Chapter 5
1232 Words
**ADRIAN**
Dinner with Diane and Natasha lasts three hours and I only check my phone twice.
That's progress, apparently. Natasha talks about swim team and her marine biology project, and I realize I don't know any of her teammates' names or what marine biology entails beyond fish.
When I leave around nine, Natasha says goodbye but doesn't hug me. Diane walks me to my car.
"That was good," she says. "You staying the whole time."
"I should have been here months ago."
"Yes. You should have. But you were here today. That matters."
"Does it? She barely looked at me."
"Adrian, you missed years of her life. She doesn't trust that you'll keep showing up. One swim meet doesn't fix that."
The words sting because they're true. "I'm trying."
"I know." She pauses. "Don't hurt her, Adrian."
"Hurt who? Sage?"
"Yes."
"There's nothing to hurt. It's a business arrangement."
Diane gives me a look I remember from our marriage, the one that says I'm being deliberately obtuse.
"Sure it is," she says. "Drive safe."
I sit in my car for ten minutes before starting the engine. I ignore seventeen unread emails and text Sage instead.
Me: *Thank you for today.*
She doesn't respond. I drive home to my empty penthouse and realize I can't remember the last time I ate dinner with other people that didn't involve discussing business.
My phone buzzes. Sage.
Sage: Day five is Monday. 8 PM. Wear something comfortable and bring your daughter.
Me: Natasha?
Sage: Do you have another daughter I don't know about?
Me: She won't come.
Sage: Ask her.
Me: She barely spoke to me tonight.
Sage: Then maybe that's the performance. Asking for something when you're afraid of the answer.
I don't respond because she's right and I hate it.
******************
Sunday at six PM, I call Natasha.
"Dad?"
"Hi. Do you have a minute?"
"I guess. What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I wanted to ask you something." I take a breath. "Tomorrow night. Eight PM. Would you want to do something with me?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know exactly. It's part of the arrangement I have with Sage."
"The burlesque dancer you hired to fix you?"
I wince. "Where did you hear that?"
"Mom told me. Also it's all over the internet."
"We're not dating."
"Sure." She sounds exactly like her mother. "What's tomorrow?"
"I genuinely don't know. Sage just said to bring you."
"Will it be weird?"
"Probably."
"Will you actually show up or cancel at the last minute?"
The question hurts. "I'll be there. I promise."
"You've promised before."
"I know. But I mean it this time."
"Fine. But if you cancel, I'm blocking your number."
"Fair enough."
**********************
Monday night, I picked up Natasha at seven-thirty. She doesn't say anything for the first ten minutes.
Finally, "Are you actually dating her?"
"No."
"But you like her."
I glance over. "What makes you say that?"
"You asked me to do something with you for the first time in two years. That means you care what she thinks."
"It's complicated," I say.
"That's what adults say when the answer is yes but they don't want to admit it."
The address Sage sent is in a neighborhood I don't recognize. Old warehouses converted into studios. Inside is a large open room with wooden floors and mirrors. About twenty people are scattered around, stretching, talking.
Sage is at the front, wearing dance clothes. She sees us and waves us over.
"You came," she says to Natasha. "I'm Sage."
"I know. I saw you perform once. You're really good."
Sage's eyebrows rise. "When?"
"A few weeks ago. I didn't tell anyone. I wanted to see what Dad was doing."
"And?"
"Still deciding."
Sage laughs. "Fair. Okay, so tonight is a community movement class. We dance, we move, we let go of whatever we're carrying. Your dad has never done this before."
"Dad doesn't dance," Natasha says.
"He does tonight." Sage looks at me. "The performance is dancing with your daughter in front of strangers. No hiding behind work or phones. Just you, her, and movement."
Panic rises in my chest. "I don't know how to dance."
"Nobody's grading you."
"Natasha, you don't have to……"
"I'll do it if you do it," Natasha interrupts, challenged in her eyes. "Unless you're too scared."
It's bait. But I also know this is a test.
"I'm terrified," I admit.
"Good," Sage says. "Fear means you're paying attention."
The class starts. Sage leads everyone through warm-ups that I stumble through. My body feels foreign.
Then the real dancing starts. Sage tells everyone to just move however it feels right. People around us start dancing—some graceful, some chaotic, all of them free.
I stand there frozen.
Natasha is moving beside me, just swaying to the beat. She looks over.
"Dad. Just move."
"I don't know how."
"There's no right way. That's what Sage said."
I will try. I shift my weight. Move my arms awkwardly. I look ridiculous. But Natasha doesn't laugh. She just keeps dancing, and slowly, I start to move more.
Sage changes the song to something slower. When she gets to us, she speaks quietly.
"Adrian. Look at your daughter, not at yourself in the mirror."
I turn away from my reflection and focus on Natasha. She's smiling slightly, lost in the music.
"Now dance with her, not next to her."
Natasha reaches out and takes my hand. She spins under my arm like we're doing some informal swing dance, and I follow her lead.
We're terrible. Completely uncoordinated. I step on her foot twice. But she's laughing, actually laughing, and this is the first time we've touched in months that wasn't an awkward obligatory hug.
The song ends. We're both breathing hard.
"That was bad," Natasha says.
"Absolutely awful."
"But kind of fun?"
"Yeah. Kind of fun."
She doesn't let go of my hand immediately. I see Sage watching us from across the space. She nods once.
The class ends. Natasha goes to talk to Tommy. Sage approaches me.
"How do you feel?" she asks.
"Ridiculous. Exposed. Terrified."
"Good."
Natasha comes back over. "Can we do this again sometime?"
I look at Sage. She shrugs.
"If you want," I tell Natasha.
"I want to." She checks her phone. "Mom's outside."
"I'll walk you out."
At the car, Diane is waiting. She takes one look at both of us—sweaty, disheveled—and smiles.
"Dancing?" she asks.
"Don't ask," I say.
"It was actually okay," Natasha says. "Dad was terrible but he tried."
"That's all I ask." Diane catches my eye. "Same time next week?"
"If Natasha wants."
"I want," Natasha says again.
They drive away. I stand watching the taillights disappear.
Sage appears beside me. "Day five complete."
"I danced in public. With my daughter. While twenty strangers watched."
"Yes."
"I hated every second of it."
"Did you?"
I think about Natasha laughing. About her hand in mine.
"No," I admit. "I didn't."
Sage starts walking toward her car.
"What's day six?" I call after her.
She turns back, grinning.
"You'll find out tomorrow. Six AM. Bring paint clothes."
She drives away, leaving me standing there, my body sore from dancing, my chest full of something I can't name.
I text Marcus: I think I'm in trouble.
Marcus: What kind?
Me: The kind where I'm starting to remember what it feels like to be alive.
- Writer
