I should guard myself.
If I were smart, I’d get up and leave.
Because I thought maybe I was in more danger than ever when my spirit lightened in a wash of Logan’s joy when Eden showed from the right side of the stage, wearing a black tutu, tights, and pointe shoes.
A row of little angels followed her out.
They spun around, trying to hide their giggles and shy giddiness as they looked out on the audience in hopes of seeing their families.
People oohed and aahed as Eden led the children through a simple dance.
Mostly the Lawson brothers who shouted and cheered when an adorable little girl with two-black buns on the sides of her head came forward and did an off-balance pirouette.
“Go, Juni Bee,” Logan shouted. “That’s my girl.”
He tapped my thigh, whispered close to my ear, “That’s Juniper, Jud’s wife’s daughter. His too, really, even though not by blood.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Prettiest girl in the room.” Then his voice dropped, turned wicked, wrecked me in an entirely different way, “Except for you.”
I wanted to beg him to stop. To tell him I couldn’t deal with this. That this push and pull was killing me. The gravitation and the disgust. The hatred and the echo of a star-crossed love.
The little girl giggled and blushed and skipped back to the line before three drummer boys joined the group on the stage, marching and beating toy drums.
My spirit did that erratic thing when I saw Gage, the same boy from earlier today, so proud as he drummed to his own beat.
I tried to hold back the rush of affection I felt just witnessing the scene.
An outsider who wouldn’t last dipping her toes into the impossible.
This was so incredibly foolish.
So perfect and so uncomfortable.
So right and so wrong.
I had to wonder if it was just another way Logan had in mind to punish me. If he wanted to toss in my face what I’d missed.
Didn’t he get it?
I already understood I’d missed out on everything.
The loss was profound.
Deep and dark and perpetual.
One class would go out only for another to enter, the performance a mesh of ballet, carols, and small acts.
Each time, Logan seemed to draw me closer. As if in the whimsical fantasy, in the enchanted darkness, he’d forgotten that we were supposed to be enemies. As if he’d slipped back to the time when loving him was a sin but the only thing I’d ever done right.
The show was endearing. Filled with simple joy and Christmas spirit. I did my best not to get swept in the simple triumph of it. In the sweet innocence.
Impossible.
It was bottled in my chest like a shaken concoction. A chemical reaction.
Logan and family and regret.