“Yes. Laura had a great career ahead of her. She was the best dancer in Boston. You should have seen her.”
“I did see her,” I reply, my voice trembling. “Every day. She kept dancing.” She was beautiful, and above all, she was happy.
“But she never made it on stage, even though she had so much talent.” Grandma sighs again. “Be that as it may, your mother made many decisions I didn’t agree with.”
“Is that why you stopped talking to each other?”
She avoids my gaze. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Rayne.” Another sigh. “It was all so long ago. We were both far too stubborn. We made mistakes, and eventually so much time had passed that they couldn’t be undone.”
“Do you wish they could be?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Yes, it does. I’m still here,” I say, even though I don’t know why. There’s complete chaos in my head. I didn’t come here because of Mom. Or maybe I did.
“You remind me a lot of Laura, do you know that?” Grandma says, as if she hadn’t heard a word I said. She smiles faintly. “You look so much like her. Other than the purple hair, you look exactly like her when she was your age.”
I don’t answer because I don’t know what to say. It’s not true. I don’t look like Mom. My eyes are the only thing I got from her.
“I do care about you, Rayne,” she continues. “I’m just afraid I’m not able to give you what you need.”
I bite my lip to keep from crying. It’s stupid. What did I expect? That I would show up here and we would just magically become a family? No.
“I think I should go now.” I stand up, feeling sick. My legs feel like they’re about to collapse beneath me.
“Yes, that sounds like a good idea.” Grandma gets up too. I can’t believe that’s her reaction. But if I’m honest, I wasn’t expecting it to go any other way. Neither of us made an effort. We’re strangers, and it looks like we’re going to stay that way.
“I’m thinking about leaving school and going back to LA,” I blurt out when I reach the door. I don’t know why I say it, or what I expect to gain from it. I don’t know if I expect approval or rejection. Or that by some miracle her reaction will help me to decide if this is really what I want.
Grandma just smiles a little. “I told you, you’re just like your mother,” she says and then closes the door. That’s all. Then I’m alone.
I should feel something—anything. But instead, I just feel empty. All I know is that I want to go home. I want to talk to Mom and Dad because they would know what I should do. They would know what I want to do, even if I don’t know it myself. They would know, and I have no idea.
***
I stare at my phone, knowing I should call Easton. He’s still waiting for me to respond to his message. I haven’t done it yet because I don’t know what to say.
You could come with me.
I get out of bed and reach for my headphones. I have to get out of here. I can’t think. Laughter drifts out of the common room as I leave my room. It’s Friday, and Zoe mentioned earlier that a few people were planning a movie night. She asked if I wanted to come along to take my mind off things and stop thinking about Easton all the time. It was a kind offer, but a movie isn’t enough for that.
I leave the cheerful voices behind me, walk down the stairs, and leave the dorm. There’s a lot going on tonight on campus. The lights are still on in the practice building, but for once, I don’t want to go there.
The door to the administration building is unlocked, so someone must still be here, but when I enter the lobby, there’s no one around.
My steps slow, my heart beating faster with every second. It’s pounding so hard against my ribs that it almost hurts. I haven’t been here since my first day of school. My gaze automatically falls on the photos hanging on the walls. In all the time I’ve beenhere, I haven’t come back to look for Mom’s picture. Maybe I was afraid I wouldn’t find it and what that would mean.
I probably shouldn’t attach so much meaning to a picture. But there are a lot of things I shouldn’t do. Slowly, I walk past the portraits, looking at the dancers in their poses, and finally find Mom on the right-hand side. It’s the second-to-last photograph.
She’s young and beautiful. She’s wearing a black leotard with a black practice skirt, her hair pulled back into a strict bun. The pose looks simple, her back arched slightly backward and her head tilted upward, her arms outstretched. She’s standing on the tips of her toes on one foot, the other leg bent. It looks simple, but it’s special. No complicated leap, no extravagant costume. Just my mom.
Tears fill my eyes as I look at her, and my heart aches. She was so beautiful.
“Hey, Mom,” I say quietly, sinking to the floor and putting on my headphones. A moment later, I hear Dad’s soft voice in my ear for the first time in months. I take a breath, my whole body trembling.
