She just takes it in stride, laughing like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

  “But really, since he got laid off, it has been kind of nice,” I tell her.

  “Yeah?”

  “Our parents divorced when I was fourteen. It was hard on the both of us, and Gavin helped me get into dance to give me something to focus on. He saw how much I loved it, and so when I was sixteen and I had been priced out of the youth dance program, Gavin went to work full time to help me pay for it, while he went to school full time too. Imagine that.”

  “What a wonderful thing to do.”

  “It made fucking up in San Diego really hard. You and I didn’t have the same childhood, no, but I understand wanting to do well for your family. I didn’t want to let him down, either.”

  “Was he upset?”

  I sigh. “No, he was so supportive.”

  “Just what you deserve.”

  “You deserve that, too.”

  “It feels like secrets have become the only way for me to get peace. As fucked as that sounds. When I was about fourteen, I joined my school volleyball team,” she says quietly, lying next to me. “I loved it. I loved everything about it, and I couldn’t wait to share with everybody else how much fun I was having, how much I was learning. And so, I did.”

  “I sense a but coming.”

  “But eventually it turned into a judgement. They would come to my games and watch me and offer unsolicited advice. I would get unnecessary comments. All I wanted was their approval, their support, but this one thing I had chosen for myself was being tarnished by everybody’s input and opinions. In the end, my one happy thing became pressure and frustration until I eventually quit.”

  I can’t imagine such a burden that I would opt to quit something I loved. But the opposite was parents that didn’t care enough, and maybe that’s its own burden to bear.

  “And then I had to hear about how I was a quitter, too.”

  “So, they give you shit when you’re doing it, and they give you shit when you stop. You ever think maybe they’re gonna give you shit no matter what, so you should just do what you want anyway?”

  “You make it sound so easy.” She smirks.

  “Healthy boundaries are a thing. Stop feeling guilty for setting them.”

  “Boundaries are the worst,” she jokes.

  “And now that your cousins know?”

  “Now that they know, I worry about how long I can keep it from everybody else. And when it gets to everybody else, will they support it? Or will they tear it apart, too?”

  “Sometimes, people surprise you,” I say.

  “And sometimes they respond just how you think they will.”

  I look at her for a moment, considering what I’m about to offer. “You should call Tara and go shopping for the milonga together.”

  “What?”

  “I think you would like it. I think she would, too.”

  “She’s not busy?”

  I shrug. “Call her and find out. She’ll be happy to hear from you.”

  “Why?” she asks, confused.

  “Why will she be happy to hear from you?” I laugh. “She likes you.”

  “No. Why should I call her?” she clarifies.

  “Because,” I sigh. “I don’t want you to get negative feelings about anything that we’re doing here. Especially with the dance. I want you surrounded by supportive people that will root for you and whatever it is that you’re doing.”

  She almost smiles, a small twist of her lips like she’s fighting it. “Fine. I’ll call her.”

  I kiss her forehead softly as her eyes start to close, and I push down any more words that are prone to spilling out. I’ve said enough tonight.

  Chapter twenty-eight

  Julieta

  “You look … different,” Larissa tells me during our lunch hour. It’s finally cool enough to truly enjoy the outdoor picnic tables.

  “The hair cut?”

  “That thing is old news. No, this is something else.” She regards me.

  I think about how I’ve kept her at arm’s length, and how I don’t know if I want to anymore. How hard it is when you’re doing things alone, keeping secrets to keep the peace.

  What peace is there when you’re hiding everything?

  “I’ve been doing … something,” I start.

  “Something or someone?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

  I’m sure my answering laugh gives me away, a sort of embarrassed chuckle that leads to a blush. “I guess both.”

  “Ah! Tell. Me. Everything,” she squeals. Her smile is a mile wide as she dips a carrot stick in her ranch and takes a bite. I can’t help but wince.

  “Oh. Well. Remember that ballroom date you had?”

  “Mr. Dancing with the Stars? Yeah.”

  “So, I sort of took that advice and decided to try my hand at tango.”

  Her jaw drops. “That is so great!”

  “Is it?”

  “What do you mean ‘is it?’ Of course, it is!” she says enthusiastically.

  Of course, it is. She’s right. It has been great. “Yeah, it’s been fun.” I smile.

  “So, you met a guy in the class, and now you’re doing the horizontal tango?” She leans in, waggling her eyebrows.

  “You know, I knew there was a horizontal tango joke in there somewhere.”

  She cackles, picking at some cheese and crackers.

  “Except, it’s my instructor,” I add in, almost apprehensively.

  “Holy shit,” she says with a gasp. “You go, Julie Martí. You fucking go.”

  “Yeah?” I can’t help but smile.

  “Yes,” she says absolutely.

  “Thanks, Larissa.”

  It’s one thing for perpetually happy Larissa to notice something, it’s another for Barbara to notice, too.

  She hasn’t said anything, but she’s been asking for more from me, keeping an eye out over her reading glasses. She’s sent some office-wide passive aggressive emails, her favorite thing to do. I’ve been focusing on my caseload just enough but opting not to stay too late at the office. Giving myself a break like the other associates give themselves, too.

  And this evening after work, I’ve got plans to go shopping with Tara.

  ***

  “So how are the lessons going?” Tara asks as she browses through different dresses.

  “Great. They’ve been great.”

  Tara has taken me to Dancing Designs, a retail store for dancers. It’s a large space filled with racks upon racks of dazzling, glittery dresses and matching suits. Salespeople are milling about, helping some customers with fittings.

  “Uh-huh. I’m telling you, I wouldn’t be surprised if he likes dancing with you more.” She smiles. “It shows.”

  “Oh, no. That’s—”

  “It’s okay, Julie. I promise. This is so good, I swear.” She emphasizes those words with such genuine enthusiasm and kindness she’s shown me from the very beginning, and it almost heals something in me. “I always caught him looking at that door like he was willing you to come through it. And then you would appear, and I swear to God, it was like watching one of those wilted flowers come back to life after you water it.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, but I think of Logan waiting for me to walk into the dance studio and there’s something about that visual that is so heartwarming.

  “So, how did you get started in dance?”

  “Irish parents,” she laughs, but I’m not quite sure what she means. “They wanted me in dance since I could walk. I started with traditional Irish dances, believe it or not, but gravitated toward ballroom and then tango. I met Logan at another competition, and I kept running into him. We were friends at first, then we decided to partner up. Just friends by the way. Nothing between us.”

  “Oh, I didn’t think …” I trail off, shaking my head.

  “People always wondered, which I guess is a sign of a good partnership. But, no, nothing there.”

  “You do look great together, though,” I say.

  “Yeah, but you two look better,” she counters, smiling. “And what about you? Fancy lawyer. That’s wonderful.”

  “Just pushy parents.” I huff out a laugh, looking through a rack of blue dresses.

  “Oh, I get that.”

  “Work is always hectic. I wanted something fun in my life, so I decided to sign up for dancing.”

  “Seems like you’ve been having fun.”

  “It’s been amazing.” I might be gushing, but Tara can see through all of it anyway. “How do you feel about leaving?”

  “I’m ready,” she nods. “Dancing will always be a part of my life, but my competing and teaching days are behind me. I’m ready to get back to the fun of dancing, too.”

  She walks me over to a different section of the store.

  “Alright, so for San Diego, you’re going to want something that feels comfortable, that you can move with. But it needs to be presentable, too. Let’s start over here.”

  “So, what happened in San Diego?”

  “Oof. Did he tell you?”

  “He said you didn’t place.”

  “We didn’t. When you get to be a bigger name in competitions, you’re going to be looked at more. The judges are going to focus on you more. Logan had taken up a part time job with a theater, and he really loved it. Silas was going through med school, and I was itching to get back into school, too. And so, we were just losing the love for it. Losing the focus. It’s hard, you know? We’ve been dancing since we were kids. It takes a toll.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “So, the judges panned us. Said not-so-nice things about our dancing and our routine. It wasn’t fun, but it really hit Logan hard. He never took any of that to heart, but with that one, he really did. He felt like a failure, like he just needed to quit and forget about it.”

  “That must have been so hard,” I say. I think about Logan’s decades of dancing, tapering off with a bad competition. Little Logan finding solace in tango, and then losing that comforting feeling years later. That must have been heartbreaking.

  “It was. It was a tough time. But we decided to keep teaching part time and slowly move away from it. No more competing, no more workshops. The travel is hard. Competing is hard, too. We were okay with our decision, but …”

  “But?”

  “But now here we are, buying dresses.” She laughs. It’s not unkind, the statement or the laugh. There’s almost an underlying joyful tone.

  “I seem to have caused a bit of a shakeup.”

  “Only the best kind.” She winks. “Ooh, this one is great.” She pulls a dress from a rack and places it on a pile. “Hey, Marta. Can we get fitting rooms started, please?”

  Marta gets two fitting rooms set up for us, placing our dresses inside.

  Once we’ve made enough selections—enough being at least ten, according to Tara—we head to the dressing rooms to try everything on.

  I opted for more jewel-toned colors, not too many sparkles, and plenty of sway. Tara went with everything bright and glittery.

  I step out of the dressing room, hands in front of me like I don’t know where to place them. I can’t decide if I feel silly, or if I’m just nervous. Could be both.

  But then I take a peek in the mirror, and it feels like that first milonga all over again. It feels like that black dress, but ten times better.

  It’s sleeveless, deep purple, with an open back. Form fitting mesh around the bodice, with a glittery flower design, one that’s strategically placed around the chest. The dress drapes loosely around my hips, hitting below my knee, with a slit that goes up to my upper thigh. There’s a smaller slit in the back, too, to allow for more leg movement.

  This one makes me feel powerful.

  Tara gasps behind me, jaw practically to the floor. “This is the one.”

  She’s emerged from her own dressing room where she’s tried on a red dress. Flowy and sparkly and bright. It really suits her.

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  “Oh yes. You look amazing.”

  “I feel amazing,” I admit.

  “And that’s what it’s all about.” She grins, standing next to me in the mirror, eyes meeting mine in solidarity, in friendship. I can’t help but smile back.

  I sneak back into the dressing room and try on another one—one shoulder, rouged, deep wine red with some sparkles. This one has a slit up the back, too.

  “Perfection,” Tara calls out, now standing next to Marta who is nodding in agreement.

  This feels like shopping for prom dresses, giddy and hopeful, with friends cheering you on. This feels like another piece of this new life is sliding into place.

  “Take it,” she commands. “And this one.” She holds up the purple one with flowers triumphantly, “is for San Diego.”

  Chapter twenty-nine

  Julieta

  When I step into the ballroom, it’s the most comfortable I’ve ever felt. It’s the most sure. Logan is talking to the DJ, laughing, casually conversing. He looks so loose, so relaxed—that confidence that he wears so well. Effortlessly cool as always.

  But there’s something else. Some sort of calm I’ve noticed creep its way in the last couple of times we’ve seen each other. He turns and happens to catch my eyes, his widening as he excuses himself and walks over to me.

  “Holy shit.”

  “I went shopping with Tara. How ridiculous do I look?” I step closer to him, hands stretched out to show the dress.

  “Uh. You don’t.” His eyes scan my body, down and back up.

  “No?” I run my palms down my dress to smooth the front.

  “You look great.” He clears his throat. “You look … really, really great.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  He’s wearing a suit this time. Loose pants, tailored jacket. He steps in and gives me a kiss, a soft brushing of our lips, and the nerves want to bubble up to the surface. But he doesn’t want to hide anymore, and being here in this beautiful space, with this joyous community, why would I even want to?

  Tara walks in shortly after with Silas, greeting those around her. When she spots me, she smiles wide, moving in for a hug.

  “Perfection,” she declares, in reference to my dress. “Julie, this is Silas.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I offer my hand in a handshake.

  “She’s a lawyer. Very formal.” She winks in my direction.

  “This place looks great,” Silas offers, looking around at where they’ve added some extra balloons and a Good Luck, We’ll Miss You banner.

  “Aw, I love it!” Tara admires it gratefully.

  Silas reaches down to kiss her hand, and they both excuse themselves to look around and talk to some more guests.

  Logan and I find a small table by the stage, settling in. He moves his chair close to mine, draping his arm over my shoulders.

  “There are a lot of people here,” I say.

  “Yeah, this is a great turnout. We invited everybody from the class, and opened it up to the milonga regulars, too. They wanted to come give Tara a proper send off.”

  And then the couples flood the floor, the DJ welcoming all the guests, giving a special introduction to Tara, the guest of honor.

  “Ready to dance?” He leans in to ask me in my ear.

  This time I’m not nervous. I’m excited and eager to dance.

  “Always.”

  And he leads me to the floor.

  As we dance this tanda, I get lost in the feel of it. We’re in our close embrace, eyes closed, completely succumbing to the music.

  These shoes have had such a life, and now they’ve given me one, too. They’ve given me him. And I have to believe that even if abuela’s not here, even if she can’t see this, she approves of this. Of everything I’ve had the chance to do with her beautiful shoes.

  Once I step off the dance floor, walking over to get some water, I spot them, staring back at me wide-eyed. Past me would have hidden behind guilt, but I just feel loved and supported when I see them. Familiar faces in what has become a familiar place.

  “Oh my god, you were hiding this from us?” Delfina asks.

  “He’s practically falling at your feet,” T says in awe.

  “That’s just the dancing.” I try to wave off.

  “Oh no, it isn’t,” they respond in unison.

  “I thought you guys had things to do,” I say.

  “We lied,” Delfi confesses.

  “We absolutely lied,” T agrees. “You expected us to miss this? And look at this fucking dress!”

  “It’s nice, right?”

  “Nice is an understatement,” Delfi responds, taking in the beauty of the dress.

  Just then Logan walks up to us, waving. “Hey ladies, nice to see you again.” He passes me a cup of water. “Thought you could use some.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  They watch this exchange with wide grins, practically bursting at the seams.

  “Why are you guys acting like you’ve never been out in public before? Go dance with somebody.”

  “I could introduce you to some people?” Logan offers.

  “Sounds great.” Delfina smiles.

  “Oh no. I’m just going to park it right here and keep watching you. I am thoroughly entertained.”

  “Gavin might be here later,” Logan adds, which only results in T scowling. But then her eyes snag on somebody nearby.

  “Javier!” she calls out, and gives him a kiss in greeting when he comes over.

  “Hola rubia, cómo estás?” He looks over and notices all of us, his eyes lighting up, his smile growing bigger. “En serio? Todos están acá? Qué bueno!”

  “Sentáte,” I say, offering him a seat.

  Tara walks by our table and stops when she sees all of us sitting down, quickly joining in.

  “Javier, hi!” she exclaims, then turns to Logan, “This is so great. Thanks for this.” She looks over at the rest of the table and introduces herself. “Hi! I’m Tara.”

  “Oh, were you the partner?” Delfi asks, animated.

  “Ah, yes. That’s me. End of an era, you know?”

  “But a new one is beginning,” Javier adds, patting her hand.

  I don’t miss how everybody looks to me and Logan sitting side by side, his arm around the back of my chair.

 

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