In the Air (19 page)

"You're in a hard place," she said. "I didn't expect to have feelings for someone so quickly either. I know how you feel." She reached across the table and took my hand in hers.

"You don't know how I feel, Natalia," I stated. "You really don't. I want to move on so badly, but then I wonder if I'm making the right choice. Leaving the only girl I've ever loved for a stranger?" I knew the moment the words left my mouth, that I had said the wrong thing.

"This is why I never wanted you to tell me you had feelings for me." She paused, biting her bottom lip. "I would be the rebound girl, wouldn't I?"

"I didn't mean it–" I scratched the back of my head, trying to absorb my thoughts before speaking again. "I told you this before, but I'll say it again and I hope this time it sticks. You could never be anyone's rebound. I just ... " I took a deep breath. "I didn't anticipate my life going this way. It had always been planned out, up until the point that I moved here. New York was supposed to be my answer, Natalia."

We each stayed quiet for a few more moments, before Cesar walked up to the table and asked if we needed a drink. I ordered both of us a DiSarrono, not caring that it was still early in the day.

"I didn't want a drink," Natalia said.

"We could both use one," I responded.

"Is New York your answer, Samson?" Natalia looked at me expectantly. She wanted me to say yes.

My eyes peered into hers and I felt a familiar flip in my stomach. The feeling I got every time I looked at her. "I hope so."

With my answer, she gave a small smile.

"I know I made the right decision ending things with Aubrey. It was time. What I need you to understand is that she'll probably always be a part of my life in some way. I can't tell you if this," I pointed between us, "will work out, but I can tell you that I want it to."

"I'm ready to take a chance," Natalia said confidently.

"We could go back to my place and play Twister ... but I don't have the board."

My smile reflected hers. I was happy that my joke broke some of the tension. It was getting serious, and being with Natalia didn't feel like we were in a library, having to be quiet and courteous at all times. She was fun and silly, which I loved. Natalia swayed her neck back and forth.

"You waste no time, do you?" she asked, laughing lightly.

I responded with sincerity, "Why waste time when you know exactly what you want?"

"
Why waste time when you know exactly what you want?" My dad asked me the same question a few years ago, before I auditioned for Juilliard. We were sitting at our favorite diner eating breakfast. He looked at me with the same look he always gave, the kind that showed so much admiration. It was our first breakfast together in months. My dad was finally feeling well enough to leave the house.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" I blushed.

"You amaze me more and more every day, kiddo." He reached across the table, and rubbed his fingers softly across my hand.

"You're the amazing one, Dad." My father was a strong, caring man. Like me, though, he wasn't ever able to take a compliment.

"I'm just a father that would do anything for his daughter. You make getting out of bed easy each morning." Getting out of bed had been one of the hardest feats for my dad, who was up most nights, sick from chemo. Every morning though, no matter how sick he felt, he would walk into the kitchen with a smile on his face, kiss me on the forehead and say, "I feel amazing this morning because you're my daughter." It was a statement to reassure me that he'd be okay. The first morning he didn't walk into the kitchen, I broke down, sobbing over my half-eaten bowl of Cheerios.

"Earth to Natalia."

Two fingers snapped in front of my face. I came back to reality and I saw Samson sitting across from me.

"You alright? I lost you there for a second." His smile made the memories hurt less.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about something." I'd told Samson a little about my father, but I wasn't ready to talk in depth about that dark period of my life.

"Pretty vague answer," he said, still smiling. "Wanna talk about it?"

"How about we talk about something else? You haven't danced in a couple of days. Your body must be upset with you," I said. I was always told that if I took any time off, it would be detrimental to my talent.

"You could just say that you've missed dancing with me." His arrogance had returned, but this time I wasn't turned off by it.

"I think you've probably missed holding me in your arms far more than I've missed dancing with you."

He nodded and pursed his lips. He didn't outwardly admit it, but his expression said it all. We sat there for a few minutes, not speaking. Sipping the liqueur from our glasses, we peeked at each other, smiled, and then quickly looked back down at our glasses.

"I've got an idea," Samson drained the rest of his drink and placed the glass back onto the table. He stood up and took out his wallet, throwing a fifty-dollar bill on the table. "C'mon, this will be fun," he declared.

Leaving my own empty glass on the table, I followed Samson out of the restaurant. We walked to the corner of the street, Samson strolling ahead of me.

"Samson, slow down. Where are we going, anyway?" I was practically running, trying to catch up with him.

"You'll see."

We walked in silence for at least twelve blocks. We finally arrived in front of a two-story brick building that was surrounded by a black wood fence. Samson keyed in a code, turned the knob, and walked through the opening. I gave him a worried look, my imagination running wild.
Was this where I was going to die?
I knew it was an outrageous thought, but the bland building had no sign or description. It could have been a torture chamber for all I knew. Trudging up the six steps, Samson rang the doorbell. I remained on the sidewalk, refusing to budge.

"What are you doing? Get up here," Samson demanded.

"First tell me where we are!"

He rolled his eyes and looked at me pointedly.

"Okay, fine. But if I don't make it through this, tell my mother that I'm sorry for not returning her call this morning," I joked.

The door opened, squeaking loudly. A tall woman stood in front of us, her face full of surprise.

"Samson!" she yelled, jumping forward and wrapping Samson in a bear hug.

I studied the two. The woman looked to be in her late forties. They didn't look anything alike, so they couldn't be related. It couldn't be someone he had been with, could it? I doubted he would ever bring me to meet a woman he'd hooked up with.

"Brigitte, this is my friend, Natalia." Samson's hand found my shoulder. The woman stretched her hand out.

"Nice to meet you, Natalia," she said, her voice soft.

She was beautiful. Her platinum blonde hair was cut pixie-style, accenting her beautiful features perfectly. She wore a fancy white pantsuit with black heels that I couldn't imagine walking in. I stood on my toes most days, there was no way I'd put my feet through more pain by wearing heels.

"Nice to meet you, too." I dropped my hand back to my side, looking up at Samson.

"Please," Brigitte stepped aside, "come in."

Samson and I walked past Brigitte and stood inside the foyer. Looking in every direction, my eyes met painting after painting, and sculptures standing ten feet tall. White furniture filled every corner. It was immaculate. Brigitte embraced Samson once again, continuing on with how much she had missed him. This woman was already getting on my nerves, pouncing all over Samson.
Could they have hooked up?

As if he read my mind, Samson leaned down and whispered, "She was my dance teacher."
Phew.

"Would you two like some tea?" Brigitte asked while her hand rested on Samson's back.

We both nodded in unison. I couldn't believe I was jealous of another woman touching Samson, but when you like someone you can't help it, right?

Brigitte walked ahead of us, entering into her kitchen. I heard cups rattling, and cupboards opening and closing.

"You could have just told me that you were taking me to meet your dance teacher, you know? The suspense was lame," I said.

"That would have ruined the look on your face when Brigitte opened her door. You thought she was something more than that." It wasn't a question. He knew exactly what was running through my mind. I made a mental note to be careful with my facial expressions in the future.

"I didn't think that," I lied. "I thought maybe she was an old neighbor or something."

"Okay," he said with disbelief in his voice. "You were right. Not dancing for a few days has sucked. So, here we are, in my old dance studio. Hope you're ready to move," Samson said, his eyes searching mine.

"Hope you can keep up. It's been a few days, so don't hurt yourself."

He laughed loudly, just as Brigitte was walked back into the room, holding two teacups.

"Here we go,
mes chéris.
"

Every time Brigitte spoke, I couldn't help but smile. Her French accent was beautiful. I was in love with the language, and often dreamt of visiting Paris and dancing in front of the Eiffel Tower.

"Natalia, you are a dancer, too?" Brigitte handed us the teacups and motioned for us to take a seat on the couch. She sat on the edge of her love seat, focusing her attention on me.

"Yes, I also go to Juilliard. Samson is my partner." I took a small sip of the tea, the refreshing taste lingering in my mouth. "This tea is delicious."

"That's a tea from my home. It's called '
the des poetes solitaires
,' which means 'the tea of solitary poets.' It's one of my favorites." She looked over at Samson and smiled, full of admiration. "I'm very surprised to see you here. I thought once you got into Juilliard, you would forget all about this old place."

"Never," Samson stated genuinely.

Brigitte looked down at the hardwood floors, concealing her smile.

"I wanted to bring Natalia here, show her how wonderful of a teacher you were, and still are."

"You never needed me as a teacher, Samson. You've always been extraordinary, but it would be my pleasure," Brigitte responded. It was apparent how much respect Samson had for his teacher, and vice versa.

Brigitte stood and prompted Samson and I to do the same. We walked past her beautiful modern kitchen to a spiral staircase leading downstairs. The walls were taupe, and more colorful paintings covered them. We entered another room, and Brigitte turned on a light. As my eyes adjusted, I took in the space. The large dance studio had a mirror covering one wall with a barre on the opposing wall. There was a floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking a beautiful garden full of orchids and lilies. The sight was absolutely breathtaking.

"This place is beautiful," I said, examining every inch of the room.

"Thank you. My late husband built it for me when I decided I wanted to teach in my home." With the mention of her husband, Brigitte's face filled with sadness.

"I'm sorry to hear about your loss," I said, giving a small knowing smile in Brigitte's direction. I knew a lot about loss, and could relate to her grief.

"No worries, love. He'll always be here." She pressed her hand against her heart.

"I didn't bring my shoes or anything with me, I don't–" I started to say.

"You can dance in that." Samson insisted.

I was wearing a pair of skinny jeans, granted they had some stretch to them, a T-shirt, and my boots. I obviously didn't think I'd be dancing this evening.

"How do you propose I do that?" I'd always danced in proper ballet attire. If my mother saw me dancing in anything else, she would have never let me hear the end of it.

"It's not going to kill you to dance in your street clothes," Samson said.

I looked at his outfit. His preppy style was more relaxed today: a pair of dark blue jeans and a white T-shirt that peeked out from under a maroon, zipped-up hoodie, topped with a navy blue blazer. Even when Samson didn't dress up, he looked better than the average guy.

Samson unbuttoned his blazer, unzipped his hoodie, and threw each piece to the floor. His shirt was tight, showing off the defined muscles in his chest and arms. In that moment, all I really wanted to do was be alone with him and rip his clothes off. I had to remind myself to be good. For now.