Waltz This Way (v1.1) (38 page)

Mel tweaked the fabric of his jacket. “No one said I’ve forgiven you, not totally. But I want to— because holding onto the bitterness is exhausting. Give me some time on that, okay?”

Stan’s nod was of understanding. “But Neil?”

Sadness deep in her soul swept over her. For the losses Neil had suffered, too. “Of course I’ll forgive him. It’s just going to take time. Neil and I were best friends, and by being my best friend, he could have prevented the worst mistake of my life— marrying you.”

“ Ouch— that hurts.” Stan rubbed his chest.

Mel chuckled against his tweed jacket. “It’s just the truth. I’m not going to candy coat this and say you didn’t do something you most definitely did do, Stan. I’ve learned a thing or two since we got divorced, and one of them is to be truthful with yourself and keep everything real. You lied for a long time— that sucks. But there were good things, too. Things that I’ll always appreciate.”

The rumble of his ironic laughter settled in her ear. “Jesus, Melina. You’re a better person than I am.”

Mel snorted. “ Nah— wait until you get home and read my e-mail.”

“I deserve whatever you said in that e-mail.”

“Yep. You sure did. Be warned the e-mail that has the subject header, ‘You Scum-Sucking Pig’ in your inbox.”

He set her from him, smiling at her like he had so long ago. Gone was the angry scowl he’d greeted her with over the last years of their marriage. “Do you think we’ll be friends, Melina? Maybe in the future?”

“Can a girl ever really have enough gay friends,” she teased, feeling lighter than she had in a long time. “I mean, if it wasn’t for you and your constant nagging about my ass, I wouldn’t look like this, now would I?”

His head shook back and forth. “I was just acting out because I was angry, Melina. Your ass was fine.”

“No. It was out of shape and tired. It might not be a hundred pounds anymore, but it’s in shape, and best of all, it’s healthy.”

“So what will you do about your Drew? You love him. I can see this on your face.”

Mel shrugged, hoping to keep indifference in her tone, but her throat clogged with tears once more. “There’s nothing to do. He wasn’t the man I thought he was. I had an opportunity to do something I love, and it’s a love he just won’t or can’t understand. He thought I was in it solely for the money.”

Stan wagged a long, graceful finger of admonishment at her. “But you didn’t really want to do the show, Melina. I know. My contacts told me you turned them down because you wanted to ‘go home to your kids’ was the quote, I believe.”

Her sigh was wistful, her heart tight. “I was a little in love with the idea, flattered, too. But here’s the catch. Drew had to let me go because he wanted to see me happy and trusted that I’d find a way to work it out with him if I did do Celebrity Ballroom. But he didn’t, Stan. Drew may not necessarily understand my passions. He doesn’t even have to relate to them. I definitely don’t get his love of some piece of wood, but I respect what he makes from it. What he does have to do is let me have the freedom to do them because they’re mine, and I won’t let anyone take them from me again. I want the freedom to make whatever choices I want and have him trust I would never do something to hurt him or Nate.”

Stan cupped her chin, running his thumb over her bottom lip.

“You’ve learned much since our divorce, eh, my little borscht?”

Mel smiled at the use of his old endearment. “You know what I learned, Stan? How to buy chocolate frosting in bulk at discount prices.”

Stan barked a laugh. “I’m proud of you, Melina, and this Drew? He’s an idiot to let you go. That’s all I’ll say on the matter. Now,” he pointed to her laptop on the bed, “I hear a house on me is in your near future. What do you say to allowing me to help you look? I have immaculate taste.”

Stan plopped on her bed, dragging the laptop over his knees, his body relaxed, and Mel grinned at him amidst the pink pillows her father had bought her to make the room feel more like hers.

An invisible burden she hadn’t realized existed fell off her shoulders then. The weight of Stan’s betrayal eased like a piece of dead-wood dislodging from some invisible place inside her. The anguish of her lost youth let go with a gentle release.

Peace settled inside her.

And it was good.

“Your father, he’s a clod, no?”

Nate laughed at the man who watched while his dad attempted to follow the steps his Aunt Myriam showed him, but he kept tripping over his big feet.

Nate kicked at the sawdust in the basement of his grandparents’ house, making designs in it with his sneakers. “Yeah. It’s like his feet refuse to do what his brain tells them to. He just keeps fumbling around with his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth like some dork.”

The man stuck his hands inside the pockets of his trousers and nodded. “This is because he doesn’t feel the music.”

“Yeah. That’s exactly what Ms. Cherkasov says, too.”

“You’re this Nate she tells me about? The one who holds such promise?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t really love to dance, do you?”

Nate let his eyes drift from the man’s to the floor in shame. “No, sir. I don’t like it at all.”

“Aha. But your intentions when you lied, they were good, weren’t they? I know this after speaking at length with your lovely grandmother tonight.”

Nate clucked his tongue, jamming his fists into the pockets of his jeans. “Oh, totally, but if you don’t mind me saying, everything’s gone to hell in a hand basket now. I blew it.”

“Blowing it has degrees of severity.”

“Tell that to my dad.”

“Yes. He behaved quite irrationally.”

“Yep. That’s why we’re here. But I think we can forget it. He sucks.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yep.” Nate behaved as though he wasn’t impressed, but if Aunt Myriam saw this dude, she’d flat-out faint.

Placing a hand on Nate’s shoulder, he asked, “Do you think I might offer to help so we can win your father the woman of his dreams? I owe that to her, you know.”

“That would be bigger than any words I got,” Nate said, fighting the urge to high-five the guy and come off like some lame fan.

“Then shall we?” He swept his arm in the direction of the middle of the basement floor.

Just then, his Aunt Myriam spun around on what was supposed to be a 3/ 8 turn.

And fell with a screech.

Into a real-live faint, all limp limbs and pale face to go with it.

Which Nate was relieved to find was okay to think was cool because his dad did catch her.

No harm. No foul.

“Mel!” Frankie yelled from the corner of the diner, waving her over to their table where her pity party awaited.

She dragged her feet toward Max, Jasmine, and Frankie with a heavy thud and dropped her purse on the table with a dejected thump.

“Darling?” Jasmine said on a glance upward at her. “You look like utter crap.”

Mel flashed a wan smile at them— these women who’d taught her so much. “Crap is the new pink, Jasmine. You, above all else, should know that.” She slid into the booth beside Maxine who threw an arm over her shoulder and gave her a hug.

“We heard and saw,” Frankie said. “So who do we bash first, honey? The bashing pile, she is big. So, Stan, Neil, or Drew? Who’s up first?”

Mel closed her eyes and dragged her fingers over them. They were grainy from lack of sleep and, yes, the occasional crying jag. “No one.”

Maxine tilted her chin up. “This is me telling you, you’ve taken my motto on forgiveness too far, Mel. I’m all for a healthy attitude, but you’ve gone overboard. It really would be okay if you got one good freak on.”

Cupping her chin in her hand, Mel looked at them. “I’m okay. I really am. I’m not in love with the fact that my ex-husband stayed married to me to cover for his homosexuality. I also not in love with the fact that Neil didn’t stop me from marrying him— or that for all these years he knew not just Stan was gay, but he was, too. And I’m really not in love with the fact that Drew called me some crappy things. Yet, I’m still standing, and I haven’t once considered booze or drugs. Okay, once I did. It was a long night of chocolate-frosting withdrawals. But I didn’t consider it for long. Swear it.”

Jasmine’s beautiful smile was filled with sympathy. “We tried to call you a million times, honey.”

Frankie nodded, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.

“We did. We’ve all suffered betrayal, but Jesus, Mel. You got the market cornered. So how can we help if bashing isn’t the chosen show of solidarity?”

Mel’s smile was of gratitude. “Just keep reminding me that breaking up with Drew was the right thing to do.”

Each woman sighed.

Mel eyed them. “What? It wasn’t the right thing to do? Wouldn’t that contradict everything you preach, Maxine?”

Max nodded. “You know, we’ve all said the same thing to ourselves over and over. Yet, every one of us thinks that it doesn’t make any sense and there’s something more to it that Drew’s just not sharing. But none of us can put our fingers on it. Don’t ask us why we think that, it was just an immediate hunch on all our parts.”

Mel gripped her napkin. She was sick of hearing that, and she said as much. “Here’s something you can do. Quit saying there’s something else. You guys, my dad, even Jackie said that, but if there’s something else, that ‘something’ is as elusive as my once twenty-two-inch waist. So leave it alone, please?” Please, please, please leave it alone. She was exhausted from hoping Drew’s “something else” would magically reveal itself.

It was over between her and Drew, and unlike her slowly coming to terms with what Neil and Stan had done, she was having a hard time coming to terms with what Drew had done— said.

Jasmine’s hands went in the air like two beautifully manicured white flags. “Consider it left. We were just throwing out the possibility.”

Maxine and Frankie nodded in unison. “So Nikos says his mother’s meatloaf cures even the most painful of heartbreaks,” Frankie joked with a smile. “Want some?”

Mel squeezed her eyes shut then popped them open and forced a smile. “You bet I want some— and supersize it.” Because if meatloaf was the answer, she was going to need a Dumpster-sized portion to cure this heartbreak.

“Why am I here, Nate?” Mel toed what she suspected was the edge of a curb.

“Please, Ms. Cherkasov. It’s a surprise I made just for you. Just keep your eyes closed and hold my hand.”

Nate’s plea and her genuine affection for him were the only things keeping her from ripping off this crazy blindfold and hitting the ground running. “I willingly got into a car with you and your Aunt Myriam, who shouldn’t drive unless someone else is doing it for her. Now I want to know what’s going on,” she demanded, fighting a surly tone.

When Nate had shown up at her father’s door tonight, Myriam in tow, and told her he had a surprise for her, she’d been happy, and skeptical. Happy because she’d missed seeing him, skeptical because what kind of surprise could Nate possibly have for her? Had he re-created the atom bomb with toothpicks and Krazy Glue?

After checking with Nate to be sure his father knew where he was, they’d gotten into the death trap Myriam called a car and only broke out when it was a special occasion.

Before they’d arrived at this secret destination, Nate had insisted Mel put on a blindfold while Myriam careened down winding roads, which was just as well. If she were going to die, she’d just as soon do it not seeing the Mack truck that took her out.

Five minutes or so later, Myriam screeched to a halt and told her and Nate to get out. A creak of a door, with Nate’s hand around hers, and she heard the sound of an engine roaring back to life and leaving them wherever they were standing.

“I don’t like this, Nate,” Mel fretted, rubbing her arms for warmth.

“I worked really hard on this, Ms. Cherkasov. Please, just trust me.”

Mel’s ears pricked to the plea of frustration she was hearing in Nate’s voice and softened. “Okay, okay, but if I break a leg, I can’t teach in a cast and on crutches. So keep that in mind, partner.”

Nate placed his hands on her arms from behind and moved her somewhere warmer, taking her jacket from her shoulders, and said, “Just stand right there, okay? I’m going to leave you for a sec, but swear you won’t take the blindfold off.”

“I’d pinky swear it, but I can’t see your hand.”

Nate laughed, his chuckle easy and light. “Just promise.”

“Promise.”

“Be right back.”

“Don’t be long. I’m not a huge fan of the dark, or surprises in the dark. Did I mention I don’t like the dark? I’m only down with this because I sort of like you.”

Nothing. Silence. Mel’s nostrils flared. Was that the scent of freshly cut wood? A tear threatened to slip from her eyes beneath the blindfold. The smell reminded her of Drew— his shirt off that warm fall day— naked from the waist up as he varnished an end table for his mother under the oak tree in the McPhee’s front yard.

She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to break her promise and rip off the blindfold. “Nate?” she squeaked into the room.

Her ears pricked when the music to “Come Away With Me” began to play. Always, when she heard this song, it would remind her of her and Drew, swaying in the dark of his bedroom, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Was Nate trying to rip her heart out?

Of course not. He had no idea.

He only knew that this was one of her favorite songs to waltz to.

She’d told her class that when they’d snickered the first time she’d played it for them. Nate wouldn’t know the meaning of the song went much deeper for her now.

The shuffle of feet, more than one pair, sent a shiver of fear along her spine until Nate said, “It’s okay, Ms. Cherkasov. Gimme your hand and walk forward.”