The Scratch on the Ming Vase by Caroline Stellings Page A

fool.
    â€œWhat size shoe do you wear?” asked Margo.
    Nicki drew the line. “No, I don’t wear heels. Really, I can’t.”
    Before Nicki knew it, Ira had cleared out the entire middle section of the deli. He’d pushed four or five tables to one side, connected his CD player to the speakers, and had disco music playing so loud that people walking outside stopped to listen.
    And watch.
    â€œOkay, everybody, get ready for something special. For those of you who don’t know her already, this is my daughter Margo. Isn’t she beautiful? Did I tell you that my beautiful daughter is going to be a nurse?”
    â€œYes, Ira,” said a woman by the window. “About a hundred times.”
    â€œDid I tell you that my beautiful daughter has been named volunteer of the month at the hospital?”
    â€œYes, Ira.”
    Nicki looked at Margo.
    Margo nodded, and Nicki gave her a thumbs up.
    â€œOkay, sweetheart, are you ready?” called Ira.
    Nicki looked puzzled, and Margo explained.
    â€œMy dad used to be a disco dance champion back in Brooklyn.”
    â€œShe was the only girl at our synagogue to have a disco-themed bat mitzvah.” Ruthie laughed as Ira and Margo bounded to the middle of the dining room and waited for the next song to start—“Jive Talkin’” by the Bee Gees.
    It’s just your jive talkin’
    You’re tellin’ me lies, yeah,
    Jive talkin’
    You wear a disguise…
    Nicki watched in amazement as Margo and her dad did every move in the book, from underarm turns to shadow steps. Every few bars, they separated and did solo steps; Ira threw an arm up straight, pulled back his shoulders, and moved his feet like a dancer right out of a movie.
    All that jive,
    You’ll never know…
    â€œCome on, Ira,” yelled a customer, “let’s see the Night Fever Line hustle!”
    Nicki turned to Ruthie.
    â€œThey’re really good,” she said.
    â€œYeah, they are.”
    â€œYour husband is certainly proud of Margo.”
    Ruthie smiled. “Ira loves our daughter. He’s loved her from the minute he laid eyes on her. We both have.”
    She’s a lucky girl , thought Nicki. And then, out of nowhere, she felt tears forming in the corner of her eyes.
    She wiped them away quickly, but Mrs. Bloom noticed.
    â€œI’m sure your parents love you just as much, Yin,” she said.
    Which parents? Nicki asked herself. The people who have given me everything I could possibly want, or the parents who probably had nothing to give? The Haddons, who look after my every need, but who can’t find the time to watch me compete and who never ask about my dreams? Or the man and woman in China who might be dreaming dreams for me? Praying I’m alive. Hoping I’m happy.
    A surge of emotion flowed like lava from a volcano into Nicki’s chest, into her heart.
    The tears started to stream.
    Don’t be such a baby, she told herself. Get a grip!
    But there was no way for her to contain it. She ran to the washroom.

Chapter Thirteen

    Nicki bit into her knuckles to stop herself from crying. Then she sprayed cold water onto her face and dried it off with a wad of paper towels.
    The door opened.
    â€œYou okay?”
    â€œFine, Margo.” She pushed back her bangs. “Listen, I’ve been rethinking this whole dance thing. It’s really not me.”
    â€œOh, come on—”
    â€œI don’t feel up to it.”
    â€œPlease,” said Margo. “If you don’t like it, we can leave after ten minutes. I promise.”
    Nicki looked at herself in the mirror. What’s wrong with you tonight?
    She spoke to Margo’s reflection. “You’re a good dancer. Your dad is too,” she said. “That must have been some bat mitzvah.”
    â€œIt was, Yin. I’ll never forget it.” Margo adjusted the thin straps of her metallic blue dress. It was cut above the knee and