Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Her voice trembled, but she didn’t look away.
“I know you. I know how deeply you love your family, and I would never ask you to stop showing up for them. But this?” She gestured between us. “This isn’t you showing up for them. This is you abandoning yourself because it feels easier than sitting in the uncertainty.”
My heart squeezed painfully at the truth in her words.
“Your parents don’t want this for you,” she continued. “Ginny doesn’t want this for you. And no matter how impossible this feels right now, there is a way through it. There is light. But I can’t make you look for it. I can’t make you choose something different if you’re too scared to believe it’s possible.”
She stood then, grabbing her things with trembling hands.
“Your sister needs you right now,” she said more softly. “And I’m sorry if I made this harder. That was never my intention.”
Her eyes found mine again, and everything in me shattered.
“But when you love someone, you don’t just stand beside them. You tell them the truth, even when it hurts.”
She slid her jacket on, pulling her hair free before folding her arms tight across her chest.
“I’ll go. I’ll give you what you’re asking for.” She swallowed. “But only if you give me something.”
“Anything.”
Her gaze locked onto mine.
“I want you to be honest with yourself,” she said. “Not about what you should do. Not about what everyone else needs. About what you want. And I don’t want you to bury it under all the reasons you can’t have it. I don’t want you to dress it up as responsibility or sacrifice or duty. I want you to look at it for what it is.”
Her lips pressed together, a small, sad smile flickering.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I’m not perfect. But I’ve never felt surer of who I am or where I’m going than I have with you.”
Her words eviscerated what little resolve I had left.
“The rest?” she said, taking a step back. “That’s yours to figure out. And if, when you strip everything else away, it’s me your heart wants…” Her voice wavered. “Then we’ll figure it out. No matter how impossible it feels.”
She held my gaze, steady despite the tears.
“But I won’t make you choose me,” she finished softly. “You have to decide if I’m something you’re willing to fight for.”
Emily
I’d been staring at my reflection since I was a little girl.
I remembered singing in the mirror with my parents before bedtime, the way we’d laugh and twirl until one of them picked me up in a fit of giggles and deposited me into my bed to sleep. Then, there were the dance recitals, the way Mom would carefully fix my hair and makeup, and we’d have stars in our eyes when the full look was put together.
In high school, that reflection felt like an enemy. I was critical, scrutinizing every flaw, and that carried with me into college. That was when I started to feel resentment toward my reflection — that the young woman staring back at me wasn’t enough.
Ever since, I’d struggled with accepting the woman staring back at me. I’d tried to fit her into a box that would make my parents proud, that would make people understand who I was, that would help me be more palatable. Don’t be so loud, I’d say. Don’t be so crude with your jokes.
Don’t tell them how much you love dance.
Don’t admit how much you long to spend your life bringing others joy through dance.
Don’t stay anywhere too long — they might see right through you.
Now, I was staring at my reflection in a bustling dressing room full of NFL dancers. My hair was curled and pinned to perfection, my makeup immaculate, eyes bright and edgy with the eyeliner and thick lashes that framed them. My lips were a bright glossy red, my nails the same, and the uniform I’d worked so hard to have the privilege to wear hugged me like a glove.
I should have been ecstatic. I was finally cleared to dance again — even if it was at a reduced level. I wouldn’t be tumbling or doing any crazy hand-intensive moves, but I would be on the field with my brothers and sisters. I’d be dancing with thousands of eyes watching.
I’d be home.
But the problem was that somewhere along the way in this crazy season, I realized that home for me wasn’t on the field at all.
It was with Braden.
Home was the way he made me feel safe, the way he made space to listen to me when I was at my most vulnerable. Home was how he laughed with me, how we lost hours in bed together, how my heart pitter-pattered every time I saw him. Home was his smile and his big warm body encompassing mine. It was the way he saw me for exactly who I was and said yes. I want that. I need that. Give me more.