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“And don’t forget to lock the doors and eat. Make sure you eat, okay?” Ali says, zipping her suitcase. She’s been fussing all morning. She’s heading to Paris for work with the fashion magazine she works for. It’s her dream to go to Paris, but I’ll admit, with Ria in Florida on holiday and Ali gone, I’m going to feel a little lost. Since I met them, I’ve never spent more than a week away from at least one of them.

“Yes, Mom, I will,” I say teasingly.

She wheels her case to the front door, and I follow behind, pulling her carry on.

“Okay, you call me, anytime and Brad. You call him if you need anything and he’s going to check in on you.” I roll my eyes at the idea of him checking in on me as if I were a little child, but a flutter in my belly stirs at the thought of seeing him.

“I will. You need to get going. You don’t want to miss your flight,” I say, pinging the hair elastic that’s on my left wrist.

Her hand covers mine to stop me from continuing with my nervous habit.

“Gabs,” Ali says softly. I look up at her, her tear-filled eyes softening when a tear of my own rolls down my cheek.

“Come here,” she says, throwing her arms around me and pulling me into a tight hug.

I owe so much to Ali. She offered me a home when I was running from mine. She’s helped me through my darkest times and pulls me out of my shell when I need it. I know we won't live together forever, and this time on my own will be good for me. But, God, am I going to feel a little lost without her.

“I’m going to miss you.” I sniff.

“Not as much as I’m going to miss you, Little G.” I chuckle, the tears falling harder now at the use of my nickname she gave me back in our therapy group.

We break the hug and both wipe our tears.

“Okay, you get going and if you fall in love with a French man, I need to meet him before you marry him, okay?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’ll be the first to know.” I open the door, and she blows me a kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you, Ali.” I close the door softly and turn, and slump against the door.

It’s just you, little G.

“Great job, ladies. See you next week,” I say to my class as they head out of the studio.

Not quite ready to leave, I decide I’m going to dance. I used all of my upper body strength teaching back to back classes today, but I have a buzz of nervous energy that has been there since Ali left yesterday, and I need to get rid of it.

I root in my bag for my heels but stop when I feel the familiar satin ribbon of my ballet slippers. I don’t often practice ballet anymore. It fills me with mixed emotions. It ties me to a time in my life when I was constantly scrutinized by my parents, my mother in particular, and my knee injury. But I loved it. Not wanting to go back to an empty apartment just yet, I pull out my pointe shoes and sit on the ground. I slide my feet inside the slippers with ease; the fabric molded to fit and take my time crossing over the satin ribbon around my ankle and up my calf. I reach for my phone, connecting it to the speakers, and hit play on my playlist.

I stand up, taking slow steps towards the mirrored wall and the bar that lines it. I briefly look at myself in the mirror: my hair in a high bun, my cheeks still flushed from class, and my back sports bra and yoga shorts cling to my small frame. I’ve always had issues with my body. No matter what I looked like it never seemed to be good enough. Growing up, just about anyone deemed it acceptable to comment on my body—my mother, my friends, dance teachers, men. Everyone had something to say.

I rest my hand on the bar and lift my other one in the air while I stand in first position. I wait for the beat of the music to change and begin a variation from my dance school days.

I move away from the bar, doing a piqué passé into a plié, into a sous-sus fifth, a pirouette. I move around the studio, losing myself in the song, feeling lighter than I have in months. I miss this. I miss this version of me. When I could block everything out so it was just me and the music. Life has felt a lot lately, and this is what I needed.

I end with a fouetté. Turning on pointe, never managing the full fouetté required to complete the Swan Lake variation, but the burn in my legs and the sting in my chest alert me that I’ve pushed my body to the max, which satisfies me, and I stop my spins. The sound of applause from a singular pair of hands echoes round the studio when the music fades, and my body freezes. When his cedarwood scent wraps around me, I instantly lower my shoulders and relax my frame. I haven’t seen Brad since the night at the restaurant a few nights ago.

I turn to face him, my heart skipping a beat when he looks at me and smiles at me like I’m the best part of his day. No one has ever looked at me the way he does.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be heading to the club?” I say breathlessly.

“Yeah, I should, but I wanted to check in on you now Ali has gone and…” He stops, his expression tense as he mulls over his words.

“And what?” I ask hesitantly, a knot in my stomach forming.

I have this deep feeling that he’s going to stop this, whatever this is. That some part of him regrets offering to help me with my intimacy issue, so I square my shoulders, preparing for him to say that we should go back to just being friends, but instead he says, “See you. I just wanted to see you, Gabriella.” His eyes search mine as if he were looking for something, but I’m not sure what.

I can’t help but smile so wide it makes my cheeks ache. “Well, now you’ve seen me,” I say softly.

“Yeah, I see you.” His gravelly tone takes my breath away. And then he steps closer and cups my face, pressing his forehead to mine. “You are a beautiful dancer.”