A Wright Christmas

“But it’s not the same.”

“If you want more time to do it, then you can stay after class to practice.”

Katelyn pursed her lips. “That’s not fair. I can do those moves just as good as Bebe.”

The class gasped softly and then went deathly silent. Katelyn hadn’t been subtle about her dislike that someone else was taking the spotlight from her. I suspected it had something to do with her feeling like she was owed her spot in the show. But I would brook no disrespect in my studio space.

“You might or might not be able to dance the pas de deux as well as Bebe. However, you were not cast as Clara. So, the statement is not only irrelevant,” I said, standing statuesque and staring at Katelyn with all the strength my own instructors had instilled in me all these years, “but also rude and disrespectful.”

“I wasn’t being rude. I was just telling the truth.”

“I don’t care for your truth. Life isn’t fair, Katelyn. If you don’t like it, then you can get out of my classroom,” I said, gesturing to the door.

Katelyn huffed and then stormed from the room.

Good riddance.

She’d cool off, and then maybe we’d actually get something done without her crowding Bebe all the time. The rest of the students gaped after Katelyn’s sudden departure.

I clapped my hands to draw their attention. “Again, from the top.”* * *By the time rehearsal was over, I felt beat. Katelyn hadn’t returned, and her shiny white BMW was already gone from the parking lot. If she wanted someone to hold her hand and pet her hair, then she’d just be disappointed because I was the wrong person for that. Kathy sure knew I wasn’t a hand-holder. Not for the first or the last time, I wondered if she had chosen correctly.

I headed home in my dad’s company car and showered off the rehearsal. Then, I changed into something more comfortable and headed over to my abuelita’s home. She had been living in the same one-story house since the ’70s when she had immigrated to America with my mom. It wasn’t much, but children and grandchildren had been raised there and the house was completely full of love.

She had a garden out back, full of herbs and spices that she grew herself. She’d always told us, growing up, that we preserved our heritage in our food. Then, she’d pinch my cheek and say, “In our dancing, too.”

Abuelita Nina had always been a strong advocate for me pursuing dance even if it wasn’t the Mexican dances she had taught me as a girl.

“What is that smell?” I groaned as I entered the house.

Piper stuck her head out of the kitchen. “Only my favorite food in the world.”

“Pozole,” I said, just shy of drooling at the thought.

“There she is,” my abuelita said, leaving the kitchen to give me a hug. “You finally made time for me.”

“Lo siento.” I pulled back to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Dance keeps me busy.”

“You find more time for me, mi amorcita.” Abuelita patted my hand. “Come and eat. The pozole is ready.”

“All the fruits and none of the labor,” Peter muttered.

I laughed and took a seat at the small wooden table, which had been there since my childhood and showed it all through dents and scratches along the top. My mom doled out bowls of the traditional Mexican fare. It was the same recipe that my grandmother had brought straight from Mexico and that her mother and her mother before her had been making back home. We ate the meal in near silence as we all devoured the succulent pork shoulder mixed with white hominy, decadent spices, and piping hot chilis.

My mouth watered, as I drained the entire bowl. “Back in New York, there are some pretty amazing traditional Mexican restaurants,” I told the table. “But none hold a candle to this.”

“Come home, and I will make it for you all the time,” Abuelita assured me.

“As much as I’d like to stuff myself until I can’t walk tomorrow,” Piper said, “we have to go look for a date dress for Peyton.”

I buried my face in my bowl.

“Are you going on another date with Isaac?” my mom asked.

“Why isn’t he over here for my pozole?” Abuelita asked, busying herself with cleaning up the dishes. “He loves my cooking. Good boy always ate two helpings.”

I looked up from my bowl with a sigh. “We are going to the Wright Christmas party. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal,” Peter said with a laugh.

Piper shot him a look, and they hit knuckles. “It so is.”

“This is why I don’t tell you anything.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” my mom said. “We’re all happy for you. We want to see you settled down and married.”

“With some babies,” Nina added. “I need some great-grandbabies, you know?”