“No—I—”
I’m shaking. My tongue is suddenly as dry as cardboard.
I take a deep breath. Brace myself.
“Mom? I don’t want to dance anymore.”
As soon as the words are out, my stomach drops.
My mom goes very still.
Oh my god. Did I really just do that? I can’t believe I just did that. The old Hannah would have never. I hold my breath. It’s out there now.
“I don’t understand,” Mom says, voice thin, stunned. “What do you mean?”
In the corner, my dad stops typing on his phone, suddenly tuning in to this looming disaster between his two girls.
I swallow hard. “I don’t want to send in an audition tape, Mama.”
Her face is ashen. I think I can hear her heart thumping. Aching.
My nerves are going haywire, and I’ve got full-body tremors. I feel ill, like something’s wrong with my body, but it might just be the thrill, like a dive on a roller coaster. Even though I’m thoroughly freaking out, there’s a beaming part of myself that’s proud. I said what I wanted. I stood up for myself.
Mom plasters a weird little smile on her face and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Conrad?” she says, looking at my dad.
Dad stands up and tucks his phone in his pocket. He comes to stand next to Mom.
“Where is this coming from, Han?”
I suck in a breath. I can’t tell them anything about the time I spent alone, or with Leo, or about the empty Houston I lived in. But I can tell her the reason itself. It’s so simple. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.
“My heart’s not in it,” I whisper. “It hasn’t been for a long time.”
Mom’s face goes slack.
She stumbles over to the window, the limp from that long-ago injury more pronounced than ever. With her back to me, she looks out over Houston. She makes one single sniffling sound, and my whole body feels rotten.
“Mama?” I say. My ears are starting to ring. Tears well up in my eyes.
This is why I stuck to this stupid plan for twelve years. I was so scared of disappointing her, and now I’ve done more than that. I’ve wrecked her.
My whole life, I’ve been her sidekick, her mini me. Eliza Ashton and her perfect little daughter, hand in hand. Like those photos in catalogs of gorgeous mother-daughter pairs wearing matching outfits, romping in a field of sunflowers.
My heart is breaking. Have I ruined something here?
I’m terrified I’ve ruined something here.
“Come back, Eliza,” my dad says, soft and cautious, holding his hand out.
She walks to him in a daze and leans against him. I feel so small down here on the bed.
“Hannah … what will you do?”
She looks genuinely anguished. I know what she means, because I’ve thought the exact same thing. Who will you be without ballet?
Fear flares in me. It’s what always stopped me from quitting before.
“Hannah’s only seventeen,” my dad says gently. “Not many people know what their whole career is going to look like at that age. I didn’t go to college right away, and look at me now. I am a Very Important Businessman.” He smiles, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s okay to not have everything mapped out yet. We were both so happy you took to ballet—weren’t we, Eliza? But if it’s not what you want anymore, you shouldn’t keep doing it.”
I sniffle, nodding in agreement.
“If anything, maybe this injury means you can figure out what you’re interested in. Try a few new things. And if you miss it, you can always audition for the corps next year.”
My mom and I glance at each other, because he doesn’t really understand. That sounds like a nice, simple solution, but we both know that if I spend a year not dancing I’ll never be able to get back to where I was.
“You’re such a hard worker,” Dad continues. “And if ballet isn’t what you want to do, I know you’ll apply yourself to finding whatever it is that you want to do.”
I don’t know if I’m any good at writing, but I think I deserve to see what it’s like to do something that doesn’t make me feel exhausted and empty. If that’s stupid and entitled, then okay, but I tried it the other way. I really did. For thirty hours a week, I tried it her way. I bled and ached and molded myself into the shape of a perfect music box ballerina. I gave it my best shot, but I just couldn’t find the passion. For a lot of other careers, you can get by without passion and drive, but not ballet.
My mom finally loosens, sighing as she sits back down in the chair next to my bed.
“I’m sorry, Hannah. You just caught me off guard.”
And then she looks up and really looks at me for the first time today, and I see it: the same warm love she’s given me forever. Relief floods me. Maybe I haven’t lost her.
But how could we possibly be the same? Be as close as we were before?
I feel awful. I thought this would feel cleaner, more triumphant. I’m not going to take it back, but it doesn’t change the fact that I feel horrible for doing this to my mother.
“I’m sorry I’m disappointing you,” I say, my voice thick.
“Oh, sweetie,” she says, and then she’s taking my hand. “Whether or not someone wants to dance professionally—that has to be their decision. And I’m sorry you’ve been feeling this way. You should have said something.”
“I didn’t know any different. I didn’t even know I wasn’t doing it for the right reasons.”
She shakes her head sadly. “I should have seen it. I knew you weren’t approaching the work the same way I used to, but I thought it was just your way. I’ve seen the signs of burnout on so many other dancers, but when I saw them on you, I made up excuses. I didn’t want to believe it.”
The guilt of it washes over me again. “I wish I didn’t feel this way. I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Hey. You almost died,” she says, her voice breaking. “After seeing you being rolled out of that ambulance with an oxygen mask on your face, I can handle having a daughter who’s not a dancer. It’s a million times better than no daughter at all.”
And then we’re all hugging.
She reaches out and finger-combs my hair. “I never really dealt with losing my career, and you’ve kept me bound to ballet, like Peter Pan looking through the window at what it was like to have a family. I don’t know who I am without rehearsals to attend and classes to watch. It’s going to be hard letting go of it all. It was my whole life,” she says.
“Then you shouldn’t let go of it. You can still stay connected to ballet without me. You should teach, Mom. You were amazing with me. I would have been a pathetic dancer without you.”
“Teach?” She laughs a little, like it’s a silly thought.
My dad smiles. “I like that idea.”
“You could open up your own studio,” I say. “Maybe I can even take one of your easy classes every now and then.”
I might still need a little bit of structure in my life. As a way to get out of my own head.
“It might be worth thinking about,” Mom murmurs. She presses her fingers to her eyes, inhaling deeply.
“I might look into some writing programs,” I say shyly.
Dad squeezes my ankle through the sheets. “You and your books. It always used to amaze us, how you gobbled them up. We didn’t even have to teach you how to read, you just suddenly started.”
“I remember that book you made when you were in elementary school,” Mom adds. “What was it called? Something about flowers?”
“Flower Magic,” I say. She remembered.
Mom straightens up and pats her hair back in place. “Okay. I’ll call Madame Menard back tomorrow,” she says.
“Thanks, Mom.”
I can’t believe it. I made it through, and it didn’t destroy us.
Part of me is still freaking out: If I don’t send in an audition video, there’ll be no turning back. That thought is, quite frankly, terrifying.
>
But the idea of finishing up my senior year and concentrating on grades, letting my broken arm heal, looking at colleges, having time to read—it sounds blissful.
And now there’s Leo.
All thoughts of schools and books and grades flee. I’m lost in the thought of a whole summer full of Leo.
The late afternoon sun streams through my hospital room like a song. In this golden light, even my dysfunctional family looks postcard-perfect.
The world is shock-bright and full of purpose, and I feel like I’m about to explode out of my skin.
I’m not alone anymore.
In a little while, I’ll be with the person who makes me feel like my feet are firmly on the ground, and I’ll feel that bone-deep calm you get when you’re with someone who really loves you, but right now, I’m just going to bask in the chaos. It’ll make the moment I see her again that much sweeter.
I went back to her room after lunch, but she was sleeping. It’s probably for the best; I don’t think I could sit on the bed next to her again and keep my hands to myself. Hannah’s parents like me so far but probably not that much.
I’m fresh from the shower, and I’m wearing my lucky Scorpions shirt. Mom brought me my acoustic guitar to while away the time, and I’m noodling around on it, and ping-ponging texts with Bruce.
I’ve been perfecting that song I used to keep all to myself. My slowest, saddest song, the one that Hannah heard me playing in the music store.
I’m going to record it. Then I’m going to dig through my box of spare cables and find that card from Salina Sakurai so I can send her my demo. I’m going to go to SpandexFest this weekend and ask Bruce if I can hang around at a few of his shows, learn the ropes. Sound systems don’t make sense to me yet, but I’ve never really tried to understand them, and Hannah was probably right when she said that being a successful musician is just as much about hard work as it is about luck. Maybe she can give me some pointers about hooking cables up so that the speakers actually work. I need to figure out some way to make a career out of music, even if I’m not the one performing onstage.
Real life has flooded back in, mostly in the form of emails from my teachers with makeup work. Hannah and I are graduating in a month, and I have some epic decisions to make. All day, I’ve been typing a million stupid questions into my phone, looking up dance companies and writing programs and record labels and sound engineering stuff. I need to talk to her and figure out what she’s thinking, but I know one thing: I want to be wherever she’s going to be.
There are so many paths laid out before us, when before all I could see was one. For the first time, I’m actually excited about where my life might go.
My mom is sitting on the window seat in her work outfit, sucking down coffee to wake herself up before her night shift at the diner.
I understand her better now. Maybe the whole laid-back approach to parenting was always just fear. Just like me, she knew that trying could lead to failing, so sometimes she just didn’t try at all. Hard work doesn’t always pay off, but sometimes it does. I’ll always like the FeelGood things more, because who doesn’t, but now I’m here for the whole ride. Good and bad, easy and hard.
As I pass the window, I lean down and give Mom a big smacking kiss on the cheek.
She smiles, but I can tell she’s surprised.
“What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing. You’re a good mom, you know that?”
She gives me a where’s-all-this-coming-from side-eye, but I can tell it’s made her happy.
“I bet he’s acting weird because of that girl,” Joe mutters, without looking up from his video game.
“She’s not just that girl, she’s my girlfriend.” Well, maybe. I have to ask her first, but I think she might say yes.
“Lord have mercy,” Mom says, clutching her hand to her chest dramatically. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that word before.”
“Ha. Like you’re one to talk,” I retort.
She blinks.
And then she cracks the widest smile and laughs so long and so loud, and I’m laughing too.
“Love is gross,” Joe mumbles from his chair.
“I disagree,” I say cheerily.
I pull out my phone and text him love you little bro! He looks at it but doesn’t respond, just blushes bright pink and grunts. I think I’m making progress.
I’m about to put my phone back in my pocket when I see that it’s flooded with notifications. Astrid posted about Hannah waking up, and our whole school is going nuts. I snort at some of the new hashtags—Hannah’s not going to believe them.
The sun is sinking down into twilight when Mom and Joe leave for the night. Outside my windows, the city is alive. Headlights and taillights blend into ribbons of white and red as cars stream past on the darkening highways. I know there’s sound everywhere even though I can’t hear it through the thick hospital windows.
I wait until nine, and then I sneak past my nurses station again. I can’t stop smiling on my way down the hallway.
I’m on my way to the beginning of everything.
At nine o’clock, I turn off all the lights in my room so the nurses will think I’m asleep, then I settle onto the window seat to wait for Leo.
I’m a mess of scattered thoughts and fidgety anticipation and a sort of crystal-clear happiness that’s totally new to me.
As I look out over the twinkling lights of downtown Houston, I experiment with picturing different futures for myself. Imagining what each one would mean for Leo and me.
I think I want to apply to a creative writing program somewhere. I have so, so much catching up to do. I don’t even know what kind of stuff I want to write, so I’ll have to figure that out, but I’m trying not to put too much pressure on myself. Now I know that it’s okay to not have a specific goal that you go after with intense, structured precision.
The moon is a high silver crescent when the door to my room snicks open.
I look up and there he is.
Leo.
He slips inside and closes the door behind him, leaning against it. I’m sure I can hear the thud of his heart from across the room.
“Hey,” he says, the corner of his mouth tipping up in a roguish smile.
“Hey,” I say back, trying to tamp down the idiotic grin blooming on my face.
And then we’re both moving in the dark.
I launch myself at him, and he wraps me up into a tight hug. My cast clunks awkwardly on his back, but I don’t care. He’s warm and solid, and so real it almost makes me cry. Everything about him is familiar, from the rings on his fingers to the stupid way he sinks all his weight into that one hip.
He pulls back so he can look at me, arms linked around my waist.
“Missed you,” he says roughly.
“I missed you too,” I whisper.
He threads his fingers through my hair, tilting my face up to his. My gaze flicks down to his mouth, back up to those blue-gray eyes.
My breath catches, hitching on air that’s suddenly too thin, my head spinning and dizzy.
Oh—I didn’t know desire could stop you breathing.
He hears the footsteps in the hallway before I do. He stiffens and steps away from me.
I feel like screaming.
Seriously? SERIOUSLY?
A head pops in through the doorway. It’s Neve, the nurse with the coppery-orange hair. She’s not as nice as my favorite nurse, Glynnis—even Astrid can’t get Neve to crack.
“Visiting hours are over,” she says brusquely.
“I was just on my way out,” Leo says, charming as ever. “Mind if I say good night?”
Neve grunts. “I’ll be back in two minutes,” she says, and then she plods down the hall to check on the patient in the next room.
My heart cracks. I can’t bear for this visit to only last two minutes. I’ve been waiting for Leo all day.
I grab both of his hands in mine. “Let’s sneak out,” I whisper.
He l
aughs. “Hmm. Didn’t I say you were going to be trouble?”
I roll my eyes and drag him to the door with my good arm. I peek around the corner. Neve’s in the next room, and there’s a droning exchange of pleasantries and the pump pump pump of a blood pressure cuff.
Leo and I make a dash for the elevator, and my heart lurches with the thrill.
Once we’re inside, I lean against the wall. I close my eyes and tip my head back, trying to catch my breath. I’m nearly giggling. I never do things like this. Static electricity makes my hair cling to the mirror, and I feel it spreading out around me.
It takes me a while to notice that the elevator’s not moving.
I open my eyes to find Leo grinning at me.
“Were you going to push a button?” he asks.
Oh. Right. I look at the panel, but I don’t know where to go. “Um, this is kind of where my escape plan runs out,” I admit.
Leo laughs, then reaches out and jabs a button. “I think I know a good place.”
During the ride down, he laces his fingers through mine. I can’t stop beaming.
When the doors slide open on the second floor, Leo leads me down a long, empty hallway—this must be where people come for business hour appointments with their doctors.
I’m starting to think there’s nothing but closed doors, but then he pulls me to the side, toward a cutout in the wall, and suddenly we’re looking into a huge glass atrium.
“Oh wow,” I whisper, taking a step inside.
“It’s a café,” Leo says softly, hands shoved into his pockets as he looks up through the high glass ceiling to the starry night sky.
That makes sense. There’s a coffee counter at one end, and dozens of Parisian-looking bistro tables are arranged around the large space.
And there are plants everywhere. In one corner, there’s a whole copse of tropical trees with little paths winding between them, obviously designed so patients and their families can feel like they’re not in a hospital for a few precious minutes.
I move like I’m under a spell, entranced by the inky sky I can see through the glass. It’s like we’re inside a diamond ring. Leo trails behind me as I weave between the bistro tables until I’m standing right at the window.
You & Me at the End of the World Page 25