Learning Curves

Chapter Six





“Dad!” Leanne waved across the theater’s crowded lobby.

“Hi, darling.” He stooped to embrace her. Last spring, he retired early from the engineering firm he’d worked at for twenty-one years, and by the relaxed look on his face, freedom from the daily grind agreed with him.

Rummaging in her purse, she pulled out the tickets and they joined the line making its way toward the auditorium. As they turned their coats in, the lights flashed their first warming. A young usher led them to their seats, which were well situated near the stage, with a clear line of sight.

Once they were settled, her father turned to her and asked in a whisper, “So, what’s new?”

Keeping her eyes fixed on the program, Leanne tried for nonchalance. “School’s busy but when isn’t it? I’ve got a ton of marking but I’m making good progress on my thesis.” She shrugged. “Armstrong’s pleased, I think.”

“I meant, what’s new with you?”

“With me?” Leanne tried to marshal her thoughts and continued to flick through the ads that littered the program as though she was very interested in the local bike shop’s offer of ten percent off for patrons of tonight’s performance. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ve been too busy with school for much of anything else.”

Her father watched her thoughtfully. “Have you heard from Steven lately?”

At the mention of her former boyfriend, Leanne looked up. Her mother was die-hard about dating updates but Dad was usually more circumspect. “A while ago. He’s settled in Tempe and likes the faculty he’s working with. He’s not teaching many upper-year courses yet but he figures that’ll come in time.”

“I’m glad he’s doing well,” he said before continuing casually, “And you? Are you seeing anyone new? Since Steven, I mean?”

Yes. And I’m terrified it might turn into something serious.

“No. A few dates here and there but nothing serious. School takes too much of my time right now.”

“I see.”

The disappointment in her father’s eyes was transparent and Brandon’s name felt heavy on her tongue. She couldn’t deny that something seemed to be happening between them, as much as she would like it to be otherwise. Against her better judgment, they kept meeting, revealing a little more about themselves each time. But what they had could never be construed as a relationship, right? As much as she wanted her father to share the details of her life, her dad wanted to know about “nice guys” in his daughter’s life, not the guys who rang all her bells—sexual and warning.

There was no room in her life for a man right now. She’d learned her lesson with Steven. They’d been suited intellectually and well matched professionally, both intent on making their mark in academia.

If she couldn’t make it happen with someone like Steven, who’d been so in synch with the life she was creating, there was no chance she’d ever be able to make it happen with someone like Brandon, who was so wrong for her.

“I’m disappointed, Dad. Don’t tell me you’ve gone and joined the dark side with Mom. Soon you’ll be telling me about a very nice boy you play racquetball with.” She grinned, hoping to distract her father with the joke. Instead of laughing as she’d hoped, her father frowned.

“I know school’s important, sweetheart—you’ve worked too hard to throw it all away. But love doesn’t mean you have to give up on your goals. It just gives you someone to celebrate the triumphs with.”

“I know that, but right now I simply don’t have space in my life for a serious relationship. Later, when I’m more settled, when I’ve gotten a tenure track position, there’ll be time. Now the timing is just bad.”

“I’ve often wondered,” he said, “if we’ve set you a bad example, your mother and I.”

Though they’d been married thirty-six years, her practical father looked at her mother like she was still an eighteen-year-old beauty queen. She looked at him like Paul McCartney and Steve McQueen rolled into one.

“Sure, Dad. Terrible example. Thirty-some-odd years of love, fidelity and happiness. Gosh, I wouldn’t want to follow in those footsteps at all.”

“Actually, sometimes I think you don’t.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

He turned in his seat and looked at her steadily. “For a long time, I’ve wondered if you think falling in love means you’d have to be like your mother. To follow her path at the expense of your own.”

Leanne snorted. “Me, be like Mom? I can’t even apply a convincing set of false eyelashes. No one’s ever going to mistake me for Sandy Galloway’s daughter.”

Her dad winced but didn’t try to deny it. Leanne tried not to feel the sting of his silence too deeply. “I meant that you think falling in love would mean you’d have to stay at home, worrying about redecorating the dining room, instead of writing a new book. Or teaching. Or traveling and exploring the world.”

“I don’t think that,” Leanne argued, even as a small part of her wondered if perhaps, just perhaps, her father was more perceptive than she’d given him credit for.

“I know you and your mother haven’t had the easiest time these past few years but you need to look at it from her perspective. All she’s ever wanted was to be a mother and raise a big, noisy family.” He held up his hand, forestalling her interruption. “It just wasn’t in the cards for us. There were a lot of tears and heartbreak before we were blessed with you.”

Her father’s admission stunned Leanne into immobility. Her mouth hung open and she knew ought to offer condolences or sympathy but all she could manage was a weak, “I beg your pardon?”

Her father faced her steadily. “Infertility. Your mother and I struggled against it for a long time.”

“I didn’t…didn’t know.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” he said. “You were a child. The burden wasn’t yours to carry.”

With her father’s stunning admission, years of clues and random comments slotted into place. She’d often wondered why they waited nearly ten years before they’d had her. Growing up, Leanne wished desperately for a sibling, someone who could defuse the overwhelming demands her mother placed on her over the years.

Behind the façade of perfect couple and perfect wife, there had been a secret sorrow, a burden all the perfectly coordinated hand towels in the world could never overcome.

“Dad, I honestly had no idea.”

He smiled sadly. “It’s never been something your mother’s felt comfortable talking about. But I know—despite what you may sometimes think—that you’ve always been your mother’s shining achievement.”

Reaching over, Leanne squeezed his hand, moved by his rare display of emotion. “I’m glad you told me.”

But as the house lights fell and the velvet curtains began to sweep apart, she couldn’t help but weigh her father’s revelation against the proof of the past.

She’d been fourteen when her mother announced that she’d entered them in a mother-daughter pageant. Her plans had been expansive.

“We’ll get matching dresses and practice a routine. We can get our hair done and our nails too. It’ll be so much fun!”

Even then, Leanne knew her mother was disappointed, burdened with a plain, bookish daughter. No pep rallies or cheerleading for her. No football star boyfriend or pageant success to bond over. Just lots of science fair trophies and three consecutive “Young Reader of the Year” awards from their local library. She’d longed for the same close, unconditional relationship that her friends seemed to share with their mothers. Jokes and teasing and easy, open affection.

For three brief weeks, they’d overcome their differences, her mother showering her with the love and attention she’d always secretly craved. Every waking moment had been spent rehearsing their duet and practicing the elegant runway walk her competition-savvy mom deemed essential for success. They’d bought their matching dresses from an exclusive boutique that specialized in pageant wear. Even the news that Gillian was competing couldn’t dim her enthusiasm and she’d dreamed secret, silly dreams of winning the crown and basking in the adulation of her mom and all her high school friends.

Unfortunately, none of Leanne’s elaborate daydreams had accounted for the paralyzing wave of stage fright that overtook her like a tsunami. It only took a few endless moments for her dreams to descend into a nightmare of missed cues, stumbling feet and a duet so painful that, more than a decade later, still made her shoulders tense with shame.

Her mother, who’d spent twenty years on the pageant circuit and never failed to place in the top ten, hadn’t even made the first cut.

The hurt had only been compounded when Gillian and Aunt Barbara were awarded first runner-up.

As soon as they’d gotten home, Leanne ran up the stairs, eager to reach the sanctuary of her room. But the sound of her mother crying had rooted her to the spot. Her mother, elegant shoes discarded, makeup tearstained, sat on the bottom step as her father rubbed her back.

“Didn’t she know how important this pageant was to me, Larry? Does she really hate me so much that she couldn’t have tried, even for a few hours? For me?”

Those words, spoken so softly Leanne knew she was never supposed to have heard them, hurt the most. Because, when it came down to it, Leanne had tried. Her best just hadn’t been good enough.



By final curtain, Leanne put the shock of her father’s revelations behind her. Losing herself in the performance helped. She’d never been a fan of modern dance for the same reason much avant-garde literature left her cold—its circularity and heavy metaphors left little room for elements like plot or character.

But tonight’s show was unlike anything she’d ever seen. Moving, graphic, intense, the dancers moved across the stage in fantastic, undulating patterns, their fluid movements merging with the music.

Brandon’s fingerprints were all over it.

His distinctive choreography, the intimate and emotional space he’d created bore the same hallmarks as his dancing at the Foxe’s Den. His love of music, of movement, of form. His dedication, obsession even, with beauty and the physical form counterbalanced with joy, care.

Leanne learned more about Brandon sitting in a darkened theater with five hundred strangers, than she’d known about Steven during the entire seventeen months of their relationship.

And it terrified the life out of her.

Yes, he could reduce her to a quaking, trembling mass of nerves with a touch. The heat his simple caress evoked scorched her skin. Yet despite the intensity he aroused in her, it was still only physical.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

It made him so much more than just a one-night stand. Besides being dangerous to her equilibrium, it made him…real.

Real was exactly what she couldn’t handle right now.

She’d sacrificed so much to reach this point in her. Her academic success. Her degrees. Her reputation. She had resigned herself to the demands they exacted because she knew they were necessary to achieving her dreams. Now, less than a week from reaching the most important goal of all, she couldn’t allow Brandon to distract her.

The Walters Prize would give her true professional freedom. Harvard. Yale. Oxford. She could have her pick, settle into a tenured appointment and travel, research the first of many books, teach. She’d made the short list, beating out dozens of other candidates. Only a final interview separated her from the ultimate prize. She could ace it.

The only thing standing in her way was her own irrational desire.

Professor Armstrong was right. She was destined for a life of the mind. It was where she fit in. Yet a small sliver of her being regretted denying herself the possibility of more.

She knew as if he had blazoned it across the dancers’ sculpted Lycra costumes, that Brandon was no more interested in taking their mutual distraction any further than she was.

He wanted her, yes.

For now.

He didn’t want anything else.

And that, she told herself firmly, was as it should be.

But as she stood and collected her program, waiting for her father to file out into the aisle and join the river of people exiting the theater, she made herself a promise. When the timing was better, when she wasn’t overwhelmed by her thesis, her teaching, her research and her goals—she would find time for a real relationship.

She deserved that much.

Just not with Brandon.

It simply wouldn’t work.