by Celeste, B.
Lydia looked from her sister to me, a kind smile on her face. She didn’t wear much makeup, usually some light lipstick and mascara. “Hello, Della.”
I walked over to her as she stood and gave her a tight hug. It was like the one she’d given me before dropping me off at home after my father’s funeral. Her arms had held me as our tears soaked into the other’s shoulders. I absorbed her warmth, her floral scent, and the memories we shared as I grew up. She was around a lot more when I was younger, always bringing me presents and telling me stories about my father when they were my age.
“Hi, Aunt Lydia.” I drew back first, squeezing her hands. “I was so happy when Sophie told me you were coming. I’m sorry I’m late.” Looking at Sophie, I nodded once. “I was a bit…out of it this morning.”
Out of it. Hungover. It was all the same. Tiffany made Ren and I do two rounds of lemon drop shots at the bar before ordering our own drinks. After Kat, Sam, and Gina walked into Divers and made a point to stare at me the entire night, that turned into two more drinks, one more round of tequila shots, and one glass of water that barely helped when I woke up this morning. I was tempted to go to Denny’s for something greasy. I wasn’t sure why, but the way Kat and Sam looked at me had me uneasy the entire night, like they were talking, plotting. I debated on saying something to Kat, asking how she was, but the last encounter we had didn’t go very well and I didn’t want her bringing up her departing gift. That gift that was still buried in the inside pocket of my purse.
“I heard about your outing from Monica Anderson this morning. She just loved telling me about how close you seemed with her daughter these days.”
Tiffany’s mother? “I wasn’t aware you two talked.” Last I knew, Monica and Sophie couldn’t stand each other. Then again, Sophie didn’t get along with most of the dance moms. Or other women. I believed my father liked to describe her as ‘catty’.
“About important things.”
Lydia cleared her throat. “How about we eat before the food gets cold?”
“Colder,” Sophie corrected, directing her focus on me with arched brows. Disapproval was a look tattooed on her face when it came to me. It made me itch.
I followed my aunts into the dining room where food was resting in its normal spots. The selection was larger today considering Lydia was vegan, something I was sure Sophie complained about to the people preparing the menu.
After grabbing what we wanted, Lydia turned to me. “I bet you’re excited to be almost done with school. How much longer do you have?”
I sipped my water. “A couple weeks of classes then a week of finals. Some of my courses are allowing students to be exempt from the exams if we have an A before finals week though.”
“Then you should be set,” Sophie commented.
Shifting in my seat, I admitted, “A few of my grades have dropped since…things have happened.” As soon as the words left my lips, I could see Sophie’s eyes widen. “But they’re not bad. I’m still well over a 3.0 grade point average which is what I need to keep my scholarship.”
“You mean the scholarship the school awarded you following the one you lost for dropping dance?”
Heat raised up the back of my neck like tiny pinpricks.
Lydia murmured, “Sophie.”
“What?” My other aunt asked. “It was a simple question. Adele got into that school because of her abilities, but she nearly got kicked out because she decided to stop dancing. It was a silly risk. I’m stating a fact.”
“It wasn’t,” I argued quietly. “And I didn’t almost get kicked out. I would have applied for loans if I needed to, but they offered me an alternative academic scholarship considering my grades.”
Sophie dabbed her lips with a linin napkin. “I don’t see why you’d need either. I told you I could help pay for school given the circumstances. Your father would have but…”
I swallowed. “Yes, well, I told you I didn’t need the help. I was raised to do things on my own, which is why I denied his help too.”
Sophie didn’t say anything else, but Lydia smiled to herself as she poked at her food. She jumped in after a few awkward moments of silence. “I hate to bring it up, but there was a reason I wanted to come and talk to you both today.”
Sophie’s eyes rolled. “Shocking.”
I eyed her for a moment when she wasn’t looking before glancing back at Lydia with interest. Whatever was on her mind was serious because she had a sheepish look on her face.
“What is it?” I asked lightly.
Setting her fork down, she looked at both of us before sighing. “I was reached out to by a reporter from The Times. They have new information regarding your father, Della.”
My heart dropped. “What?”
Sophie set her napkin down. “How on earth could they still be digging up information on him? It’s done.”
It’s done. Those two words were so final that they hurt. I wasn’t sure I wanted to believe them, even if she was partly right. It’d been months since he was buried, why would the press be reaching out to anybody? And why Lydia?
I was hesitant when I asked, “What did they want?”
Sophie shook her head. “Does it really matter, Adele? Whatever they say can’t be any good, especially not for us.”
Lydia disregarded her sister’s comment and focused solely on me. “He said there was a list being published of the names of the people Anthony stole from. Apparently, it’s extensive.”
We already knew that my father had harmed a lot of people, but during the trial it was considered sealed evidence so nobody could be named publicly. Speculation buzzed in the city, in certain social circles, about something like this coming to light. But after so many months, I figured it was over.
“Why now?” I whispered, frowning.
Lydia reached over and took my hand. “I can only think that they want to give victims justice in a way that outs Anthony. I’m sorry, Della, I know how hard this has to be for you.”
“For all of us!” Sophie said abruptly. “I can’t believe they’re going to put our name out there again. It isn’t right.”
How can she even say that? “What about the people he hurt, Sophie?” I questioned, staring at her with unblinking eyes. She gaped at me. “It isn’t fair for them.”
“They were given hefty sums of money for compensation. Some more than they lost after Anthony was convicted. Why do you think they took everything from you?”
Jaw ticking, I pushed my plate away. “I don’t like the thought of Dad’s name being in the papers again either, but we can’t ignore the people, his victims, that deservingly put him there.”
“You act like he was a murderer,” Sophie scoffed at me.
I didn’t have the energy to argue with her, so I turned to Lydia. “What else did this reporter say? Did he mention when they were going to publish it?”
“Tomorrow.”
I blinked. Tomorrow. That was…soon.
“We’ll sue.” That came from Sophie.
“We have no grounds,” Lydia told her calmly, being the voice of reason that I couldn’t be. “These things were bound to happen.”
Angered, Sophie stood. “But why? Anthony is dead for Christ’s sake! It isn’t like he can hurt them any further.”
Closing my eyes, I felt her words like a stab straight through the heart. Why did she have to be cruel? Even if it were true, she didn’t need to be so abrupt about it.
“No,” Lydia agreed, “but that doesn’t mean the truth can’t still come out. Plenty of people have demanded documents be made public since the trial ended.”
“He wanted money, didn’t he? The reporter. He must have asked for something in return to make the story go away.”
I cracked my eyes open to see what Lydia’s reaction was. She looked pale, sad, and a mixture of other things I could relate to. “I’m sorry, but no. He wanted me to know because of my relationship with Anthony.”
“Relationship,” Sophie repeated, walking away from the t
able with a hand on her temple like she had a headache. “So, what? He gave you a heads up out of pity? If that were the case, why didn’t he call Adele or me? Hmm?”
Lydia was quiet.
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter now. These are going to come out one way or another, so why argue?”
Sophie said, “Because it’s ridiculous!”
Lydia squeezed my hand.
“It’s not,” I whispered.
Sophie cut her gaze to me in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re willing to let this family go through more shame. Between you and your father, I swear—”
I paled at her words, which caused her to stop short. The lump in my throat grew as embarrassment, shame, and a million other negative things crashed into me.
Lydia glared at her sister. “That’s enough. Don’t you think she’s gone through a lot already? The last thing any of us needs is to create more problems. We’re supposed to be supporting each other.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” Sophie scoffed at her. “You only show up to be the bearer of bad news. When was the last time we saw you? That’s right. Anthony’s funeral. Convenient that you only come when you see fit.” Sophie stepped toward me. “Adele, I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I’m just angry.” Yet, she didn’t apologize. A classic Sophie move. It was like she was allergic to saying sorry or having any true semblance of guilt for anything she did.
Lydia sighed again and said, “I know this is going to be hard for everyone which is why we need to stick together.”
I wondered how that would work since the two of them didn’t exactly have a relationship in the first place. “What do you think will happen after the list is published? Those people were given their money back.”
“Not all of them,” Lydia admitted. “There were a few that received nothing, or very little compared to what they lost. Your father had already had a lot of assets tied up elsewhere, and the property and belongings the state sold to compensate didn’t cover everything.”
“Could they come after us?” Sophie wondered aloud, panic in her eyes.
I swallowed. “They can’t…can they?”
Sophie held her hands up. “I’m calling my lawyer. This needs to be nipped in the bud before it gets out of hand again. We all know how the press can be and how it can…impact people.”
Another reference to me and my reaction last time. I’d lost it, but I wished she didn’t bring it up, indirectly or not. It was bad enough I had to live with my breakdown, the last thing I needed was my family reminding me when they got upset.
It made me want to yell, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. Stomach hurting, I stood and ignored the food and growing headache pounding in my skull. “I think I should get going.”
Lydia frowned. “You didn’t eat.”
“Not hungry.”
Sophie glanced at me with worry etched in her eyes. “Adele, you should really try eating something. There’s plenty of food.”
I knew why she was pushing. “I’m not going to relapse,” I told them both firmly. “So, you can drop the act.”
Sophie looked doubtful, but Lydia gave me an encouraging smile and head nod. That was another difference between them. Lydia cared. It was in her nature to. But Sophie? She only cared if it benefited her.
“Perhaps you should call one of your friends,” Lydia suggested. “Or Theo? You’re still close, aren’t you?”
I licked my lips. “He’s been busy. But maybe I’ll call Ren.”
Sophie spoke up again. “What about one of the girls you used to be close with? Katrina and you were nearly inseparable once upon a time. Remember that?”
“We’re not anymore.”
“I heard—”
“You hear a lot of things,” I snapped. “It doesn’t make it true. Kat and I aren’t friends anymore. She isn’t…” Lifting a shoulder, I pushed my chair in and exhaled slowly. “Kat isn’t who she used to be, and I don’t want to be part of what she and the others are into.”
“They’ve gone through a lot too,” Sophie pointed out as if I didn’t already know.
I did something I never had before. I let go of my anger that’d been boiling up inside me that’d been ready to blow for a long time. “Well, none of their fathers went to prison where they got beaten to death, now did they?”
Sophie gasped.
Lydia winced.
I walked out.
It was bad enough remembering that the girl I’d been close with, the one who I’d shared secrets with and planned a future with like we’d still be best friends when we were older, had changed. She didn’t care that her father had almost gone to prison because he didn’t. Mine did. Mine took the brunt of the fall and all the blame. Did Katrina care? Did she even reach out when news of his death went viral? No. She was too busy escaping into a world of drugs and men to be a friend. A real friend. So, I wanted nothing to with her, Samantha, or Gina because they were all the same.
Fake.
Every single one of them was fake.
My fingernails were non-existent from biting them the following day, waiting for the news to break. Sophie had called, I’d ignored it. Lydia called too, and I almost considered taking it. When Theo had come by my apartment, I finally did what I kept getting scolded for—checked the peephole…then pretended I wasn’t home.
I’d felt a little bad because I knew Ramsay was with him, but Theo did perfectly fine taking care of him. Ramsay preferred it. Plus, Theo couldn’t come to my rescue every time I needed him. That wasn’t fair to him.
I’d been confused when the rest of the week passed, and nothing happened. No online article. No breaking news alerts. The breath I’d been holding had released when Saturday came around. I knew I couldn’t keep hiding in fear of what the media would say. If they weren’t swarming my building, it meant something happened to the story. Maybe Lydia had been wrong. Maybe the reporter just wanted to scare us, which worked.
I showed up at the address Tiffany gave me around eight-thirty. My body was clothed in leggings and a loose workout shirt, the sleeveless gap under my arms showing off the bright sports bra underneath. I knocked on the door and waited with my leg bouncing, not sure what to expect.
Today would be the first day I danced, really danced, in way too long. I wasn’t expecting Tiffany to go easy on me either, even if she promised to. Her version of easy and mine were two completely different things. So, I’d only eaten half a protein bar after I woke up early following another poor night’s sleep. The bags under my eyes were a dead giveaway of the insomnia I’d been experiencing since my anxiety decided to come back in full swing since Sunday brunch.
When the door opened, I was greeted by Tiffany and not somebody who worked for her family like I expected. I remembered Sophie telling me that the Anderson’s used to have staff around the house often—a cook, housekeeper, and a caterer for the events they hosted. I didn’t remember coming to any here, though I was sure my parents had at some point given Tiffany’s father’s role as a well-known judge in the city. If memory served, my father had hoped that he’d be given his case, but I was sure that would have been a conflict of interest which was why he had nothing to do with the trial.
“Are you going to come in or what?” Tiffany asked, gesturing behind her. “I can give you a tour if you want, but there’s nothing exciting to see besides the basics.”
I followed her inside and looked around the huge foyer. It was all neutral tones but nothing extravagant. It was…pretty. Something I could picture myself in someday, just maybe in a smaller version, this looked like it was a three-story home.
“That’s okay,” I told her, walking into the kitchen where she had two refillable water bottles ready on the counter.
After she passed me one, she nodded toward the back door.
“It’s just us here right now, so nobody should bother us.” When she pushed open the door of a much smaller building, my eyes widened. The hardwood floor was gorgeous, but it was the wall of mirro
rs across from us that had my full attention. “My parents agreed to renovate this place into my private studio if I kept out of trouble. It’s not that hard to do considering I usually avoid most people anyway.”
She set her water down by the wall and turned to me. I was still staring at the massive wall of mirrors that reflected my shell-shocked expression. Tiffany snapped her fingers in front of my face, gaining my attention back.
“We’ll start easy. You look like crap today anyway.” Pointing toward the center of the floor she waved me over and dropped down on the hardwood to begin stretching her legs.
Hesitating, I sat beside her and started mimicking the familiar warmup. We did it in silence for a few minutes, my eyes glancing around the white room that had a lot of natural light from the large windows. There were speakers in each corner and an expensive looking stereo off to the side.
When she said she was ready, she hopped up and rolled her neck before producing a remote from who knew where and turned some music on. It wasn’t what I expected though.
“Hip hop?”
She grinned. “I never said we’d do ballet, did I? This is way more fun. Don’t tell my mother I said that though.”
I made a face. “Do you do this often?”
She snorted. “Yes. Now, quit stalling and watch my feet.” Before I could say anything else, she did an eight-count sidestep, her knees bouncing through each move matching the instrumental in the background until she transferred to a step and tap where her feet went out to the sides on another eight count. I studied her carefully, noticing the slide of her feet in the third move as her hands went out like she was pushing something away.
Shoulders tightening, I got beside her and watched her feet work the moves again. There were three, all on the same count, which made it easier considering I’d been used to the measure. But the moves I used to do were slower, based more on balance and flexibility. I should probably be happy she wasn’t making me do ballet considering I’d barely gotten my balance back from yoga.
When I joined in with her, I managed to mess up the second move and counted wrong on the third one. She snorted when she saw my mistake, standing in front of me and counting my footwork. “No, no. And what are you doing with your arms? You look like they’re tied to your sides.”