“I am aware, Brant. Thank you.”
On Tuesday,I get a call from Jody on my walk home from the subway.
“Have you heard from Ben?”
It takes me a moment to process whom she means: our young blond friend from class. “No, I don’t have his phone number. Why? His wedding is coming up soon, right?”
“Yeah, but…oh right, you weren’t in class on Sunday,” she goes on. “Apparently the wedding is on thin ice.”
“What? Why?”
“The fiancée’s parents are trying to get her to ditch him.”
“Our sweet little investment banker? Why would anyone ditch him?”
“The usual rich person insanity. Speaking of ditching people, why weren’t you in class on Sunday?”
“Family drama.” I barely remembered I even had swing class, to be honest.
“I was hoping it wasn’t because of Ollie,” Jody says, and I can feel her eyeroll over the phone.
“No, it wasn’t because of Ollie.”
“Good. I was worried you were upset about him being partners with Eliana again.”
It hits harder than it should. “He is? When did you hear that?”
“It’s what the instructors were talking about on Sunday. Anyway, I know you started dancing because of him. I was worried you were one of those people who starts something because of a man and then quits as soon as he’s not available anymore.”
It takes me a moment to answer. If Jody hadn’t called, I might not have come back to class at all. And now Ollie is back with his old dance partner?
Jody absorbs my long silence. “Is that a yes?”
“No, sorry, it’s just… My ex-husband got injured and he’s on my sofa for the next two weeks and I have a lot to deal with.”
“Okay.” I can hear Jody considering this. “So what I’m hearing is that you have free babysitting for the next couple of weeks and can come to as many swing dancing practices as you want?”
I laugh in spite of myself. “You’re right.” And she is. I don’t want to be someone who quits dance because a guy hurt my feelings. “I’ll be there for the Friday evening social for practiceand for class. And let me know if you hear from Ben. I hope he comes back to us,” I say.
“Yeah, me, too.”
That evening,I tell Nick that if I’m going to buy him clothes that are easy for him to wear, bring him soup, and help him order taxis to get to a physical therapist, then he can watch Hannah for me for a few hours while I go dancing.
“Dancing?” he asks. “Is this like, electronica, or…”
“It’s swing dancing.”
“Swing dancing.” He is smirking.
“What?”
He shrugs. “Do people wear newsboy caps to these events?”
“Am I hearing this correctly? Is a forty-three-year-old man taunting me for not being cool?”
Nick rolls his eyes. “Sorry. I just wondered if this was because of him. The dance teacher.”
Now is my opportunity to lie, but I don’t want to. “His name is Oliver MacCormack if you want to look him up. He had a dance to a Bruno Mars song that went viral a few years ago.”
