It’s a yes if I ever encountered one.
Because she doesn’t have to actually touch me to be the best thing I’ve ever felt. She achieves that just by being in my life.
- 10 -
N O E L L E
now
On Friday, I’m in a very good mood.
I woke up feeling calm this morning—calm and light-chested. Cliff drifted through my mind, but it didn’t hurt too horribly; I sent him a hug in spirit and then was ready to greet the day.
And I really greeted it.
Before doing anything else, I followed my urge to take my Bluetooth speaker to the living room and turn on some music. I didn’t outright dance down the hall to Theo’s room, but I sure didn’t walk, and although she was drowsy and puzzled when I first woke her, she quickly livened up. She and I giggled and half-danced to the kitchen in our pajamas, our hair still mussed from sleep. I’ve always loved Fall Out Boy and we both love Big Hero 6, so “Immortals” was a great song to begin our day with.
Breakfast only upped the good vibes, as did the fact that today is Friday. Getting dressed was fun because we decided to be extra cute—and then we agreed we should send Beckett a couple of cute selfies to match.
‘Happy Friday from your girls,’ I texted him along with one picture of us grinning brightly and another of Theo blowing him a kiss.
He loved it.
I know because he FaceTimed us right away to tell us so.
“Y’all sure do make it easy for me to miss you!” he said with a brilliant grin of his own. “The only way my day could’ve started off any better is if you were with me. I need hugs!”
Theo invited him to come hug us because she and I were in agreement with him. But since that couldn’t be pulled off just then, the FaceTime call was enough. Seeing his face and hearing his voice had shifted us from happy to glowing, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet.
Not a thing has changed in the hours since then.
Theo was in a gleeful mood when I dropped her off at preschool.
Beckett and I have continued texting, making each other laugh, making plans for this weekend.
Work has gone swimmingly.
I just feel good.
And when I think about last night, I….
Frankly, ‘good’ doesn’t come anywhere close to describing how I feel. How I felt.
That time with Beckett was so unexpectedly warm.
I don’t know how many times I’ve replayed some of those moments in my head. So many. Too many, if you look at it from the viewpoint of how long it took me to fall asleep last night.
Even now, thinking about them hits me so hard it’s like they’ve just happened.
There had been his nearly frantic apology for having grown so attached to me and Theo. Then the hug he wrenched me into after I assured him it’s okay because we’ve grown attached to him too. And the sweetness with which he dried my face for me. And…and, God, the way he reacted to me kissing his scar….
I’m still not sure what made me do that.
The decision to touch his face was an easy one to make, even though I couldn’t tell it was very wet from tears anymore by that time. ‘Just in case,’ I’d thought. ‘I wanna do it just in case.’ As it turned out, it wasn’t necessary, but I didn’t stop; what I wanted next was to take a second to soak up how beautiful and strong and invaluable he is. Acknowledging the scar with a touch seemed fitting.
‘I’m pretty sure you’re the best thing I’ve ever felt.’
Think I’ve replayed those words actual hundreds of times by now.
I didn’t expect him to say that to me, then or ever.
He seemed to feel the same way.
But it gripped me so tightly, touched me so deeply, and I had to let him know that. I had to. The need was uncontrollable. And for some reason, it burst from my lips in action rather than word.
No, I don’t believe I’ll ever forget how he reacted to that cheek kiss. He was breathless and shaky and tense, but in a good way, only moving to pull me closer so I wouldn’t stop just yet…. It was like I had reached deep into him right back. Like he had been made vulnerable in the best way.
Well, I should call them ‘those cheek kisses.’ Plural.
Talk about not being able to control myself.
I feel a blush creeping on, same as I did at the time. He hadn’t minded getting three kisses instead of one—once again, it just wasn’t something either of us had expected. A new record in our friendship.
I take a deep breath, then sigh it out.
How could he possibly have gotten any bigger in my eyes? Become any more important? Turned into any better of a friend?
Yet another thing I don’t know.
All I know is I want more of his time and his trust, I think with a smile. More of his eyes. More of his hugs and life-brightening—
“You have been all smiles all day,” a cheery voice breaks through my thoughts, “and I love it, girl.”
I look up from the staff schedule my part-time keyholder submitted for my approval a little while ago, from which I have grown quite distracted.
Ceceli stands in the doorway of the little office, hands on her hips, blonde ponytail high on her head, black eyeliner boldly winged to perfection.
My smile grows.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I feel great.”
She claps her hands together and smiles with me. “That’s awesome! I’m happy for you.”
“Me too.” I recall my and Theo’s morning chat with Beckett, and it makes me chuckle.
Ceceli looks intrigued by my amusement, so I tell her how nicely today started out, as well as how Theo’s dance class went yesterday.
After she gets a good laugh out of the baby dancer shenanigans, she crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe.
“He really is a good guy, huh?” she muses. “Beckett.”
Since I’ve already been thinking similar things about him, I’m not sure why that fills my chest with warmth, but it does.
Nodding, I say, “He really is.”
Those other memories dance through my mind again—the ones I don’t feel like telling Ceceli about, the ones that seem like they should belong only to him and me.
Remembering the unhurried slip of his fingers through my hair puts a dusting of chill bumps on me, but my sweater keeps them out of sight.
The breath I pull in is light and quick, and so are my next words: “He’s more than good, actually. ‘Good’ is an understatement.” Just like I thought about my memories.
With a softer laugh than before, she asks, “Yeah?”
I nod again. “When he’s with us, it’s….”
Well, even after many moments, no more words come to me. For as much as his significance has been on my mind, I suddenly don’t know how to describe it.
But Ceceli has been my friend—and has known Beckett—long enough that she understands what I mean. As she nods, too, she flashes me a happy smile.
“Life is better when he’s with you?” she supplies.
Such a simple summary, yet so accurate. “Yes. Exactly. He’s such an amazing friend and honorary uncle that it blows my mind.”
“Mmm.”
She looks at me pensively. Doesn’t keep talking, though.
In fact, she looks at me for so long that I have to prompt, “What is it?”
“Well, I was just thinking…” a new flash of a smile shows up, excited this time, “…maybe today is a good day to surprise him with those caramels he loves!”
I perk up into my own new smile. “That’s a good idea!”
“I thought so too!” Unfolding her arms, she steps toward me from the doorway. “Hug me, sister. I love ya.”
I stand from my chair and go hug her—and it occurs to me that it’s been a while since we last did this. I’m not sure why. But it’s nice to get back to it. “Love you, too, Cece.”
My phone vibrates on the desk as our hug is ending, so I return to my chair and pick it up.
; BECKETT: Man, I don’t remember the last time I went on a picnic. Seriously can’t wait
His talk of tomorrow’s plan makes me grin.
“Ope, another smile!” Ceceli notes. “Care to share?”
I’m delighted to because I’m as delighted about the plan as he is. Much of tomorrow’s weather is supposed to be more pleasant than it has been lately. However, thunderstorms will be moving in before the night is out and sticking around for a few days, so we’re going to take Theo for a picnic and some general outdoor fun. I don’t know where the idea came to me from, but I thought of it a couple hours ago, and he was instantly on board with it.
Ceceli likes the idea, too, but she groans about the rain.
“I don’t want storms,” she complains with slumping shoulders. “I want sunshine!” After a beat, she straightens up and snaps her fingers. “I’ve got it: drop what you’re doing and help me figure out how to turn into a weather goddess. I’ll handle the shit myself.”
Appreciatively, I say, “You’re on a roll with the good ideas today.”
She winks. “Aren’t I? Wonder what I’ll come up with next.”
“Probably a solution to world hunger.”
“Probably!”
Her own cell phone rings in her pocket, so she steps just outside the office. I answer Beckett to tell him I share in his excitement, and then I sit and refocus on this schedule I’m supposed to be approving.
I try to, anyway.
I still keep drifting into thought. Glancing at my phone. Reminiscing. Looking forward.
My elbows settle themselves on the desk, and my fingers tuck my hair behind my ears…and I relive Beckett doing it.
I also relive the way he looked at me before he went home after TV and hot chocolate: pensively.
Like how Ceceli looked at me a minute ago…and at the same time, not like that.
It wasn’t anything really noteworthy, I guess. Still, it’s another thing I can remember clearly. He stood in the glow of the porch light just outside my front door, a cool nighttime breeze ruffling his hair, those eyes studying me.
Unlike Ceceli, he didn’t tell me what he was thinking. He just said goodnight, that he would drive carefully, that he would text me once he was safe at home.
Maybe he was already replaying moments for himself.
It’s a nice thought.
And I hope it’s true.
I would like sticking with him the way he has stuck with me—I would like being what fuels his better-than-good mood. I’ve felt so cheerful and steady today, as if I’ve been floating, and I want that feeling for him.
Those times when life lets you float instead of insisting you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders…they’re precious. They’re gifts. And Beckett deserves them.
He also really does deserve those caramels.
With a fresh smile and a roll of my shoulders, I resolve to go collect them for him as a nice surprise…
…after I get my damn work done.
—
Another fun plan comes about just before I leave work to pick Theo up from preschool: my mom texts to invite us and Beckett to dinner tonight. She found a bunch of good meat on sale at the grocery store, and she and Dad want to cook.
It’s an easy yes from me and Theo, who is happy the idea isn’t coming at too short of a notice this time. And when I ask Beckett what he thinks, I quickly get a yes from him too. I expected it since I know how much he treasures my parents, but it’s still nice to be proved right.
My mom, however, is a broken record of, ‘No!’ when I ask if we’ll need to bring anything with us. No, they don’t need payback money for the food. No, they don’t need side dishes or dessert. No, they don’t need beverages or extra napkins. Our company is all they require.
Beckett will be getting off work a little later than usual because he and his coworkers have to set up new phones around their office after everyone else leaves. He’s going to come pick me and Theo up when he’s done, so she and I get home and take our time getting ready to go. She talked me into asking my mom if she can spend the night again, so after she has thoroughly gotten her stuffed animals ready to go, too, we turn on another of my old dance recital DVDs—the one from my last year at the studio.
“Ooh, yay! Yay!” Theo exclaims when I select the pointe ballet number I did that year. “I love this one!”
I chuckle because I know she does. Then I sigh because I do too.
It was my favorite of the few pointe numbers I performed in my time as a dancer. Not only was I at my strongest then, but the contemporary choreography, the costume, the song…it was all so beautiful. I felt beautiful on the stage that night.
Theo dances around on her tiptoes, trying every now and then to recreate the steps younger me is doing on the TV in that flowy, sparkle-laden silver skirt and matching fitted crop top.
And stronger than ever is my urge to get up from the couch and do the same.
I always think about this dance when I listen to this song, “Transatlanticism,” but it has been a very long time since my body last felt like moving to it.
Here and now, there’s an actual ache in my arms, an actual twitch in my legs—I want to get up and do that graceful, sweeping reach toward the sky again, glide into that grand jeté leap again. And the DVD isn’t yet to the part in the song where the guy sings about wanting his beloved person so much closer, but I know it’s on the way, and I remember how well I executed my series of fouetté turns as he sang, and I want so badly to….
I only realize my heartbeat has quickened with passion when it starts slowing with disappointment.
I can’t do many of those things anymore, whether I dig out my old pointe shoes or go barefoot. A reach of my arm? Sure—that’s an everyday thing. But smooth turns I haven’t been in the habit of keeping my balance for? The splits? A leg extension in which I lift and keep my straightened leg up near my head without holding on to it? I’d be surprised if I could even get my leg up that high by way of a swift kick.
No, I shouldn’t bother letting such ideas into my head.
At best, I’d make a fool of myself. At worst, I’d get hurt.
My dancing days are over.
But I didn’t get hurt last week or whenever, when I carefully moved around the kitchen. And Beckett didn’t think I looked foolish.
My face grows hot all over again at that last part.
I certainly felt stupid. The way he looked at me….
Not that he was looking at me in a bad way…but….
It was just embarrassing to be caught doing that, I guess. I’m out of practice, and he’s never seen me dance in person, and it was awkward in its spontaneity. And the only reason I didn’t get hurt was because I barely did anything; I used to mark choreography in class with more gusto than I did that stuff, and the entire point of marking is to not put full energy into the steps. In my kitchen, my muscles didn’t get worked enough to risk getting hurt.
Biting my lip, I watch Theo watch seventeen-year-old-me get lost in the lovely melody and wistful lyrics.
I miss it.
So sudden and truthful is the thought that I almost want to cry.
I miss it, and if I hadn’t quit, I probably could’ve used it to help with missing Cliff.
The acknowledgement has me closing my eyes.
Dance is a powerful and valuable outlet for emotion that is otherwise hard to expel.
But I know I didn’t quit on a whim. Didn’t decide I was bored or anything. It’s just what a lot of dancers do: they leave the mirrored studio rooms behind just like they leave high school classrooms behind. They go forward with their lives.
I didn’t have to give it up altogether, though, part of me notes. Plenty of people reminded me of that, but I didn’t listen. I could’ve kept dancing in college—joined a team or taken even one short class a week. And I didn’t have to do pointe if I really wanted to quit putting the strain on my feet. I could’ve kept my love for lyrical going.
I shake
my head at myself, regret panging in my chest.
Things changed when I had Theo, but before then…and even after she got a little older….
“Mommy, watch!” the girl’s voice comes through my thoughts.
I reopen my eyes and see her trying to mimic the attitude turn I did in the video. It’s clumsy and a little off-center, and I love it. It brings a smile out of me.
I clap and tell her, “Aw, good job!”
Tittering, she prances over to me. “I can’t wait to be a big dancer!”
I wrap my arms around her and pull her into a hug. Her titters become hearty giggles as I blow a raspberry on her cheek. “And I can’t wait to watch you be one, my love.”
“My love, my love!” she echoes before setting her tiny tickling fingers loose on my neck.
“Ah!” I shriek. “Don’t tickle me! Noooo!”
Now she’s cackling, and I’m not feeling glum anymore—only truly excited to see what becomes of her dance experience. Whether it lasts a long time or not, I’m going to love watching it unfold. Just like I love watching the rest of who she is unfold.
What a shining star she is.
And, of course, she only shines brighter when Beckett gets here.
The same is true for me.
For him, too, I suspect, despite that I don’t know how he looked before now. His smiles are brilliant, and his eyes are light, and his voice is warm as he exclaims, “Finally, I get to see my girls!”
The affectionate words make my heart swell.
“Hug time!” Theo squeals as she reaches up for him as per usual.
He gets her swept into his arms, laughs at how happy it makes her, and then situates her so he can open an arm to me as well.
“It is hug time,” he agrees, “and I need the biggest one I can get.”
Just like this morning on the FaceTime call, Theo and I are very much in agreement. I take the invitation to step over to them, and we all hug each other as big as we can.
“Your girls, my love,” Theo says.
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