“Clover, I think you’re the best thing that ever happened to your old grandpa. From what he told me, he worked a whole bunch while your mama was growing up and so he didn’t have too much to do with raising her.”
I nodded, recalling the conversation from my birthday outing to Central Park. “I remember he told me that he’d traveled a lot when she was young.” That was one of the only times I could remember him speaking about their relationship.
“Yup. And your mama turned out a little wayward—only thought of herself is what it sounded like. Your grandpa never approved of the fact that she and your dad were off traveling all the time, leaving you with that neighbor lady. He didn’t think they were raising you right. And it was painful for him to see that because it made him wonder if she was just following his example, prioritizing work over family. I think he felt a lot of guilt over it.”
I gulped my cocktail without caution.
“And so when it turned out that he was the only family you had left,” Leo continued, “I think he saw it as sort of a do-over. Like he had the chance to do right by you and raise you into the best person you could be, to make up for where he went wrong with your mama.”
The revelation only deepened the ache in my heart. “I never knew that.”
“How could you? You were doing the best you could getting by with the tough hand you were dealt. But I remember sometimes he would come up here for a drink after you’d gone to bed, tearing his hair out over the fact that he had no idea what he was doing. He was so scared that he’d mess you up too.”
“But he always seemed so confident about everything he taught me.”
“Of course he did—he wanted you to know that you could rely on him no matter what.” Leo’s irises lit up with amusement. “You know, for most of the female stuff—buying your first bra and whatnot—he got his intel from that woman, Bessie, who owns the bookstore you two always went to.”
“Really?” A lifetime of disparate puzzle pieces started to fit together.
“Really. Look, I promised your grandpa that I’d always watch out for you—and I think that includes telling it to you straight.” He glanced at the ceiling again. “I’m pretty sure he’d be okay with that.”
“Thank you, Leo,” I said quietly, my brain whirring as it reconsidered my childhood through a new lens. “I appreciate it. I really do.”
He winked. “I got you.”
Unsure if I could take any more of Leo’s truths, I focused on the tiles between us. “Ready to play?”
“Oh, you bet.” Leo rubbed his hands together, then stopped abruptly, holding his neck with a wince.
“Everything okay, Leo?”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, letting the moment pass. When he opened them, I could tell he was rallying his composure. “Fit as a fiddle, like I always tell you. Just some random neck pain I get once in a while. Old age and all that.”
I wasn’t convinced. “We don’t have to play tonight if you don’t feel like it. We could watch one of those old British comedies you love instead?”
“I see you trying to wrangle a forfeit out of me.” Leo wiggled his finger at me. “Don’t think you can get me to surrender my lead that easily.”
“Leo—”
He flashed a defiant grin. “Your turn, kid.”
* * *
Leo’s company always made me feel better, but as I closed my apartment door after our game, I was exhausted. Life had seemed so much simpler a month ago. Now I felt slightly untethered.
The binoculars sat on the shelf, benign to anyone else, but contraband to me. Just a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. A quick check-in to make sure Julia and Reuben’s domestic bliss was still intact. That something in my world was as it had always been.
I executed my routine with precision: lights off, chair positioned, blinds crept open.
A dinner party. Julia and Reuben liked to host them every now and then. Always the same people, always couples. Each pair’s nuanced body language its own cryptic puzzle waiting to be decoded.
Yes, this was exactly what I needed.
And there were Julia and Reuben, arms entwined as they chatted with their guests, their quiet adoration for each other burning as strong as ever.
Swaddling myself in a blanket, I settled in for the evening, finding comfort in one of the only relationships I knew I could count on.
29
When Sylvie suggested a last-minute dance class, I shocked myself by saying yes. Between my very public kiss with Sebastian and Leo’s revelations about Grandpa, my brain had too many emotions to process. Expending some energy would give me a welcome escape.
“Probably ninety percent of people’s first kisses are bad,” Sylvie said as we sat cross-legged on the floor of a small dance studio in Chelsea. “Mine was terrible—though, to be fair, we were only twelve. Unfortunately, there are still guys like Sebastian who make it to their thirties without ever learning how to kiss someone properly. You’d think someone would’ve said something to him by now.”
I felt like I’d joined a secret club—one of bad first kisses—that I hadn’t realized so many people belonged to. The weight of my disappointment eased slightly.
“So what should I do?”
Sylvie smoothed a wrinkle in her shiny leggings. “You’re sure that you didn’t feel any kind of chemistry with him? Maybe it was just hard to get past the bad kiss?” A mischievous look came over her face. “Maybe you’re the one to teach him how it’s really done.”
I struggled to stop myself from squirming. “I don’t know. It all happened so quickly. And it’s not like I have anything to compare it to.” More than anything, it was anticlimactic. I didn’t mind Sebastian’s company, and his close relationship with Claudia was endearing, but I wasn’t as drawn to him as I thought I would be to the first man I kissed.
“Go out with him again and see how it feels,” Sylvie said. “You may as well experiment while the opportunity’s there—think of it as a learning process. And at least now you’ll know for sure it’s a date!”
“I guess I could,” I said, not entirely convinced. “But not while I’m still working with Claudia. I need to keep things separate.” Besides, that would allow more time for my feelings to develop into something more concrete.
The peeling varnish on the wooden floor felt rough beneath my hands as I looked around at the other women in the dance studio. In the yoga class we’d gone to, everyone wore variations on calming neutrals. Here, the aesthetic was draped black fabrics and deep jewel tones that accentuated the curves of the women’s bodies. I hoped my navy leggings and baggy gray T-shirt might help me recede into the background. But then I noticed something even more intimidating than my classmates: two metal poles in the center of the room.
“I see the fear in your eyes.” Sylvie nudged me playfully. “Don’t worry—this isn’t a pole-dancing class. Though we should definitely take one of those. They’re super fun.”
Her assurance did nothing to quell my nerves. I adjusted my leggings self-consciously and considered tying my T-shirt at the waist, like some of the other women in the studio.
“What’s this class called again?”
“Sensual Synch,” Sylvie said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Basically you get to feel like a stripper without taking any of your clothes off.”
“Wait—I thought you said it was an aerobics dance class.” I’d envisioned something closer to Zumba than stripping.
“I said aerobic—as in, it will increase your body’s need for oxygen. You just interpreted it with your own psychological bias.” Sylvie grinned. “Plus, I know you wouldn’t have come if I’d told you exactly what the class was. But trust me, it’s gonna be so good for you. Dancing is the best way to get in touch with your body. Well, except for sex. But you’ll love this class—it’s so fun and freeing.”