Maybe, in my heart, I never had.
chapter thirty-three
Pris
She breathed in the heated quiet of late afternoon and closed her eyes, tipping her head back. The scent of lemon mixed with floral blooms. The lazy buzz of a bee whispered in her ear. Her feet were bare and warm from sunshine. Her belly was pleasantly full from the plate of spaghetti vongole she’d indulged in. Not usually one of her go-to meals at restaurants, but the memory of her mother made her order it. Mom had always adored the simple dish, and whenever they went out for Italian she’d order it amid everyone groaning and teasing her about her unadventurous foodie spirit.
But even that dish had been leveled up, and Pris finished every bite.
Bailey was taking a siesta. Dev was out for a walk with Hawke. And it was time for her to do some work.
With a sigh, she opened her eyes and pressed the point of her pen to her paper. What else did she like to do? The list was supposed to contain all the things that made her happy so she could begin to pinpoint what direction she wanted her life to take. It sounded like an easy enough exercise, and she’d eagerly begun, but after half an hour, her list still included a few sparse items.
Dancing
Yoga
Helping others
Fashion and styling
Running
That was it.
She sucked.
Pris groaned and looked at the other column of jobs she’d done over the years. Besides ballerina, she’d worked and headed multiple charity boards, tried her hand at a fashion blog that fell flat because she wasn’t engaging enough (and hated posting pics of herself), and ran various large functions for the charities she headed. Pris knew they were important. Those events were planned out a year in advance and were the primary fundraisers everyone counted on. But when she looked deeper, she still couldn’t figure out what brought her joy.
It always came back to dancing. But she’d turned her back on it long ago, afraid to open the door and cause more heartbreak. Had she been wrong? She’d dismissed teaching as a cop-out, but now she wondered if it’d been an excuse. Watching others follow and fulfill their dreams made her feel like a quitter.
Which was ridiculous, because she’d made a proactive choice. Wasn’t it time she accepted the past and tried to build a better now for herself?
Maybe she could teach yoga?
Her phone buzzed and she threw the notebook down and picked up. “Garrett? Everything okay?”
“Yep. Wanted to check in now since I’ll be in court late, then headed to Gus’s Tavern for dinner with Roy. Didn’t want to miss your call.”
Warmth flushed through her. They’d spoken every night, and the vibe felt different. They discussed things beyond the activities of the day, even though he loved hearing about their daily adventures, and spoke about things they hadn’t touched on in years. How Garrett sometimes felt trapped by his own success and responsibilities. The way she felt less than whole after Thomas left, because he’d taken a piece of her with him. They laughed over better memories from when they were young. It felt in a strange way as if they were dating again, but it was only their voices connecting over thousands of miles.
To Pris, it was romantic. Like getting to know her husband all over again.
“What are Frick and Frack up to?” he asked.
She laughed. “Bae is napping and Dev went for a walk with Hawke. I think she’s really crazy about him.”
“Is that good or bad? Having an affair in another country can cause some issues if they want to pursue it.”
“I don’t know, but it’s nice to see Dev happy. Maybe she’s just living in the moment.”
“Dev? Are you kidding? Isn’t she the ultimate planner?”
“Yeah, but things are different here.” Pris tried to explain the way being in Positano, where her mother had once lived, had given all of them a new perspective. “I know it sounds crazy, but all of us finally admitted things to one another. Personal stuff. Stuff I don’t think we even realized ourselves.”
“Like us?”
His low voice reached out to her and lingered. “Yes. I told them about us. “
“Did they give you any advice?”
“No. It was nice. They just . . . listened.”
He let out a breath. “Yeah. We’ve forgotten how to do that with each other. This house is empty without you, Pris. But I feel like you’ve been gone a long time even when you were here.”
“I feel the same about you. I don’t want to do that anymore. I want us to both start to choose each other. Is that something you can do? Even if your job comes second?”
“I’m going to damn well try.”
“Me too. I’m sitting here in the garden and making lists of things I love. Trying to figure out what direction I need to take. I thought about taking art classes, becoming a yoga teacher, or starting my own not-for-profit.”
“You can do anything you set your mind to. But aren’t you missing the thing that you love the most? Ballet?”
The memory of her worn pointe shoes floated in her vision. Sewing them so carefully along the seams to extend their wear. The feel of her toes as they slid home. The freedom of giving in to her body by using movement and music rather than her head. Longing cut deep and raw, but this time, Pris let herself feel it. “I do miss it. But I’m forty years old, Garrett. An old lady in the dance world. My time is over.”
“I’m not talking about performing. What about signing up for ballet classes again? Getting back in shape for you—not anyone else? Or teaching? God, Pris, you’re so damn good with kids. It doesn’t have to be elementary. You can teach middle school or high school. You have contacts.”
“Who’d want a ballerina out of her prime who’s been out of that world?”
“You danced with the New York City Ballet! You took my and everyone else’s breath away. Do you think that’s normal, Pris? That’s a piece of immortality, but you’ve let it define you. It will never be the same, but you can have ballet in your life in a new way. Don’t you want to try?”
She looked at her notebook. She thought about the work she did to fill the time and the feeling of purpose she constantly craved—the same purpose that had slowly wrung her out day by day, until there was nothing left for her to give. Either to herself or to Garrett.
He was right. She was limited only by the story she spun for herself and her past. As for pride? Why did she care? She did nothing wrong by walking away and choosing a life with her husband. Her mistake had come from pretending it was all or nothing, by identifying herself so closely to her past career that she’d left no room to find other parts of herself.