“He and I did a project together,” she says. “You remember how I told you one of my professors jerked me around when he forced me to tango with him? Grant put an end to that, and the two of us did the tango for the class instead, which is how I found out he’s a fabulous dancer, and… You know.” Smiling, she winks.
“Oh.” Kat blinks. “You’rehim.”
I spread my hands. “What can I say?” I give them an innocent smile, relieved that Aspen came up with a version edited to make me look like a hero. I’m going to treat her like the goddess that she is, so her grandparents will never find out I was a dick to her at the beginning.
“So you can dance.” Kenny nods with approval. “What are you studying?”
“I haven’t declared a major yet.”
“Anything look interesting to you?”
He’s as persistent as Mom when it comes to my academic situation. “Almost all of it, to be honest. But I’m leaning toward accounting.” That sounds nice and dependable. The kind of stuff a non-troublemaker would get into.
“Accounting is great. Stable, with a more or less guaranteed future,” Kat says.
Kenny makes a vague noise in his throat. Maybe he wanted me to pick a more exciting subject, but it doesn’t really matter. Even if I were to get that particular degree, I’m not going to process other people’s taxes. I need something more challenging and interesting to do with my life.
The dinner ends with Kat’s apple pie, which is incredible. It isn’t anything fancy, but there’s something to it that’s topnotch.
“You make the best apple pie,” Aspen says between bites, almost moaning. “I’ve missed this.”
“I gave you my recipe,” Kat says.
“And I tried to follow it, but it isn’t the same.”
Kenny gives Kat an affectionate grin and kisses her on the cheek. “It’s my girl’s magic touch.”
“I agree,” I say. “Not even a Parisian pastry chef could match this.”
Kat flushes, and Kenny looks at me with another nod of approval.
There’s more conversation. Kat asks if I’d like another helping of pie, but I decline. I hate feeling stuffed. And from the way the others are eating, they don’t make pigs of themselves either.
Kenny finishes his glass of wine. We clear the table—another new experience, because my parents have staff to deal with that sort of thing. But I like how everyone’s helping. It makes the family feel more like a unit.
We move to the living room. After chatting for a bit, Kat puts on a tango. A strain from “Por una Cabeza” floats from the stereo. “Dance with me.” She extends her hands.
Kenny takes them as he stands. “Of course.”
Aspen leans over and whispers, “They always dance after dinner, which is why they don’t eat a lot in the evening. It’s like a ritual.”
The two may be old, but they’re superb, moving like they know exactly what the other is thinking. I’d never believe they’re somebody’s grandparents from their agility and control.
It isn’t just the technique that’s impressive, but the connection they have. The way they gaze at each other, the way they touch, the subtle, sensual movements of their feet, the smiles. You can watch them and know they’re soul mates.
When they’re done, Kat beams, and Kenny holds out a hand to Aspen. “Dance with your grandpa.”
“Of course.” She jumps up as a different tango tune fills the house, and Kat sits next to me and stretches out her legs and rolls her ankles.
Aspen’s amazing, and their dance is different. It’s more paternal and sweeter.
“She’s great, isn’t she? We taught her since she was a little girl. She has such a talent for it,” Kat says.
“She’s the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”
She laughs softly. “I like you. I think you’re good for her.”
Although I smile, I’m also slightly confused. She isn’t just saying that to be polite, like my parents might.
