Being the stubborn child that she was, she always insisted on eating premade meals, things she could make easily without anybody else’s help. When Elizabeth passed, her father tried to take up cooking and meal prep, so Della had something to eat that wasn’t loaded with sugar, especially considering Adele had become hyperaware of what she was eating, no thanks to the expectations that came with being a dancer and the way the tabloids came at her when she put on weight from the lack of proper nutrition. It hadn’t mattered that she burnt twice as many calories from her routines, she struggled with her body image because of everything in her life. I’d read that it was common for adolescents to have those challenges, but Della was a special case. She spiraled with the stress of her loss, in how swiftly everything changed for her because of her parents.
“I still have a long way to go considering I nearly burnt down my father’s house trying to prepare Christmas dinner that one year. I’m still afraid to do anything with turkey.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “If it makes you feel better, I can help you this year. Can’t just give up because of one incident.”
My mind went to my conversation with Sophie about her dancing, but the words didn’t feel the same. “You’re right, but do you really want to risk your kitchen getting burnt to a crisp?”
I shrugged. “I have the money to fix it.”
“Very encouraging.”
“I do my best.”
Her phone chirped from somewhere in the kitchen, causing her to look behind her. I frowned when she got up and dug through the purse that she’d draped on the island next to the empty fruit bowl. The sigh escaping her lips made my brows pinch. “Trouble?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Della.”
She walked back over, dropping into her chair with her phone still in hand. “My professor emailed me about an opportunity that she’d brought up months ago. The deadline is this weekend and she needs an answer.”
“What is the opportunity?”
“An art class.”
I waited for her to enlighten me.
She set her phone down. “It’s an art class I’ve been wanting to be part of since sophomore year when the school started offering it. It’s not a regular class, it’s more like an invite-only event that only happens every two years and lasts for a week. They select students based on submissions throughout the year and apparently mine was one of them.”
Pride swept through me. “That’s great, Della. Why do you seem upset by it if you’ve wanted to do it for two years?”
“I just…” She licked her lips, her eyes darting to the phone. “I haven’t been very inspired since Dad passed away. I’m afraid if I go that they’ll be disappointed with what I produce. They bring top artists to evaluate and offer guidance. It’d be embarrassing if they felt they wasted a spot on me.”
“What did I tell you about putting yourself down?”
“You don’t get it, Theo.”
I learned toward her, my food forgotten along with hers. “Then make me.”
She met my gaze. “It’s simple. I don’t feel as though I’m good enough. I mean, my art. I don’t think my art is good enough.”
But that wasn’t what she meant at all. “I know you better than that, Della. Don’t try to bullshit me again.”
She said nothing.
We returned to our food, clearing off our plates in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but thick. I knew she wanted to say something but wouldn’t let herself.
“You going to tell me what’s on your mind? Can’t say I like seeing the way your brows pinch. The crease is back.” The crease was a tell that something bothered her.
“You don’t want to hear it, Theo.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, eyeing her in disbelief. “Try me.”
“I was thinking that you’re a good man, and that I’m glad you’re in my life.” Her delivery was soft as she looked up at me, her lips neutral as we locked eyes. “I owe you a lot for what you’ve done for me all these years.”
This time, it was me who remained silent.
“That’s all,” she whispered.
Chapter Five
Della
As soon as the door opened from the crowded hallway to the side stairwell, I inhaled a breath of fresh air that wasn’t littered with Chanel perfume, marijuana, or some other odor. Rounding the corner that lead to the first floor of the Freidman Art Center, I stopped in my tracks when three familiar faces appeared directly in my path and blocking me from passing.
“Adele,” Lauren Atwell greeted with the usual tight smile she’d give competition. I used to think it was genuine, but I’d learned better over the years from dancing alongside her.
Jamie Miller and Ophelia Wright were directly beside her, both looking less intimating and more welcoming than their pack leader. I gave them both small smiles, but only Jamie returned it. “Hey, Della.”
Lauren all but glared at Jamie’s kind response. I barely refrained from rolling my eyes before she caught me. “We’ve missed you at practice. There was talk that you may even be coming back.”
Talk that started because of Sophie, no doubt, but I didn’t call her out on it. “I heard the new girls are doing well. Sounds like there’s a lot of competition this year.”
Ophelia opened her mouth to speak, but Lauren cut her off. “They’re okay, but obviously not as good as the seasoned dancers. So, is it true? Are you coming back?”
Sighing, I adjusted the floral bag draped around my arm. It wasn’t as big as most backpacks I’d seen others have but held what little materials I needed for the semester. “No, it isn’t. If you don’t mind, I really need to get going.”
“Ah, yes. To the art department.” The way she said it made my eye want to twitch, but I held back. Her tone was no different than Sophie’s, and it bothered me more than I liked it to. Lauren’s opinion shouldn’t matter. Sophie was family, so the bubble of disappointment that appeared when I saw disapproval in her eye made sense. Lauren was just somebody who loved getting under my skin, and I hated that I let her so easily. “I heard you were honing your talents elsewhere. It’s a shame. I liked having actual competition.”
Jamie and Ophelia’s frowns were evident to everybody but Lauren. I was tempted to say that she had competition standing right beside her, which wouldn’t have been untrue. I did hear that Jamie had begun training harder to earn a better spot in recitals, and Ophelia always had the kind of natural talent that would take her far if she really wanted it to. Their mothers never pushed them as hard as Lauren’s did with her, so their training wasn’t as vigorous.
“Like I said,” I told her quietly, “I need to go. It was good seeing you guys.” I made a point to look at Jamie and Ophelia when I said that, giving them smiles that they both returned with head bobs.
When I sidestepped Jamie and escaped, I heard Lauren snap at them. I felt bad, but Jamie and Ophelia were old enough to decide who they wanted to be friends with. Once I stepped into the open first floor, I was immediately pulled into a hard side that smelled like lemon drops and mischief. I eyed my best friend as he grinned at me like he was innocent. “I was going to rescue you when I saw the shark enter, but Lauren scares me, and I got a papercut earlier, so she’d be able to smell my fear like blood.”