Page 10 of The Frathole

She might’ve been right about all that, but going with the flow isn’t really my thing, and when I fuck up again during my Sunday afternoon class at the student center, I halt in place, trying to remember which foot I need to start with to get going again.

“We’re supposed to keep moving,” my partner says, sounding annoyed because this isn’t the first time I’ve messed up during this song…or the first time she’s been paired with me.

“I just need a second.”

One of the other pairs, an older couple who said on the first day that they joined to reignite the spark in their relationship, passes by.

“Keep moving, Marty!” Jenni calls out. “You were doing fine!”

“Okay, okay,” I say, forcing myself to continue, fumbling my way through the basic steps we’re learning, then move on for a few more steps.

Tango is not exactly effortless for a guy as uptight as I am, butI’m such a ball of anxiety, I’ll try anything if it might help me out.

Meditation.

Yoga.

Cognitive behavioral therapy.

Dialectical behavioral therapy.

All my attempts the past few years have helped, but I’m a work in progress. That’s what my therapist says, at least.

After class wraps up, Jenni pulls me aside. “Hey, Marty, how are you feeling so far about the class?”

“Eh, it’s okay.”

“I would encourage you to practice at home a little more.”

“Practice would be a lot easier if I didn’t have a roommate.” Several times now Ryan’s stormed in when I’ve been in the middle of working on my steps. Guy really gets a kick out of that.“Oh, no, please. Keep going. I gotta see this.”

That goddamn frathole.

“Maybe your roommate could help you,” Jenni says.

If only she knew how pissed Ryan has been at me the past week, she’d realize he’s not helping me with much of anything right now.

“Just try to relax. That’s what tango’s all about. Going with the flow. Easing up. And if you mess up—”

“I know, keep going. Easier said than done.”

She grins. “You’re doing fine. I don’t mean to single you out. I can tell by the way you’re doing it that you’re in your head, trying to get it right, and that’s not how tango works. Be easy on yourself.”

Jenni doesn’t know I’m here at the recommendation of my therapist, and I don’t see a reason to point it out, so I thank her for her suggestion before grabbing my bag and heading out.

When I get out to the courtyard, I consider giving my brother a call.

You just talked to him yesterday. He’s doing fine.

My younger brother, Aiden, is in high school right now, and he’s suddenly too cool to talk to his big bro, so I try to give him his space.

I return to the house to find Angie, Ty, and Lance hanging out in the living area.

Angie Williams looks like a goddess, sitting on the sofa, her brown hair practically sparkling in the afternoon light that filters in through the blinds. She laughs at something Lance says, rolling her head back, all teeth as she cherishes the moment. Simply seeing her so at ease relaxes the muscles I tensed up through most of my class earlier.

As she recovers from her laugh, she spots me, her eyes lighting up, only it’s the same way they light up when she sees Lance. Like she’s seeing a friend. Of all the guys Angie could pick to go out with, I know Marty McGovern is very far down her list.

“How was tango class?” she asks.