Page 17 of Every Time We Touch

“Prettier than Grandpa’s girlfriend?” Wyatt asks in the kind of genuinely thoughtful tone unique to kids his age.

I listen to the back-and-forth between my family members with glee, happy to have come clean—and for the distraction little kids bring.

“Juan’s been texting with her,” Austin says. “I think he’s taking one of her group classes next week.”

No private lessons for Juan, then. I’d like to get his take on Clancy after his class, though.

“What do you think of Clancy, Mom?” Heather asks the question that’s been on my lips for about a week as well.

“She seemed okay,” Mom says. “Your dad looked happy.”

“What about the age difference?” Lauren asks. “She’s so much younger than him.”

“That’s their business,” Mom says. “Sometimes it’s better not to have an opinion, anyway.”

I look at Nora, who is far less diplomatic. “What has Mom told you about Dad and Clancy?” I ask. My mom has been in a relationship with Nora Levine long enough that it’s become the most mundane thing to have her sitting at our table and to ask her a question like that. Although I can’t always be sure Nora will actually reply.

“That’s private,” Nora says, a crooked grin on her lips.

“Riiiiight,” Austin says. “We get it. You just don’t want to say it out loud.”

“It probably won’t last, but Dad should have his fun while he can,” Lauren translates the unspoken thoughts in our mother’s head.

Even though, out loud, that sounds quite harsh—and despite me liking Clancy a lot—I wouldn’t be too unhappy with that outcome.

“My drawing’s done.” Lily holds up the sheet of paper she’s been working on. Everyone congratulates her as though she just drew the modern-day version of the Mona Lisa. Wyatt rolls his eyes. Lucas eats another pancake. Mercifully, he forgot about the pancake eating contest. My stomach still feels a little strange—who knew learning how to tango could do that to a person?

The first thing I do when I get home is check my weekly calendar so I can text Clancy. I send her some times that would work for me, hoping she hasn’t changed her mind for some reason—like lunch with my dad.

It takes a while for her to reply. I don’t want to think about what she might be doing. But it does make me remember the dinner I have planned with my dad later this week. I want to pick his brain on possibly selling my business—and perhaps starting a new one, although I have no idea what kind of business that would be. Maybe I should take some time off. I’ve worked hard enough the past decade. Maybe I should put some effort into my love life instead. Things sure were easier when I was happily self-partnered and simply didn’t care about dating.

I’m watching TV when Clancy finally replies. We send a few messages back and forth to settle on the best time for both of us—Wednesday afternoon from three to five—then she sends me a link to a video of a couple dancing the worst tango ever, accompanied by the text:

You’re already so much better than them. ;-)

I reply:

Thanks. Must be the teacher.

Damn. I’ve already pressed send—my fingers too quick for my conscious brain to keep up—when I realize that might sound like flirting. Or just a nice compliment. She is a really good teacher, after all.

She replies with another video, this time of a couple dancing an immaculate tango. Her text reads:

This is what we’ll aspire to. The woman used to be my teacher in New York.

The caption under the video reads: Tango Champion Maya Mercer at the 1992 World Professional Latin Dance Championships.

Your hopes for me might be too high.

I text back after having drooled over Clancy’s former teacher dance the hell out of that tango a few times. The clip is utterly mesmerizing.

Clancy replies with yet another link, this time to a video of her dancing the tango, with another woman, to the iconic duet “I Should Have Kissed You” by Izzy Adler and Lana Lynch.

I want to reply but I need some time to process this turn of events. That song is a massive lesbian anthem for good reason. Both Lana Lynch and Izzy Adler are gay. The song is full of sexy sapphic lyrics. There’s no subtext about it. Holy cow. What’s happening? Or am I reading too much into it? It’s just a clip of Clancy dancing the tango. And, boy, does she know how to dance a tango. And fuck, for the life of me, I can’t think of a clever comeback—how can I, after seeing that?

Wow

I type just to say something, because I don’t want this text conversation to end. I sound so stupid.