“It’s not that impressive,” I say, and my voice comes out flat, distant.
“Bullshit,” Lee chimes in. “My sister’s the best dancer in New York.”
Was, I think.Was the best.
“In the company,” I correct out loud. “Not the whole city.”
“Whatever. You’re amazing and you know it.” Lee’s chest puffs with pride, and despite my distraction, I feel a rush of affection for my brother. Even though we’ve been separated by time and distance, we’ll always be there to hype each other up.
I’m about to say something else when I notice a gap in the crowd, a momentary parting of bodies that gives me a clear view of . . . no one. My heart sinks.Did he leave?
“I need a drink,” I announce, cutting through whatever Kya was saying mid-sentence. “I’ll be right back.”
Before anyone can respond, I’m already slipping away toward the bar. I feel slightly guilty for the abrupt exit, but I’ve been smiling and socializing for an hour while the whole time my skin has been buzzing with the need to find him.
The bar is three deep with people, but I manage to squeeze through to an opening. I order a whiskey neat—something I never drink in New York, where I’m all about clean eating and hydration—and drum my fingers on the bar top while I wait.
“You doin’ OK, kid?” My dad appears at my side, startling me. He studies my face with a mixture of concern and what I’m pretty sure is caution.
“I’m fine,” I say, accepting my whiskey from the bartender. “Just needed a minute.”
Dad nods, his eyes searching mine. “You look tired.”
“I am,” I admit. “Travel will do that to you.”
“Wanna take that drink outside? It’s quieter.”
8
EMMA
Inod and follow my dad through the crowd and out onto the back patio. It’s significantly quieter out here—just a few people smoking and talking in low voices.
We claim a table in the corner, and for a moment we just sit. The music from inside is muffled out here, a bass-heavy throb that vibrates through the walls.
“The place really does look amazing,” I say finally.
“Yeah, of course,” he says, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Sorry, I just . . . I’ve been wanting to apologize for a long time.”
“Dad, can we—” I stop, holding my barely touched whiskey between both hands. “Can we not do that? Not tonight.” I take a shaky breath, trying to compose myself.
“Yeah, of course,” he says, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Sorry, I just . . . I’ve been wanting to apologize for a long time.”
I look up and meet his eyes properly, taking in the years that have etched their way into his face. In my memory, he’s always been the same young father who watched my mom and me move across the country when I was thirteen and didn’t even think about following. But now that I’m twenty-eight and he’s forty-seven, I’m starting to see the changes in him.
“I appreciate that, Dad. But it’s in the past. We can’t change it.”
He nods, hesitating for a moment. “All right.”
“Thank you.”
“But Emma—” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “It’s good to see you. Really good. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
“How long are you staying?”
There’s the question I’ve been dreading. Because I don’t actually have a good answer.
