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That would be an understatement.
My Nana, or Lita, as she prefers, had been diagnosed with dementia shortly before I left our home in Connecticut to attend the world-renowned Pearson School of the Arts here in Manhattan six years ago.
While still in complete control of her actions, she’d organized to be placed in Sunrise Harbor, an assisted living facility in Staten Island, the only one close enough to Manhattan that our insurance would cover.
The plan had been that her life savings would continue to cover the rest, alongside affording a small stipend for me to help with what my scholarship didn’t.
But neither of us could have known the road ahead and how that decision would irrevocably change my future.
“She’s okay, Mr. Fr—”
My boss clears his throat in a gentle reminder, and I smile up at him from underneath my bangs. “Sorry, I mean,Chad.”
I glance back at the desk, suddenly embarrassed under his intense scrutiny.
“So, what do you say we grab that dinner, hmm?”
A part of me is utterly exhilarated at my handsome boss’s blatant attention. I mean, it’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to feel attraction. My life simply doesn’t allow for the emotion or the time in which to express it.
But there’s a bigger part of me—the intuitive side my abuelita always insisted I listen to—screaming to run away. As fast as I can.
I raise my eyes one final time, allowing a soft smile to play across my lips, and then I see it.
A predatory grin plays across Chad Freemont’s beautiful face, turning him into an obscene parody of himself, and Lita’s much-repeated words echo through my mind.
Your intuition is your gift, mija. Listen to it!
“I’m so flattered, Chad, but I reallydoneed to finish this paperwork. Perhaps another time!”
My smile is exaggeratedly bright as I tilt my head back down to my work. He waits for a beat, then a moment longer, before he starts to walk away, calling over his shoulder.
“I’m a persistent man, Miss Marquez. Patient too! I can wait as long as it takes.”
His loud laugh booms through the stillness, and it sends a ripple of fear down my spine.
Once I hear thedingof the elevator, my shoulders drop, alerting me to the fact that I’ve been on edge this entire time.
I laugh aloud to dispel the heaviness surrounding me, and then, taking several deep breaths, I dive back into my mountain of catching up.
The following hour passes quickly and quietly, and before I know it, I’ve reached the end of my filing.
With a thankful heart, I grab my bag and my light jacket from the back of my chair and all but skip to the elevator.
I press the call button, blowing out a breath and longing for the comfort of my bed.
My eyes fall closed momentarily, remembering that glorious year at Pearson before everything went to crap. That year when I’d danced to my heart's content, even being scouted as a background dancer for several contemporary and modern productions.
Ballet had been my true passion, though, and the Master at Pearson had frequently said that I was undoubtedly headed directly for Prima status.
And I’d believed her, because I could feel it in mybonesthat I had been born to dance.
Until my piece of shit father lost Lita’s house in a game of No Limit Texas Hold ’Em and disappeared, having cleaned her bank account for good measure.
The main problem was affording to barely survive while attending schoolandearning enough money to cover half of my grandmother’s care now that her life savings had been depleted.
I suppose I could have opted to move her to a different facility; however, her dementia had progressed, and truthfully, I didn’t have the heart to uproot her already tumultuous life. And so, I’d taken a year off, which had turned into two, which had eventually led to dropping out entirely.
I’d tried my hand at barista work and discovered it waswaymore complicated than it looked.
