On Saturday afternoon, Hanna speed-walked into Momma’s Sweet Shoppe, the brand-new-but-made-to-look-old ice cream fountain in the Devon Crest Mall. The floor was a black-and-white checkerboard pattern, there were old-fashioned chrome and leather stools at the counter, and a chalkboard listing types of floats, malts, and the various ice cream flavors of the day hung above the milk-shake machines. The waitstaff wore crisp white shirts, red-and-white-striped vests, and white paper hats, and fifties doo-wop blared over the stereo.
Her father, Isabel, and Kate followed, making brr noises at the bracing wind and subzero temperatures they’d had to endure in the parking lot. “Tell me again why we’re getting ice cream right now?” Hanna said, her teeth still chattering.
Mr. Marin unwound his heavy red scarf from his neck. “Because this is what Kate and her mom did after every Nutcracker performance Kate danced in. Right, ladies?”
“Right,” Isabel said proudly, patting Kate’s shoulder. “It was always a double scoop of mint chip for my little Clara.”
Hanna suppressed a groan. It was the same saccharine phrase Isabel had been saying all day, from the trek into Philly to see a matinee of The Nutcracker at the Academy of Music to the curtain call at the end of the ballet to the long hunt for a parking space at the mall. Kate was her little Clara, the child lead in The Nutcracker, the role Kate had danced for four years with their local ballet troupe in Annapolis, and it had been Kate’s favorite ballet ever since. Honestly, Hanna didn’t get the ballet’s allure—a rich girl’s house is infested with mice; candy canes, snowflakes, and strange Russian men don’t let her sleep; and then she and a Mouse King in a really ugly vest disappear into some giant beehive. It seemed like one long acid trip.
“I bet you’re still an amazing ballerina.” Isabel pushed a piece of hair out of Kate’s eyes. “You should see her dance, Tom. She’s just so graceful.”
“Maybe you should take some classes again,” Mr. Marin suggested. “You’d probably fall right back into it.”
“You’re too nice.” Kate spun her silver David Yurman bracelet around her wrist. “But I’m way out of practice.”
You just don’t want to because you’d no longer be the best in the class, Hanna thought bitterly, remembering her one and only experience with ballet. She and Ali had taken a class at the YMCA, and when all of them did grand jetés across the room, Ali had collapsed into giggles, saying Hanna looked exactly like a hippo in a tutu.
Now, Hanna sighed. After her new family had thrown Hanna a Hanukkah bone a few nights ago, everything had gone back to normal shortly afterward. The Twelve Days of Christmas nonsense had resumed, though Hanna had been able to get out of a lot of it because of boot camp. She had to keep lying about where she was going, but so far her dad hadn’t given her a hard time about it—probably because he didn’t really want her there anyway. She’d tried to make a joke to her dad about Bubbe Marin and Morty the lewd African gray parrot during intermission today, but Kate had talked over her, telling Hanna’s father about how Tchaikovsky had based The Nutcracker on an old children’s tale. Her dad had nodded at Kate like it was the most interesting story in the world. Meanwhile, though Hanna had taken to obsessively checking Lucas’s Facebook page, he hadn’t uttered a peep. She was half-tempted to call his resort and ream him out for ignoring her.
As they waited in line for ice cream, Isabel launched into yet another Kate-was-such-a-beautiful-ballerina memory. Suddenly, listening to Nutcracker talk was just too much. “I have to use the bathroom,” Hanna interrupted, stepping out of line. “Just get me a bottled water,” she said, remembering the boot camp pledge she’d signed.
“We’re going to browse around the mall with our cones,” her father called after her. “Look for us in Brookstone, okay?”
“Uh-huh,” Hanna answered absently, snaking around the little tables and enormous shopping bags from Saks, Build-A-Bear, and the Apple Store. Her chest felt tight, like she was about to cry. Her dad had bent over backward for her a few days ago, reliving old times, laughing and joking with her like they’d used to. But now that seemed like ancient history. Hadn’t he noticed how much she’d appreciated it?
“Hanna,” a voice called out, and Hanna swung around. Sitting at the little table in the corner, a small bowl of ice cream and a bottle of AminoSpa in front of him, was Vince from Body Tonic. For a moment, Hanna didn’t quite recognize him. He was wearing jeans, a sweater, and heavy brown hiking boots.
“Hey,” Hanna said, instinctively running her hand over her face to make sure there weren’t tears running down her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”
“Shopping.” Vince grinned.