“I’m sorry, Talls.” Flip slips his hand under my hair and gently squeezes the back of my neck.
My phone buzzes with a call.
“Do you need to get that?”
“It’s my mom. It’s like she has a sixth sense.” I answer the call and bring the device to my ear. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Just thinking about you and wanted to check in,” Mom says.
My parents are so vastly different. My mom will call out of the blue, no reason, just to tell me she loves me. I feel like an afterthought with my dad. “I’m good. Are you good? How about Ties and Fenna?”
She chuckles. “I’m good and so are your brother and sister. It sounds like you’re in a car.”
“I am. I’m not driving, though.”
“But you’re with friends?”
I glance at Flip who’s paying attention to the road. “Yeah, I am.”
“Call me later when you’re home.”
“It might not be until after nine. I have dance practice tonight.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be up until nine thirty.”
“Such a night owl,” I tease.
“Real partier over here. I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too, Mom.”
I end the call as Flip turns into a strip mall with a café, a used-clothing store, an independent grocery store, a print shop, and two other businesses that appear closed. This plaza isn’t far from the cat shelter I volunteer at.
“Things good with your mom?”
“Yeah, they’ve been a lot better lately.”
“That’s good. I’m glad your relationship with her is solid.”
“Me, too.” I told Flip about her visit after he took me out for dinner and how it helped smooth things out between us a little. Our relationship isn’t perfect, but we’re working on it.
He parks in an empty spot, and I hop out, meeting him at the hood. I take a step toward the coffee shop, but Flip grabs my hand. “We’ll stop there after.”
I reluctantly let him lead me away from the decadent smell of freshly ground beans and baked goods. He stops in front of a dark storefront and pulls a set of keys from his pocket.
I glance up at the sign above our heads that readsMake Your Moveas he unlocks the door. I recognize the name. “I thought this place was closed.” I looked up studio rentals in the area, hoping I could find something reasonable. For a few seconds I was excited, until I realized this place wasn’t open anymore.
“The owner moved to a new location. Check it out.” He flicks on the light.
I step inside the empty studio. It would be the perfect location to practice. “Whose is it now?”
“It’s yours,” he says.
I frown. “I can’t afford this.” Based on my research, renting space in a studio off campus is expensive. Before my parents announced their divorce, I might have tossed out the idea, but not when my parents’ individual expenses have suddenly doubled.
“You need a place to rehearse, and this is close to campus.Now you don’t have to worry about being able to fit in time around classes, or your troupe’s part-time jobs. It’s a three-minute drive from your apartment, and it’s yours.”
“Mine?” I repeat.
