Quickly, I had to steer this conversation in another direction. I didn’t want to know anything else. Gossiping about something so personal to him with someone else felt wrong. Like a violation of his trust.
“Yeah. What do you do for fun? When you’re not working, I mean. I’m trying to figure out a life outside my job.”
She blinked a few times like she was trying to catch up with me. Finally, she did.
“Oh, absolutely. Work life balance. It’s a thing. Call me an old-fashioned girly, but I still love clubbing. Actually, a new one just opened a week ago, we should totally go. Although, I hear it’s almost impossible to get in, still we should try.”
A club. Dancing. Another something in a long line of somethings I’d never done. An activity that only belonged in movies.
What if I couldn’t dance? What if I looked stupid and awkward? Dancing, to me, seemed a lot like being funny.
Sure, everyone thought they could dance, but could everyone really dance?
Still, the whole point of this new life was to branch out and make friends. Build life experiences that were mine. So I could find out what kind of person I was.
Did I like to go clubbing? How would I know, if I didn’t do it?
I took a deep breath, nodded, and said, “Yes. That sounds fun. We should go. How about Saturday?”
“Have you ever been to a club?”I asked E.G later that evening.
“Golf club?”
“Dance club,” I clarified.
It was past six and we were winding down for the day. He was checking on some data he received from one of his sources. I was setting up his schedule for tomorrow, which I usually did with him in his office because it was just easier.
He sighed and turned away from his monitors. I could see him reaching for a memory.
He scowled and started to shut down his applications. “Once. It was loud, crowded and annoying because everyone was drunk. I left almost immediately.”
“Do you think you can dance?”
“I’m very certain I cannot. I’ve danced once. At my wedding. It was torture and I’ll never do it again.”
“That’s what I assumed,” I said.
For a second he looked offended. “Why? Do I look uncoordinated?”
“Are you really getting offended because I didn’t think you were a dancer?”
He took a second to think about it. “No.”
“Claire and I are going to try and get in at this club on Saturday, and it occurs to me I don’t know if I can dance or not.”
“What they do at those clubs is not dancing. It’s mostly jumping around with intermittent thrusting. Why would you want to participate in that?”
“Because I’m young and I want to live.”
“Your favorite activity is eating Pirate’s Booty and watching Netflix.”
“I think I confide in you too much.”
“Then stop,” he drawled. “Are you looking for my permission to tell you, you don’t have to go?”
“No, I’m going. It’s going to be fun.”
“It’s not,” he assured me.
