A Wright Christmas

I closed and locked the door behind me, leaving my suitcase to deal with tomorrow. I only had about five hours before I needed to be in the studio again. Something that I normally looked forward to, but now, I just couldn’t fathom it.

Without preamble, I plopped down into my bed and stared out the one window, which looked out over a fire escape on another building. I should have fallen right asleep. My eyes were heavy with exhaustion. My body felt as if it had been run over. Except my brain wouldn’t stop. And I needed it to just stop.

“Oh God,” I gasped.

Suddenly, it felt as if I had been cracked down the middle. Split open like an autopsy that popped my ribs open to reveal all the gooey organs within.

And then I was crying. Big, racking sobs that I couldn’t hope to contain. Just pain upon pain upon pain. I lay there, completely subsumed by my own grief.

I’d thought it was hard to leave Isaac the first time.

I had been wrong.

This was much worse.* * *I must have fallen asleep at some point because I woke up to the sound of my alarm blaring from my phone. I startled out of bed and moved in a daze to get ready for rehearsal. There was no food in the house, but I couldn’t imagine stomaching it either.

So, I just pulled my hair up into a shoddy bun, flyaways haloing my head, and flagged down a cab to take me to Lincoln Center. Normally, I wouldn’t waste the expense, and I’d just take the subway, but I was too numb for that today.

It wasn’t until I was inside, lacing up my pointe shoes that I thought to ask who I would be performing the pas de deux with this week. I knew next week would be with André. We’d planned it so that we were together for the last week. He was my favorite partner.

But as soon as I heard the booming voice, I knew that I wasn’t just unlucky; I was doomed.

“Peyton, you’re home early,” my ex, Serge, cried, bending down to kiss me on both cheeks.

I scrambled to my feet, flustered. This was…not good. “Serge, I didn’t realize you were dancing as Cavalier this week.”

“Of course. I was there when Lauren had her…” He vaguely gestured to his stomach, as if unaware where the appendix was located. “I helped her into the ambulance.”

“That must have been traumatizing.”

“No,” he said with a dimpled smile. He was a head taller than me with thick, curly black hair and the musculature that showed the extra effort he put into the gym. I wished he’d put that extra effort into our relationship, but what did I know? “I’m great under pressure.”

“And modest,” I joked flatly.

He chuckled. “You were always so funny, Peyton. I missed you while you were away.”

Had he? Seemed doubtful.

“I don’t need to be in the studio long,” I told him. “I could do this role in my sleep. Let’s just make sure that we’re in sync, and then we’ll go from there.”

He looked at me in surprise. “You want to just do a few run-throughs and leave?”

“Yeah?” I asked, uncomfortable by his shock.

“Texas must have changed you, butterfly,” he said, brushing his hand across my skirt.

I stepped back at the familiarity. I didn’t like this.

“Normally, you would run this number all day until you were blue in the face.”

I shrugged. “I took a red-eye. I’m tired.”

“Ah,” he said, unconvinced. His eyes took a measure of me that I didn’t appreciate. “Then let’s begin.”

The artistic director came through in the middle of our rehearsal and applauded our efforts. “Lovely, Peyton. I can tell the time away has been rejuvenating. You’re simply effervescent. I cannot wait to see you onstage.” His eyes turned to Serge. “Keep working on the lift sequence. Use your plié.”

Then, he was gone.

I was breathing out heavily. Had Lubbock rejuvenated me? I didn’t feel like I was dancing any differently.

“Typical,” Serge muttered.

“What?”

“Use your plié,” he grumbled. “As if I haven’t heard it a million times.”

I knew better than to give him a critique. He never took criticism well—in ballet or outside. So, I just let it hang between us.

“Do you want to go one more time?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. Let’s run it before we go on.”

“All right.” I tugged off my shoes and walked to my discarded bag. I guzzled down the bottle of water. My stomach grumbled noisily, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten that day.

Serge leaned against the wall next to me. “Do you want to go get lunch?”

“Thanks, but I think I’m going to grab something on the way home and see if I can get a few more hours of sleep before tonight.”

He reached out and grasped my hand before I could flee the studio. “Hey, it’s really good seeing you.” His thumb trailed along my palm, and I pulled it back.