performance, the last stretch of my time with the summer intensive, and both my kids and I will take the stage. Bittersweet nostalgia hits me just picturing them out there under the lights. It’s hard to believe this season is drawing to a close, and if I'm being honest, a quiet funk has been settling over me all morning.

I’ll stick around a few days after the show to cover some of the leftover adult classes, not quite ready to walk out of this building for good yet, but it’s wrapping up all the same, and the whole summer feels like it’s slipping through my hands.

Louise waves from behind the front desk with a bright smile. “Morning, dear! There are fresh pastries in the break room, straight from the bakery down the street!”

“You’re a hero, Louise,” I tell her with a laugh, already changing my route. “I’ll grab one on my way through.”

She waves me on, and I pass the open studios, where early adult classes are already underway, a piano going in one room and somebody counting in sharp eights in the next, and a few of the youth intensive dancers are stretching along the barres, two of them waving at me through the glass.

The pieces are ready, the stage is built, the lighting cues are set, and every person in this building is carrying some piece of it toward one night. I just hope the whole thing comes together, but underneath the nerves I get a thrill out of performing, and especially out of performing something I choreographed myself. There’s nothing like it.

Yet tomorrow brings a different kind of tension. Mateo flies in tonight, and he’ll be in the audience tomorrow along with the rest of the crew from Station 7. We’ve barely texted over the last few days. It’s not an argument or a cold shoulder, exactly; we just can’t seem to find our way back to how we were.

Not having him around leaves a massive void in my days. For two full years, we talked continuously without missing a single beat. Constant texts, stupid memes, and our standing Sunday catch-ups no matter where our schedules took us. I used to FaceTime him out of nowhere throughout the week. Even when we were on opposite coasts, he was an anchor in my life.

I hadn’t realized that the distance was the very thing keeping us safe, because all it took was one summer in the same city to reignite whatever sparked between us that first night in Napa.

Shoving that down, hard, I remind myself that being with Derek was the right decision. Things will smooth back out with Mateo and me. This weird patch will pass.

“Mia, there you are.”

I turn around at the sound of the voice to see Claudia, the artistic director who runs Meridian. She’s the head of the entire organization, silver hair cut close, impeccably dressed, with the poised elegance that instantly marks her as a former principal dancer. Her legendary production of Swan Lake is still talked about in dance circles across the country.

“Morning, Claudia,” I say, stepping toward her with a polite smile.

“Do you have a moment to step into my office?” she asks, gesturing down the hall as she starts walking.

I follow her into the spacious office, taking in the exposed stone walls, the plush velvet armchairs, and the framed black-and-white photos of iconic dancers lining the walls alongside posters from Meridian’s recent seasons. I settle into the chair across from her desk and set my bag at my feet.

“Is everything alright?” I ask, folding my hands in my lap.

“Oh, more than alright!” She sits and folds her reading glasses closed on the desk. “Forgive me, I should have led with that. We are absolutely thrilled with how the summer intensive has gone, and having the youth company perform your piece at the benefit tomorrow is the icing on the cake. The feedback from the students and parents has been glowing, some of the best I’ve seen in years.”

Pride swells in my chest. “Wow, that is so wonderful to hear. I’ve loved teaching these kids and building this choreography, so I’m just glad they’re getting as much out of it as I am.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Claudia says, leaning across her desk. “Because the parents have been asking me all week whether your class can keep going, and the kids have been asking even louder. I know your contract wraps up this week, but we’d love to add their piece to our October program and keep you on through the fall term until then. About six more weeks.”