Johnny Walker on the coffee table, a third gone, and a glass half-filled with amber liquid. No ice.
The liquor had tipped her off to trouble—just not what kind. She’d immediately dropped the groceries on the kitchen counter and joined Dimitri on the living room couch. She’d expected him to spill a story about his disapproving father or maybe share unwelcome news about his grandparents.
Dimitri had leaned into her and then abruptly scooted away on their Ikea sofa.
“What’s wrong?” she’d asked.
“We need to talk.”
The infamous phrase. Still, she hadn’t realized what was happening. At worst, she’d thought he would ask her to pay a larger share of the rent.
The discussion had lasted hours, even though only a few points were made. Dimitri’s family thought that they had become too serious for a pair of twenty-one-year-olds. They were living together prematurely, and at his age, he shouldn’t be subsidizing her rent. Most importantly, they had too little life experience to know whether or not they really wanted each other.
Shock had turned Nia into a lawyer. She’d protested each point without emotion: they weren’t like other young people; their careers had made them grow up faster; they saved money by splitting a studio apartment, even if they didn’t divide the rent fifty-fifty. After an hour of arguing, though, her adrenaline had faded. She’d grown quiet while he justified “their” need to “have experiences outside of each other.”
She’d held the tears at bay during the whole cab ride to her mother’s house. It wasn’t until her mom had handed her a box of Epsom salt that the faucet started flowing. Her mom had directed her to the bathroom with two well-worn mantras in the Washington household: “Tears aren’t a social drink” and “A soak does more for the soul than wasted salt water.”
Her tears could have filled the tub. She’d cried until she was dehydrated. The following morning, she’d collected her things from Dimitri’s apartment while he was at practice. Three days later, she’d auditioned for the traveling group and gotten a soloist position. He’d called her twenty times before she left. She hadn’t returned one message.
Deep down, Nia knew he didn’t deserve the silent treatment. She understood his argument. How could anyone know what they wanted at twenty-one? It was a question she had asked herself.
But she hated him for answering it.
She wouldn’t call him back.
8
En Croix [ ahn krwah ]
In the shape of a cross. Indicates that an exercise is to be executed to the fourth position front, to the second position and to the fourth position back, or vice versa.
“S udden death can bring up many feelings to deal with all at once.”
Nia peeled back the page of the book propped against her knees, struggling to focus on the large print. It didn’t help that the sun had long set, leaving the fluorescent bulb in the living room to fight, alone, against the darkness invading from the bay window. She adjusted her position on the bed. The comforter underneath her beckoned.
“It may seem incredibly unfair, especially if the person is young.”
Nia snorted. She closed the book and glanced at the name under the big, bold title: Understanding Grief and Grieving by Harrison Lovett, MD, MSW. The degrees wereunnecessary. A hundred pages in and Nia hadn’t read one revelation on dealing with grief or helping others cope with loss. Common sense, drawn out into pointless paragraphs, littered each page.
An opportunity to apply the book’s chestnuts had yet to present itself. Though Nia had sequestered herself in the room to wait for the students, no one had knocked. She wasn’t surprised. Who would talk to a stranger when friends were next door, if not in the same room? Besides, her building housed juniors and seniors. Judging from June’s comments in dance class, most of the upperclassmen didn’t know Lauren well enough to grieve her loss. The few conversations
The liquor had tipped her off to trouble—just not what kind. She’d immediately dropped the groceries on the kitchen counter and joined Dimitri on the living room couch. She’d expected him to spill a story about his disapproving father or maybe share unwelcome news about his grandparents.
Dimitri had leaned into her and then abruptly scooted away on their Ikea sofa.
“What’s wrong?” she’d asked.
“We need to talk.”
The infamous phrase. Still, she hadn’t realized what was happening. At worst, she’d thought he would ask her to pay a larger share of the rent.
The discussion had lasted hours, even though only a few points were made. Dimitri’s family thought that they had become too serious for a pair of twenty-one-year-olds. They were living together prematurely, and at his age, he shouldn’t be subsidizing her rent. Most importantly, they had too little life experience to know whether or not they really wanted each other.
Shock had turned Nia into a lawyer. She’d protested each point without emotion: they weren’t like other young people; their careers had made them grow up faster; they saved money by splitting a studio apartment, even if they didn’t divide the rent fifty-fifty. After an hour of arguing, though, her adrenaline had faded. She’d grown quiet while he justified “their” need to “have experiences outside of each other.”
She’d held the tears at bay during the whole cab ride to her mother’s house. It wasn’t until her mom had handed her a box of Epsom salt that the faucet started flowing. Her mom had directed her to the bathroom with two well-worn mantras in the Washington household: “Tears aren’t a social drink” and “A soak does more for the soul than wasted salt water.”
Her tears could have filled the tub. She’d cried until she was dehydrated. The following morning, she’d collected her things from Dimitri’s apartment while he was at practice. Three days later, she’d auditioned for the traveling group and gotten a soloist position. He’d called her twenty times before she left. She hadn’t returned one message.
Deep down, Nia knew he didn’t deserve the silent treatment. She understood his argument. How could anyone know what they wanted at twenty-one? It was a question she had asked herself.
But she hated him for answering it.
She wouldn’t call him back.
8
En Croix [ ahn krwah ]
In the shape of a cross. Indicates that an exercise is to be executed to the fourth position front, to the second position and to the fourth position back, or vice versa.
“S udden death can bring up many feelings to deal with all at once.”
Nia peeled back the page of the book propped against her knees, struggling to focus on the large print. It didn’t help that the sun had long set, leaving the fluorescent bulb in the living room to fight, alone, against the darkness invading from the bay window. She adjusted her position on the bed. The comforter underneath her beckoned.
“It may seem incredibly unfair, especially if the person is young.”
Nia snorted. She closed the book and glanced at the name under the big, bold title: Understanding Grief and Grieving by Harrison Lovett, MD, MSW. The degrees wereunnecessary. A hundred pages in and Nia hadn’t read one revelation on dealing with grief or helping others cope with loss. Common sense, drawn out into pointless paragraphs, littered each page.
An opportunity to apply the book’s chestnuts had yet to present itself. Though Nia had sequestered herself in the room to wait for the students, no one had knocked. She wasn’t surprised. Who would talk to a stranger when friends were next door, if not in the same room? Besides, her building housed juniors and seniors. Judging from June’s comments in dance class, most of the upperclassmen didn’t know Lauren well enough to grieve her loss. The few conversations
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