Before You Go

THIRTY-TWO

To say my life is bliss would be a gross misrepresentation. It is bliss to the nth degree times infinity. I am in love—with a sexy, smart, kind, amazing guy, and somehow he finds me worth all the trouble.

I also have Jules and Foster and my group of misfits. And I have Dad, Amy, and Michael. And though I may still have issues with Mom and have Noah’s pesky ex to deal with from time to time, my cup runneth over.

I’m thinking about all of this on the Friday before Christmas break while I’m in my shrink’s cozy office.

Yes, this is the yin and yang of my life.

Dr. Payne has a fireplace roaring and I feel like I could fall asleep.

“So you’re going to see your mom over the holiday?” Never one to mince words, she gets right to it and brings me back to reality. “How long has it been since her last visit?”

“About four months ago,” I say. “She hasn’t come to see me since school started.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

Sometimes I wanted to tell Dr. Payne where she could stick all of her questions. They were so ridiculous. I didn’t understand why she couldn’t be straight with me and just ask what was on her mind.

“It feels pretty shitty, that’s how it feels,” I tell her.

Then I proceed to explain why—and how—my mother continues to let me down. From the moment she found out about Thomas’ party, to sticking me in New Beginnings, to Thanksgiving. Our conversation goes on for quite some time.

When I’m finished, I brace for the reprimand.

She doesn’t give me one. Instead, she asks, “Do you think your mother is afraid, Tabby?”

“Afraid? I highly doubt it. What could she possibly be afraid of?”

“Maybe she’s afraid of failing or disappointing you,” Dr. Payne says. “Maybe she takes some of the blame for what happened last year. Why don’t you tell me about the conversations you’ve had about your assault, the fallout, your depression?”

Too tired to fight, I take a breath and get ready to spill. Her question was a good one. Mom and I talked around all of those things. She sat at my bed a few times and brought me soup. Of course, she’d say it’s going to be okay and we’re going to get through this about a thousand times a day, but that was the extent of it.

“I don’t think we really did talk about it,” I finally answer.

“Never?”

“Nope, not really.” I tell her.

We talk about that for a bit, not getting any closer to understanding any of it, and soon we’re out of time. Thank God. I’m exhausted. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I want nothing more than sleep, but I still have a full day ahead of me.

The day stretches on forever until my class with Noah. I’m completely consumed by my shrink session and the fact that Amy invited my mom and Stephen to Christmas—a horrifying thing to think about, especially after the Thanksgiving fiasco.

Once I’m settled in class, I take out my book and try not to dwell on any of it since I have only a few precious days of peace left in my immediate future. And the moment Noah walks in, it’s easy to do. His eyes find mine and all thoughts of Christmas and my morning therapy session disappear. Noah stops at my desk and gently touches my hand as he turns the book over. It’s a book of poetry by Maya Angelou.

“Good choice,” he says before taking his seat.

I fight the impulse to get up and jump into his lap.

“Okay, guys, settle in,” Professor Sands interrupts. “I know everyone is dreaming of holiday gifts, pigging out, and sleeping in, but let’s try to finish class on a productive note. As I mentioned earlier in the week, your job today is to find a piece of writing that best describes where you are in life at this moment. Don’t be shy, nobody will read your essays but me. And as long as you put some thought into it and those thoughts are authentic, I promise you’ll all do well. So let’s get to work. Pick a few of your favorites because we’ll be doing some exercises before the big essay is due.”

It’s hard to concentrate with Noah behind me, but as I read Maya Angelou’s poetry I become engrossed. A few times tears threaten to spill down my face. They don’t. I am in control. But it’s like she’s talking right to me and I feel good reading the words. They make music in my head and wrap around my heart in a warm embrace.

After class, I pull out a box from my backpack. Hanukkah doesn’t start until Sunday, but I want to give Noah his gift on our walk home, before he leaves for Boston to visit his grandparents. I hope it’s not too much, but I found a first edition of The Catcher in the Rye.

When it’s time to go, Noah holds up a finger signaling me to wait while he passes me to get to Jenna. My heart breaks a little. Most days I’d almost forgot she was in our class—at least until she needed him. I wasn’t in any place to make demands, so I graciously took the sloppy seconds. This is the real world after all.

I put the box back in my bag and head out, fighting the rejection in my head.

“Tabby,” Noah calls after me.

I turn to him.

“I’ll stop by later,” he says. Then he’s back to Jenna.

Whatever.

I can’t fault him. He already explained his relationship with Jenna and told me he wouldn’t let her down. He told me all of this before we got involved. I had a choice in the matter. And I chose him. Still the nasty feeling in my chest grows on the way home. At least now there are a few things I can do to prevent it from taking over or from taking me under.

At home, Noah texts me but I brush him off with a quick note to tell him I’m going to the center. I quickly change clothes and head out.

As Michael says, “Your slate has been wiped clean, Tabby.” Since I started dancing again, I almost believe it. I can’t wait to see Michael in a few days. Having him by my side might just make the visit with Mom bearable.

Once I get to the center, I put my ballet slippers on. Then, I wipe my slate clean and dance. There’s no Noah, Jenna, or upcoming visit from Mom. It’s just me, my body, and the music. My breathing accelerates and I start to break a sweat. Endorphins kick in. I sweat out the bad and breathe in the good. I start to feel like me again.

“Holy shit!” A deep voice breaks my focus.

“Have you been keeping something from me, Tabby?” Noah says.

“Oh, I’m just burning off steam,” I say not knowing how long he’s been watching me. “I’m finding healthy ways to deal.” He gets my group reference. I’ve told him a little bit about it, mainly to keep him off my back.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a professional dancer?” he asks.

“I’m not,” I tell him. “Not anymore.”

“Like hell you aren’t. You need to join a group or squad or whatever you call it. That was incredible.”

“It’s a company.” I laugh. “And that’s not for me anymore,” I add, more seriously this time. “That was my old life, Noah. I don’t want to go back to it.”

“But you could get a scholarship for college. And maybe it would help with other stuff too.”

“No, this is enough. It does feel good, it does help, but it also brings back a lot of memories.”

“Please do me a favor.” He moves closer and rests his hands on my arms. “Think about it.”

I nod and my body instinctively moves closer to him. I am completely and utterly in love. I can’t stay mad at him and I don’t want to fight the past anymore. I want to focus on the future.

“Do me a favor,” I counter. “Show me what you got.”

I turn up the music.

And we dance.

That’s what we call progress.

But before Noah and I can progress any further, his parents call. They’ve upped their departure time for the Boston road trip because of a storm front moving in, so we have to make our goodbyes quick.

There are no Hallmark moments in the real world.