I had my pointes on and was ready to go in record time. I moved without the accompaniment of music, each movement an extension of what I was feeling. By the time I'd worked up a sweat, my pity party had come to a wrap. And by the time my toes started tingling, I'd built up enough positive endorphins to remind myself that life was pretty damn good.
Taking a water break, I checked my phone. I was checking for missed calls or texts, but the time caught my eye. My eyes bulged. I should have stopped being surprised how I could lose time when I danced the way I had been today, but losing four hours in the span of what seemed like a couple dances wasn't something I'd ever gotten used to.
The studio was quiet on weekend nights, and, other than the teenage employee obsessed by her phone, I was the last person in the place. After changing back into my shoes, I hurried to my car, rushing back to an empty apartment. I turned on every light, even the TV just to have a little background noise. Finishing cleaning up the mess from last night's botched dinner, I poured a bowl of granola cereal and curled up on the couch, my phone balanced on my lap. I tried not to check the phone screen every five seconds.
An hour later, the self-pity was starting to trickle back into my veins. Jude must have had a crazy-busy day of practice; he usually was able to shoot me a quick text or two throughout the day. But not today. I was resolved to not become one of those clingy girls who had to check in with her guy every hour, although tonight, I was getting dangerously close to jumping on that bandwagon.
After minutes of tapping my phone's screen, stalling, convincing myself not to call him, only to convince myself to call him the next second, the phone chimed.
I was so excited I nearly dropped it. I was in such a hurry, I didn't check the screen to see who was calling.
"I missed you so damn much today," I greeted Jude, my smile stretching into place.
Silence for one second on the other end. "I missed you so damn much, too?" was the uncertain reply. The female reply.
"Holly?"
"Most days," she answered.
"Oh," I said, trying not to sound upset. "Sorry. I thought you were Jude."
"Sorry to disappoint you, Lucy," she said, as little Jude started talking up a storm in the background.
"No. I'm glad it's you," I said, telling a half-truth.
"Liar." She paused, hushing little Jude, and told him to go play with his blocks. "What? Did you and Jude have some sort of phone sex date tonight?"
I rolled my eyes. If only Holly knew. "How many times do I have to tell you that our sex life is none of your business?"
"You can tell me as many times as you want. I'm never going to stop sticking my nose in you and Jude's freaky business," she said. "I'm a single mom, Lucy. I have a better chance of dying in a plane crash than I do of getting laid again, so stop acting like such a prude and let me keep on living vicariously through you."
Another eye roll, but only because we were on the phone. Holly didn't tolerate eye rolling in her presence, especially if it was directed at her. "Go find another couple to live vicariously through. Jude and I are officially off-vicarious-limits."
"Repeating. I'm a single mom. The only thing that's more unlikely than getting laid is making friends with another couple I can live vicariously through." Jude went off like a siren again. She let him go this time. "And now I'm officially an unemployed single mom," she said with a sigh.
"What?" I said, sitting up on the couch. "You got fired from the salon? You've been there for years. What happened?"
She cleared her throat. "I may or may not have 'accidentally' mixed up hair dyes. I 'might' have applied bright green hair color to a customer who also happened to be my brother's ex-girlfriend, who became an ex after screwing half the county's male population behind his back." I could hear the sly smile in Holly's voice. "It was a total coincidence."
"Of course it was," I deadpanned.
"Anyways, my boss said coincidence or not, a stylist mixing up platinum blond for neon green was a fireable offense."
"Please. Like every stylist doesn't have a similar story," I said. "At least your 'coincidence' came with a swift kick in the ass from karma to your cheating client."
Holly chuckled. "This is why I called you, Lucy. I know cheer isn't really your thing, but you always manage to cheer me up whenever I need it."
"Cheer aside," I said, "I'm glad I could help."