“I have dance rehearsals every day, Mom. And right now, that’s enough.” I lied. It definitely wasn’t enough, but who was going to pledge a sorority as a senior?
“Well, why aren’t you friends with any of the girls in your program?”
I threw a look at Dad, but he ignored the conversation and instead shuffled through his newspaper quietly as Kiki continued trying to improve her vocal range.
I didn’t want to answer my mother’s question. The truth was that the girls in the program were absurdly competitive, and few of us had formed honest friendships. If I had said that, my mother would have come back with “Well, you chose dance as a major.” She liked to remind me of that fact, as if it were the worst decision of my life. We all knew I would’ve been at Juilliard or in a dance company by now if I really had the chops. But I loved dancing. I wanted to build my life around it, in any way I could.
All my high school friends had gone off to college in other cities, other states, and other countries, but I was stuck here, floundering on the Fort Collins social scene. I hadn’t had a boyfriend since high school, and aside from a few one-night stands my freshman and sophomore years, I’d been dateless. I needed to find something to do outside of school and dance. I needed to make friends and I knew it. But it was hard as a commuter, and as a senior. Everyone had already found their cliques long ago.
My sister’s voice was getting higher and higher. “God, shut up, Kiki, please! Mom and I are trying to talk.”
“Don’t be rude to your sister,” Mom snapped. “She has a pageant this weekend. She needs to prep for it.”
Kiki looked over at me like I was an alien. I pushed my eggs around the cobalt-blue plate.
My father looked at me over his specs. “Sweet Pea, clean your plate,” he said quietly. “It’s not that much food.”
Dancing was my life, but the rigor had taken its toll. There was pressure to be both skinny and strong, and I was always confused about what size I should be. I was definitely not the skinniest, and I wondered if that’s what had kept me from being an elite dancer.
While taking the tiniest nibbles of gross, slimy eggs to appease my father, I asked Kiki, “Do you even like being in beauty pageants?”
She smiled one of her sparkle-toothed smiles. “Of course I do.” I smiled weakly back at her. Poor thing.
“You’d think the people of Colorado would have learned their lesson by now,” I said.
My dad shot me a look of warning.
“What?” Mom said, wide-eyed.
“Mom, come on. You parade her around like she’s a miniature adult. Did you actually bleach her hair?” My mother glared at me. “This is JonBenét-level insanity.”
She turned her back on us and walked across the kitchen, dumping the frying pan into the stainless steel sink with a clang. She stormed into the living room, sniffling, as my dad glared angrily at me.
“What? She’s hard on me, too,” I said.
He shook his head. “That was horribly insensitive, and frankly, in poor taste. That poor little girl, JonBenét—”
“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Growing up an hour away from Boulder in the nineties, I’d had my fill of JonBenét talk.
“Who’s JonBenét?” Kiki asked.
“Don’t worry about it, Keeks.” I patted her on the head and got up to go after my mom.
I found her sitting on the edge of her bed, crying. She was so fragile. So vulnerable. I looked around the room awkwardly while she sobbed into her hands. Her bed, with the floral comforter and frilly bed skirt, had been perfectly made like it had never been slept in. Her room was straight out of the showDynasty. She even had one of those breakfast trays with little flowerpots on it, which sat perfectly in the center of the bed. It had never been used. She tried so hard to hold everything up and maintain appearances. I should have admired her determination more, but there was something desperate about it. Something that rubbed me the wrong way—especially since she had the bad habit of making biting comments about every single one ofmychoices. I never felt good enough for her, and I felt like I was constantly spoiling the image she was trying so hard to cultivate.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I just think the pageant thing is a little over-the-top. Aren’t you afraid Kiki will burn out before she’s even a teenager?”
She looked up and scowled. “I never burned out on it when I was in pageants. When are you going to burn out on ballet?”
“I’m not unless I catch on fire.” I smiled.
“You’re so much like your father. Everything is a joke to you. Maybe things will be different when you graduate and realize you can’t keep chasing impossible dreams. Your dad will have to get you a job at the pharmaceutical company in the warehouse or something.”
It wasn’t the first time she had hurt me. It wasn’t even the first time that day. Why did she have to constantly make me feel like I was delusional for feeling passionate about ballet? “You don’t think I’m a good dancer, do you?”
She opened her mouth but hesitated. Time stood still as I waited, prepared for another not-so-subtle insult. “I think you’re a good dancer, Penny. I’ve always thought that.”
“Then why are you making me feel like my only option is to work in some warehouse?”
