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“Fordham lost a lot of alumni, too. And I guess I was just restless, sitting in a classroom while so much was going on. Then when my father passed away I just felt…I don’t know, destined for something. So I settled his estate.” I pause, laughing. “I’m using the word estate in a purely legal manner. There were no properties to sell or heirlooms to put into storage.” She reaches over and takes my hand, rubbing her thumb over it in a way that comforts me and encourages me to go on. “I took a leave of absence from school, enlisted, cleared the apartment out, and the next thing I knew I was at Parris Island for basic training.” I look at her and smile. “The rest is history.”
“You’ve led a pretty amazing life for someone who’s only twenty-four.”
“I’m no different from anyone else. Everyone has a story.”
Grace takes both of our empty bottles and brings them to the kitchen. I’m about to tell her that I don’t want another one when she comes back into the living room empty handed. She stands in front of me for a moment and then slowly lowers herself down, her knees straddling my hips. “Is this all right?” she asks.
There’s no need to answer. Grace knows from the feel of me underneath her when I pull her in closer, and in the way I take her face in my hands and gently tilt her head to kiss her. I want her. She knows this.
She kisses me back, and I swear it’s never felt so good—never before in my life. Her lips are soft and coaxing me. My hands are rested on her thighs where her dress has ridden up, and the combination of her skin and her kisses is working me up.Slow down, I remind myself, and then gently break the kiss and pull back.
Her hands are on my shoulders and her smile is soft.
“You’re so beautiful, Grace.”
She shrugs. “I’m average.”
“No.” I push a lock of her long hair behind her ear. “How could you ever think you’re just average? Your eyes, your smile…” My eyes drift south without my permission. “Everything about you is sonotaverage.”
She pulls at the stretchy smocked top that’s keeping everything in place. “Being above average in that department pretty much tanked my dance career back in high school.”
“What do you mean?”
“Long and lean, that’s the ideal. There’s been all this empowerment talk in the past couple of years, and there are some successful dancers who have more muscular builds, but most of it is talk and nothing more. My teacher, Miss Abramov, started giving me the stink eye once I hit puberty.”
“Seriously?”
She’s laughing when she says, “Tits are not desirable.”
“Speak for yourself.”
That earns me a belly laugh, and the sight of her laughing is something I find myself wanting to photograph just so I can keep it with me and look at it forever.
“Miss Abramov was a beast.”
“Sounds like it.”
“Too fat, too short, too curvy…She body shamed pretty much everyone who didn’t have her perfect ballerina build. She even told one girl that her head was too big. I mean, you can starve yourself to lose weight, but you can’t do anything about the size of your head. Stella…I still remember that girl running out of the studio crying.”
“That’s harsh.”
She nods. “It’s one of those things I can look back on now, and maybe not laugh about it, but recognize the absurdity of it all. But back when I was a kid? She said some things that definitely messed with my head.”
“I don’t like Miss…”
“Abramov.”
“She sounds like a nightmare.”
“She’s pretty typical in the world of classical dance. I’d say more than half of the girls in our school had an undiagnosed eating disorder.”
“That’s awful. I mean, I’m actually getting pretty fucking angry right now.”
“Simmer down, big guy. As you can see, I don’t starve myself anymore.”
I run both hands over her hips and give a gentle squeeze. “Promise me you never will.”
She raises her palm in a pledge. “Scout’s honor. I could never last more than a week back then anyway. I’d be ripping into a bag of sour cream and onion chips after a few days on hard-boiled eggs and iceberg lettuce.”
