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Nattie: Hey how’s the new company? *Gif of James Corden learning ballet*
Luca: It’s fantastic. A whole new group of uptight bitches and dudes who hit on my boyfriend right in front of me.
Nattie: Sounds like heaven. *Winking eye emoji*
Luca: What’s up buttercup? How’s Philly treating you? Did ya eat a cheesesteak yet?
Nattie: Nope. But I’m telling my dad I want to stop dancing tonight.
Luca: That outta make big daddy Sinclair stroke out. Have fun with that. Then send a pic.
Nattie: Your weird crush on my dad is NOT helping. I’m nervous already.
Luca: Don’t judge. He’s a total DILF. Pull up your big girl panties and do it. Then find a hottie and do him too. That should make you feel better after breaking your poor dad’s heart.
Nattie: You’re an ASSHOLE!!!
Luca: Yup. But you love me. Tell him tonight. Love you. Gotta go.
I hate that’s he’s right. I just have to rip the band-aid off and tell Dad.
* * *
Now, I am sitting at my vanity in a strapless, pale blue sundress, fitted to the waist, then loose to my knees, and my favorite nude espadrilles from J. Crew. I’ve got a small rose gold chain with a pink stone resting on my collarbones and matching hoop earrings in. My blonde hair is down in loose waves, and mascara, eyeliner, and a little gloss finish off the look. I’m just starting to scroll through my Instagram when there is a knock on my door. Quickly checking myself over in the mirror, I open the door and find my dad.
Luca wasn’t wrong. Joe Sinclair is a handsome man. He’s forty-five but looks ten years younger. His dirty blonde hair is cut close to his head. Cooper and I both have his pale blue eyes and coloring. Declan takes after our mom, with chocolate brown hair and eyes so blue they are nearly violet. Dad’s shoulders are broad, and his strong arms give the best hugs. I hadn’t heard him come home and hadn’t realized how much I miss him until he is standing in front of me. I’m pulled into his chest and start to cry.
“Oh, honey. I missed you too. Please don’t cry.” His arms tighten their hold, and I breathe in his unique smell. Irish Spring and Dad. The overwhelming feeling of being safe and loved envelopes me.
“I can’t help it, Daddy. I missed you.” He doesn’t let me go for a long minute, and I manage to pull myself together. I hate being a crier. If I get mad, I cry; sad, I cry; overly happy… more tears.
“I missed you too, Nattie. I’m so glad that you decided to come with me this year. Let’s grab Cooper. We have reservations in thirty minutes, I’m starving, and I want to hear all about your ballet workshop. Tell me everything I missed this summer.”
We take two cars into the city because Dad has to go back to the football complex after dinner to go over a few things with his coaching staff. I ride with Dad in his massive, silver Ford F-350, with Cooper following behind in his red Jeep Rubicon. We drive into the center of the city to the Four Seasons Hotel. It’s beautiful, full of glass and marble. Very chic and modern. Enormous white and purple floral arrangements sit on every surface. The smell of lavender is inescapable.
We are escorted up to the 59thfloor by a concierge who couldn’t do enough for my father as soon as his name was mentioned. The restaurant, Jean-Georges, is beautiful. White linen tablecloths line the tables. Massive floor to ceiling windows overlook the Philadelphia skyline, showing off the skyscrapers’ white lights and the dome of City Hall. I can just make out the view of the Delaware River in the distance. It’s breathtaking.
The smells of expensive steaks and heavy sauces linger in the air and make my stomach rumble. Servers come in and out of the kitchen dressed in black and white, carrying meals that look like they should be on the cover of a magazine. I know my dad’s assistant must have made this reservation for him. He would be happier at the local diner eating meatloaf and mashed potatoes than in a fancy restaurant like this. This is more Mom’s style.
Dad and Cooper haven’t stopped talking football yet. I nod my head and throw a smile out when they look my way, but this is their conversation. My nerves have been ratcheting up all evening, just waiting for the topic to switch to dance.
When they come to clear away our plates, I’ve decided if I don’t talk to him now, I’m going to lose my nerve. Whether that’s a bad thing is yet to be seen. Checking my phone for the time, I sit up straighter and roll my shoulders back, bracing for the conversation to come.
The idea of telling him that I’m ready to throw away my pointe shoes makes me want to vomit. I mentioned it to my mom once this summer, and she told me I would be wasting my life, took a Xanax, and went to bed.
That’s her usual answer to stress.
Deciding there’s no time like the present, I jump in at the first lull in the conversation. “So, Dad, I wanted to talk to you about something.” My father turns his head to me, pinning me with his eyes. I forge on. “I’m ready to move on from ballet. I don’t want to take class anymore. I’ve decided to stop dancing.” Jesus, I need to shut up before I ramble off a freaking cliff.
“What are you talking about? You love dancing.” That’s from Dad.
“Are you kidding? You love dancing.” That’s from Cooper.
A server walks up to our table with a platter full of sample desserts, hears the raised voices of my father and brother, and turns away. It would be comical if it wasn’t my life.
“Actually, I love you guys, and Mom, and Declan. I don’t love dancing. I realized this summer that I kind of hate it. Maybe not dancing exactly, but everything that goes with it.”
Dad crumples his napkin on the table. He scrunches his eyes, the fine lines around them appearing. His lips are turned down, and I know he is disappointed. I hate that, in his world, you don’t give up. And that’s what he thinks I’m doing. Cooper leans back in his chair as if to avoid being an active participant in the argument that is about to begin.
