A WRIGHT CHRISTMAS (Wright Standalone)

1 Peyton Sixteen years, five months and twenty-seven days. That was how long it had been since I’d gotten into the summer intensive in New York City and left Lubbock, Texas, behind forever for the sprawling, bustling world of professional ballet. I never thought sixteen years, five months, and twenty-seven days later that I would be back in Lubbock. Not for any dance-related reason at least. “Peyton, over here!” My sister, Piper, waved enthusiastically as I stepped through the revolving door with my dance bag and carry-on tucked tight to my side. “Pipes!” I called, dashing through the crowd as if it were New York City streets. “Don’t call me that,” Piper cried. She threw her arms around me but not before I saw her roll her eyes. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” “Ugh! And here I thought, I was happy to have my sister home for the holiday season.” I released her with a laugh, pressing back one of my loose curls into the braided bun at my head. “You are happy.” “Yeah, yeah,” Piper said, ignoring her own brown hair. She’d gotten lucky with our mom’s thick, stick-straight hair. Straight hair would have been much easier than my father’s curls that went back to his proud Mexican heritage. All of our aunts and uncles had hair like me, which I couldn’t deny I loved, but straight hair would have been better for ballet buns. “Let’s go get your luggage.” “I’m good.” I gestured to my small carry-on suitcase and dance bag, which currently contained a dozen new pointe shoes, an equal number of leos and tights, as well as enough tape wrap, toe pads, and sewing materials to make it through a season of The Nutcracker. Piper eyed my scant luggage. “You know that you’re going to do something other than dance while you’re here, right?” “Not if I can help it,” I said with a smile. “All right, fiiine,” Piper grumbled. She knew the shtick too well by now. “Let’s go, seester.” We exited the Lubbock airport and stepped out into the dry, arid climate that was my home. Having grown up in the middle of nowhere West Texas, I’d gotten really good at disabusing people of their biases about what Lubbock was like. No, it was not technically a “small town.” Unless you considered three hundred thousand people small. Small compared to New York City, not to what most people thought of when they heard the words small town. Yes, we had cowboys, but it was really just a city like anywhere else. People wore their hats, boots, and pressed jeans as their Sunday best, but no one was riding their horses into town. Okay, only that one time, and everyone had taken pictures because it was weird, y’all. Fine, most of the town was a cotton field and as flat as a pancake, but it was still home. Tumbleweeds and all. We reached Piper’s blue Jeep, as bright as a spotlight in the sea of black and white trucks. The words Sinclair Cellars were plastered on the side. “How’s the winery?” I asked, dumping my bags into the back. “As excellent as ever. Dad thinks we’re going to have a new vintage this year, a specialty blend that’s going to win us awards.” Piper beamed. When I was little, the only thing that I’d known other than ballet was the vineyards at Sinclair Cellars. Our dad had worked there his entire life, starting at the lowest job and moving all the way up to the top. So, when Ray Sinclair finally decided to retire, my dad had taken over. His kids still weren’t particularly pleased. Piper worked at the winery full-time. She had a real knack for it. “That’s great,” I told her, dropping into the passenger seat. She revved the engine and then gunned it out of the airport. “And Peter?” “With his boyfriend,” Piper said. “Probably for the better. I have to head to the studio as soon as I get in.” As much as I wanted to see my brother, Piper’s twin, it would have to wait. “All right. You can probably borrow the Jeep.” The Jeep. Right. I’d have to start driving again. I’d gotten really used to walking everywhere I needed to go, occasionally taking the subway or a taxi. I was going to have to reacquaint myself with driving. “Maybe I should rent a car,” I said, which wasn’t something I’d considered before this moment. “Nah. Dad’s probably already figured something out for you.” She veered onto 27 South and headed into town. “Mom wanted to have a tamale marathon for your first day back.” I groaned. “But I convinced her that you’d be too jet-lagged to helped make, let alone eat, seventy-two tamales.” “Thank God.” “I’m just so glad that you’re home for what feels like…ever.” I laughed. “It’s only for a month.” “A month. You haven’t been home for more than a few days in over a decade.” “I know.” And I did, but I had a demanding job. It had been hard enough to balance life and dance when I lived here. I’d made time for Isaac, and that was about it. My heart panged when I thought about him, and I forced myself to look out the window as we passed through Piper’s neighborhood. Isaac Donoghue had been my first everything. My first love, my first kiss, my first…time. He’d taken my heart wholly and completely, and I wasn’t so sure that he’d ever given it back. I hadn’t seen him since that day sixteen years ago when I got on that plane to make my dreams come true. He’d encouraged it, even convinced me to go to New York. I couldn’t say I regretted it, but I still wished that there had been a way to have both. Now, I was going to be home for a month, and our circle was too small not to run into him. A quick smile darted to my face in anticipation. Would it be so wrong to hope to see him again? Even if I knew nothing could come from it? He had his own life, and mine was back in New York. But he was still Isaac Donoghue. The boy who had changed my life. The boy I had loved unconditionally. The boy who had let me go. “Here we are,” Piper said, killing the engine once we were in front of her one-story white brick house in Tech Terrace. She’d gotten it for a crazy steal right out of college and spent the last six years renovating it. It helped that her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Bradley, had worked part time in college for Wright Construction, the biggest construction company in the US. I carried my dance bag inside as Piper carted in my suitcase. “You’ll be in the back bedroom on the right. Blaire recently abandoned it for the bonus room because she—quote—needed the natural light for her ** pictures.” Piper shrugged. “Anyway, it has a connected bathroom.” “Thanks, Piper. I appreciate you putting me up. Your house is way closer to the studio than Mom and Dad’s.” “Yeah, I should have considered that when buying this house. It would be convenient to be farther south, so I’d be closer to the winery,” she contemplated. “But at the time, I was only thinking about proximity to the bar scene.” I snorted. “And since when has that changed?” Piper grinned. “It hasn’t.” “Okay, I’m going to get ready. You’re sure I can use the Jeep? I don’t mind catching an Uber.” Piper waved her hand, already walking into the kitchen and popping the top off a Mexican Coke. “By all means. Blaire should be home soon, and if there’s an emergency, I can always ping Bradley.” “Are you two still a thing?” “No,” Piper said. I arched an eyebrow. “What? We’re friends.” “Uh-huh,” I muttered and then headed into the back room to change. After being in travel clothes all day, it felt right to get back into tights and a leotard. Sleep beckoned after such an early flight, but I had my fitting for the Sugar Plum Fairy costume, and I couldn’t miss it. I put street clothes over top of my dance garb, grabbed my bag, and then headed out to the Jeep. It took me a few minutes to get used to the hulking beast of a car. I’d learned to drive on my dad’s hooptie—a truck that took too much force for me to be able to open the driver’s side—so I always crawled in from the passenger. This should have been easier than that old hunk of junk, but it was still intimidating. After carefully backing out in the road, I got the hang of it and drove to the new Buddy Holly Hall downtown. With the creation of the new performing arts center, the Lubbock Ballet Company had moved from their longtime space on 34th Street, where I had first been introduced to ballet, into the new facility. I was anxious to see the building, which had been modeled off of the NYC Ballet studios that I was used to. A slice of the city in my hometown. I parked out front of the massive complex and ambled in through the studio entrance. The artistic director, Kathy Brown—who had just been a budding director when I danced here as a kid—was supposed to meet me here, but I was still a few minutes early. I headed down the row of studios. My heart soared when I saw the enormous rooms with ballet barres lining the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that faced equally large mirrors. This did indeed feel just like home. Most of the rooms were empty, save for a baby ballet class taught by a high school–aged student. I continued forward until I found what I was looking for. In the studio were a handful of advanced students—one Black girl at the front with her partner, a fair-skinned young man with red hair and freckles; a Latina girl gossiped in the back with two white girls; and another brown male dancer stood off to the side, idly doing rond de jambes on the floor. Honestly, I was surprised there was this much diversity. When I had been here, I’d been one of the only non-white dancers. Kathy stood at the front of the room, heavily pregnant but still lithe and moving with ease around the studio. The couple started again, and my eyebrows rose. I hadn’t expected to be impressed, but watching the girl at the center, I only saw potential. Kathy clapped her hands, ending the rehearsal, and came out to find me. “Peyton! I’m so glad you’re here.” “Kathy, it’s so good to see you,” I told her, drawing her into a hug. “I can’t believe I finally convinced you to be my Sugar Plum Fairy. It is going to be so amazing to watch you on that stage again.” I smiled at her. “And look at you,” I gushed. “Going to have another ballerina?” “God willing,” she told me. “Don’t worry. She’s not due until Christmas. We’ll make it through the next month together.” I laughed, and my eyes wandered to the company members who exited the studio, landing on the Black dancer once more as she trailed the other dancers, who clustered together like a unit. “She’s really good.” Kathy nodded. “Too good for here,” she said wistfully. “Bebe is only in high school.” My eyebrows rose. “High school? You mean, this isn’t the professional company?” “Nope. Just my pre-professional. Katelyn Lawson, her understudy,” she said, pointing out a tall, trim blonde, “has already been accepted to Joffrey for the summer. Bebe doesn’t think she’s ready. She’s only been dancing for two years.” “Oh my God, Kathy,” I whispered. “I know.” Kathy patted me on the arm. “Don’t worry about the company. I’ll keep working on her. She’s a little prodigy, just like someone else I know.” I flushed. Even after dancing professionally for fifteen years, hearing that word—prodigy—made my heart leap. “Thank you, Kathy.” “Now, come. Let’s get you fitted.” I followed Kathy into the costume room, happy to fall back into the old, familiar feeling. When I’d decided at seventeen to move to New York, I’d left so much behind—this town, my family…Isaac. It felt almost right to be here again as my career wound down.