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So I fill my days with more things, set myself deadlines. This is important. This is about my future. And Seth may have kissed me, but it was a challenge for him. I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it—all about me—by now.
God…
By Thursday evening, I sit by the phone and steel my nerves to call Dad.
“How’s my ballerina?” he says in lieu of greeting, and I wince. “Manon?”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Is everything okay? You never call me mid-week. All those rehearsals and training until late.”
“Yeah, about that…” I pull my legs up on the sofa and fold them underneath me. “Dad, I’m changing career. I had this thought to become a physical therapist, but that’s long-term. I’ll enroll in sports kinesiology at the university here and then—”
“Whoa, hold your horses. What are you talking about? Sports kinesiology? Physical therapy? What the hell?”
Ow. Dad never swears, so he’s either pissed or so overwhelmed he didn’t realize.
“Daddy.” I wait for him to quieten down. “Daddy, listen. The dance school kicked me out because of my ankle. Remember, the injury I had?”
“How can I forget? Baby girl, we thought it was all over, but you made it back into the game. They have no right to kick you out, I’ll come over and talk to—”
“No, Dad.” No matter how I wish I were still his little girl in times like this, I’ve got to handle things on my own. “I talked to them several times, and they explained the issue. If I continue with the intensive training, I’ll hurt myself more. This isn’t just them not wanting the responsibility: it’s my decision, too. My chances of becoming a professional ballerina were slim at best. My injury ensures that they’re non-existent, and that if I force myself, I may have trouble dancing or even walking in the future. I don’t want that.”
“Don’t want that, either,” he says, his voice hushed. “God almighty, I didn’t realize it was so serious.”
Me neither. Not until the director talked to me and I read the medical report.
“Are you okay with my decision, then?”
“I’m one hundred percent behind you, baby girl.” His voice is warm over the phone, and I relax back on the couch. “You know that. Do whatever’s best for you. Just let me know.”
“Thank you, Daddy. Need to tell Mom, too.”
“That’ll be a bitch,” he says, and we both laugh, because it will be.
Le sigh… Not looking forward to that conversation.
***
Friday rolls around. I’ve enrolled in belly-dancing, classical ballet—of course—and Pilates. My first belly-dancing lesson was today, and it rocked. I love the freedom of it, the sensuousness.
My feet aren’t sore from pointe dancing anymore. The blisters are going away. It’s weird.
But not necessarily bad.
My day is full. After a few more classes, I head out to town. I called around the gyms to see if I could offer classes there, and a couple replied positively. I have a few interviews lined up.
I should be pleased with myself. Things are slowly falling into place.
It’s just that not everything is settled yet.
Seth isn’t the only person I’ve avoided thinking about this week. Fred is another. He did text me once to ask if I wanted to catch a movie with him and friends, and I declined, buried under a mountain of forms to fill out for the university.
But I need to see him. The way we parted last time was awkward, and after the kiss with Seth… I need to clarify things with Fred.
Was it wrong, what I did, asking him to kiss me? Are we together? He did ask me out—did I misunderstand him? He said I’m pretty, said he likes me—but he has never tried to kiss me or grope me or do any of the other things boyfriends are known to do.
Not that I want him to grope me.
