Little Dancer

“I can’t. I promised my mother I would come home every night.”

He’s silent for a while. Then he clears his throat and continues in a false-bright tone, “I have bought another theater. The sale went through yesterday.”

I feel a sharp thrust of hurt, as if I’ve been knifed. Without him I’ve only just been existing, but he’s managed to find the energy to continue with his plans. I want to be pleased for him, but a big, unlovely part of me wishes he was as distraught as I was. “Oh. That’s good. Congratulations.”

“I even told my father about it and asked him to come down to London. Like you suggested.”

Tears come into my eyes. That was the conversation we had the night we first slept together. The night that I realized I was falling in love with him. There had been so much possibility then, like we could overcome anything together. I wondered then if I was helping him as much as he was helping me. I finally have my answer, but it seems like it’s too late.

“Oh,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“There’s going to be a new production. I want you to audition for one of the leads.”

I study his shoes for a moment. With Rufus’s support I’ve felt more like myself than I ever have in my life. I was able to help him, too, by encouraging him to reach out to his father. Doesn’t that mean we’re good for each other? Doesn’t that mean we’re allowed to be happy together?

But every time I think about leaning on him now for the support I so desperately crave, I see my mother’s horrified face. The good things we’ve done for each other have all been tainted.

“Can I think about it?” I can’t say yes, but I’m not ready to admit that I don’t see a way for us to be together, let alone work together.

He sighs. “Of course.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He confronts me the next day outside my dressing room after the show. “Abby. We can’t go on like this. We need to talk.”

I was kidding myself if I thought Rufus was going to allow things to stay up in the air like they are. I know it’s not fair on him but I don’t know what else I can do. “But I’m just so tired.”

“I know you are, babygirl. Please come to my place so I can take care of you.”

There’s something bleak in his eyes and I know how much I’m hurting him by keeping my distance. I don’t think there’s anyth

ing he can do to make me feel better, but at least with him I don’t have to pretend I’m okay.

We walk to his apartment in silence and curl up on the couch together. I can feel the pressure of all the things he wants to say. Soon, he can’t seem to bear the silence and he starts talking.

“You’re slipping out of my reach, sweetheart. I can feel it and it’s killing me.”

I watch the blank television, not speaking. There’s dust on the screen. That’s not like him.

“I miss you so much but mostly I’m just worried about you. I’ve never seen you like this and it scares me. I know how much it’s taxing you to go about pretending everything’s okay when it’s not. I don’t know how much longer you can keep this up. You’re going to make yourself ill.”

I look at my hands. I want to chew my nails but I know he will stop me.

“Please say something, Abby. Please.”

“Persephone,” I whisper.

He frowns. “That’s only for when you’re in pain or you’re frightened.”

“I am. I’m both. I can’t do this.” I scoot away from him.

He grips the back of the couch, hard. “Babygirl, all we’ve done is make each other happy. We haven’t done anything wrong.”

I shake my head. He can’t talk me out of feeling the way that I do. He thinks he can but it’s not working. There’s so much disgust and regret blocking all the good feelings I have for him. “It feels like we have and I can’t get past that.”

He reaches for me, but I pull away. “If you say that word it means I’m supposed to comfort you,” he points out.

“It also means you’re supposed to stop.”