Chapter Nine
The Eye in Team

“Where are you?” he yelled into the phone.

 

“I. Don’t. Know,” I emphasized each word in response.

 

“Look up at the street signs,” he suggested.

 

“Okay.  Hold on.  There’s one coming.” 

 

“Well?” James inquired.

 

“Hold up.  I found parking.  Be right there,” I hung up the phone and descended into the parking garage.  Two flights of stairs upwards and I found daylight, or at least the last few moments of it as the sun began to set behind the multi-story buildings that filled the block. 

 

I turned to my right, then realizing my mistake, made an about-face and began heading left away from the garage.  At the first intersection, I realized I was at least six blocks from my intended target. 

 

“Where are you?” I read the message from James.

 

“On my way,” I responded.

 

Fifteen minutes later, I was in front of James’ apartment building.  Looking from left to right, I couldn’t find the venue. 

 

“Hey,” I called James.

 

“Yes,” James responded, although I could tell he was mid-conversation.  “She has no sense of direction,” I heard him say without any remorse.

 

“Hey,” I attempted to get his attention.

 

“Yeah.  Where are you?”

 

“In front of your apartment building.”

 

“Okay.  See you in a minute.”

 

“Wait, James?” I attempted to catch him before he hung up.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Where is this place?”

 

“Geez,” I could hear a heavy sigh.

 

“Seriously.  I have no idea where this place is.”

 

“Look up,” he suggested.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Look across the street.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“See the handsome guy waving at you?”

 

“No,” I laughed to myself.

 

“Get over here,” he yelled hanging up his phone. 

 

As I approached James outside the restaurant, he was shaking his head.  “Nice of you to join us.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“No worries.  I ordered you a drink.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You hungry?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Come on.  Let me introduce you to my friends.”

 

“You made it!” a man approached me with a hug.  “You must be Parker.”

 

“Yes,” smiled.

 

“I’m Trevor,” he placed a hand on his chest.  “And this Julianna,” he placed his hand on his girlfriend’s mid-back.

 

“Nice to meet you,” I responded just as Julianna offered me a hug.

 

“A drink?” Julianna asked.

 

“I’ve got it,” James chimed in.

 

“Come and sit next to me,” Julianna suggested and I took up position to her left at the bar.

 

“Hungry?” she inquired.  “We got charcuterie.”

 

“I am hungry, but,” I contemplated my response.

 

“She won’t eat that,” James handled it for me.

 

James snatched a menu from a few feet away down the bar and slid it in front of me.  He continued a conversation with Trevor while pointing to an item about halfway down the right side of the menu. 

 

“Yes,” was my response. 

 

“Yummy,” Julianna inserted after seeing my choice of food.

 

“We can share,” I suggested to Julianna.

 

“Save some for me,” James added. 

 

Julianna and I spoke easily on several topics and I forgot for a few minutes that we’d just met.  She asked if I had any interesting cases, believing the life of an attorney must be terribly exciting.  I assured it was not like on television and James, hearing our discussion, decided to ask about my most recent case.

 

“How did that trial work out this week?”

 

“You had a trial?” Julianna inquired.  “That’s exciting.”

 

“Trevor, you should listen to this,” James suggested to his friend.

 

“Do you do criminal law too?” Julianna asked.

 

“Nah.  She does family,” James answered for me.

 

“Oh.  Really.  That seems sad.”

 

“It is.”

 

“So, you had a trial about kids?” she asked.

 

“Not this time.  It was money.”

 

“Well, that’s my area of expertise,” Trevor commented.

 

“Accountant?” I asked of Trevor’s profession.

 

“Wealth management,” he responded. 

 

“Well, this was a case that didn’t need a trial.”

 

“Get this,” James took a sip of his drink.  “They were fighting over $20,000.”

 

“What?” Trevor seemed surprised.

 

“Wait.  It gets worse,” James suggested.  “Ask her about the attorneys’ fees for going to trial.”

 

“What did it cost each person?” Trevor asked.

 

“For preparation and trial, my client paid about $10,000.”

 

“And the other side?” James inquired.

 

“About the same.”

 

“And what happened?”

 

“We won.”

 

“Congratulations,” Julianna offered.

 

“Well, wait.  Is it really a win if you want twenty and you pay ten to get it?” Trevor asked. 

 

“Exactly,” James and I blurted simultaneously. 

 

“Well, that’s dumb,” Trevor decided and Julianna smacked him on the arm. 

 

“It’s fine,” I assured Julianna.  “I don’t disagree.”

 

“The final resolution in the case was better than our last offer to settle.”

 

“How’s that?” Trevor seemed genuinely interested.

 

“Well, we ran a cost benefit analysis.  We knew we were twenty apart and knew it would cost about ten to go to trial, so my client offered to accept her husband’s number if he contributed five to my attorneys’ fees.  She had a balance before we started trial preparation.”

 

“So, wait a minute,” Trevor wanted to make sure he understood.  “So the other guy could have gotten his number if he gave your client $5,000 and he wouldn’t have had to pay his attorney for preparation and trial?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Why did he go to trial?”

 

I shrugged my shoulders.

 

“Yeah.  That’s just dumb.”

 

“Some people focus on the principle and don’t think clearly about a good result,” James suggested.  “Right?”

 

“All of the time.  I typically tell clients that if they focus on the principle, they’re gonna lose some principal.”

 

“That’s good,” Julianna smiled.

 

“So, if you’re gonna be a dope, better gimme that dough,” James tweaked my mantra.

 

“That’s better,” Trevor offered James a cheers and I agreed.

 

By the time my truffle mac ‘n cheese showed up thirty minutes later, I was on my second glass of wine and a little tipsy from the lack of food.  We only had about ten minutes before we were heading out for the game and James suggested I let him help finish off my would-be first meal of the day.  I appreciated his suggestion, and took him up on it, but not before shoveling a few more bites and gulping a final sip of wine.

 

“You can’t leave that,” James said about the remaining wine in my glass.  He grabbed the glass and chugged the rest of the wine, set the glass back down and commanded, “let’s go.”

 

A one and a half block hike later and we were entering the arena where I attended my first every hockey game.  My sister had attempted to bring me into fandom, but hadn’t been able to steer me from time spent enjoying baseballers at play.  But the reality of the sights, sounds and excitement in person helped me understand my sister’s fascination.  It was a show, from beginning to end. 

 

If only I had actually been present for the end. 

 

It was a few minutes into the second period when James suggested we leave our seats and grab a drink.  Although I informed him he could just bring me a bottle of water, he stood, put his hand out requesting mine and said, “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

 

Trevor and Julianna had left their seats during the first intermission and we found them seated at a bar deep in conversation, not paying any attention as the game continued on the screens above them.  After procuring a cocktail and handing me a bottle of water, James walked away from the bar and took a seat in a box clearly designated for a corporation.  I stood behind him and inquired, “what are you doing?”

 

“I like this seat,” he responded without looking away from the ice down below.

 

“That’s great, but it’s not yours.”

 

“You’re no fun,” he scoffed.

 

“Sir,” a woman approached.  “Sir,” she repeated.

 

“Yes ma’am?” James still didn’t turn around.

 

“Sir, you can’t sit there.”

 

“Why not?” James finally looked her in the eye.

 

“Because that’s not your seat,” she replied.

 

“Sure it is,” James stated without a hint of fear.  “That’s John,” he pointed at a man two seats away.  “And that’s Mike,” he pointed to another man in the box.  “We work together at-” James paused and looked for the sign denoting the corporation’s name on the box. 

 

“Sir,” the woman frowned, “you need to exit the box.”

 

“Come on,” I pleaded with James.

 

“Fine,” James stood and followed me to where Trevor and Julianna were still seated at the bar.

 

As I chatted with Julianna, I turned to find James back in the box from where he was just ejected. 

 

“Crap,” I sighed.

 

“What?” Julianna inquired.

 

“He’s gonna get in trouble,” I looked over at James and Julianna’s eyes followed mine.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Trevor chimed in.  “Trust me.” 

 

“Sir,” I heard the same woman’s voice directed at James.  This time he failed to acknowledge her.  Instead, he chatted up the other men in the box and pretended not to hear the woman attempting to get his attention.

 

I continued talking to Julianna but looked over in James’ direction as security guards approached.  A few minutes later, James was standing next to us and the guards were encouraging him to put down the cocktail. 

 

“You’re a lawyer,” Julianna looked at me.  “You can fix this,” she suggested.

 

“Umm, I don’t think so,” I spoke in a hushed tone and looked around hoping the guards didn’t hear the word lawyer. 

 

Trevor stepped in and had a brief discussion with the guards before James finished his cocktail in one gulp, set the glass on the bar, and I heard James confirm, “fine.”

 

As fans screeched and squealed about whatever was happening on the ice, we were then escorted by the guards from the bar, to a hallway, to a freight elevator and to the street.  It was only halfway through our perp walk that I realized that the people on the North side of the arena were not responding to puck prowess or a random fight on the ice.  They were laughing at us and cheering on the security guards.  I only hoped nobody caught it on camera. 

 

I could see the social media tagline.  ‘Attorney for kids gets ejected from hockey game.’  Or maybe, ‘drunk and disorderly in the third period.’ Or maybe, ‘lawyers in the penalty box.’ 

 

James couldn’t hide his embarrassment once we found ourselves kicked out and effectively locked out of the arena. 

 

“Let’s go watch down the street,” Trevor suggested.

 

“Geez!” James yelled. 

 

“Oh, come on, Don E. Brook, Esquire,” I attempted to catch James’ eye.

 

“You’re such a-” he started but stopped.

 

“Yeah, I know.  Come on,” I grabbed his arm and pulled him a few steps down the block.

 

We entered the first crowded bar we found, with the third period playing across every television.  It was standing room only and we huddled in a corner as Trevor procured drinks for three and I checked my phone.

 

“So, that was hockey,” I smiled at James.

 

James paused for several moments and then finally said, “yeah, sorry.”

 

“It was an experience,” I offered. 

 

When the game ended and the home team and its fans celebrated, we ventured back onto the City streets.  Familiar music enticed us to enter a spot where dancers, none of whom I recognized, filled the space. 

 

“You’ve been taking classes, right?” Trevor asked me.

 

“Yeah,” I responded and he grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dancefloor.

 

Two chaotic yet entertaining dances later and we returned to find Julianna and James enjoying wallflower status. 

 

“That was great,” Julianna offered.

 

“You’ve been working with Natalie?” Trevor inquired.

 

“Yeah.  How did you-” I stopped myself when Trevor looked over to James with a smile. 

 

“Come on,” Julianna grabbed her boyfriend’s hand.  “My turn.”

 

The couple found their way onto the dancefloor and after a few minutes of watching, I turned to James. 

 

“Well?”

 

“Well what?”

 

“Oh, come on.”

 

“Fine.  I guess I owe you one.”

 

“One?” I chuckled and he grinned.

 

We danced for about an hour before Julianna decided to call it a night.  Despite the arresting developments of the evening, it was exciting to end the evening in dance.  It was my first experience in years of just dancing purely for fun, like I did as a teen.  It wasn’t a class or a typical social.  And other than James, none of my regular dance partners were present.  They weren’t the people who were taught the same steps and used the same sequences.  They were strangers having fun.  And I loved it. 

 

Trevor and Julianna grabbed a taxi just outside of the venue and James and I made the two-block hike to James’ apartment.   

 

“Are you coming?” James inquired, holding open the door to his lobby.

 

“I think I’m going to head out,” I responded.

 

“Yeah.  I’ll take you down to the garage.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“To get your car.”

 

“My car is few blocks that way,” I pointed to my left.  “I mean that way,” I turned and pointed to my right.

 

“You didn’t park in my garage?”

 

“No.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“I didn’t know I could.”

 

“I told you that you could.”

 

“No, you didn’t.”

 

“Maybe not explicitly, but it’s presumed.”

 

“Presumed?”

 

“When I invited you to drinks and a game, both located within a block of my apartment, and I have guest parking in my garage, you should know to park at my place.”

 

“Interesting,” was my only response.

 

“What’s interesting?” James inquired.

 

“Well, first, you are presupposing that this directionally challenged person knows the place for the drinks and the site for the game are near your apartment.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Second, you are assuming that I think like you or maybe that I can read your mind.”

 

“Okay.  So?”

 

“So, what in our history together made you think either of those things were likely?”

 

“Let’s go,” James let the door to the entrance shut and took two steps towards me.

 

“I can walk myself,” I suggested.

 

“Not a chance,” James kept walking.  “Come on.”

 

A few steps into our walk, James let out a sigh and shook his head.

 

“Still thinking about the game?” I inquired.

 

“Nope.”

 

“What then?”

 

“I was just thinking about how much easier this would be if you had listened to me.”

 

“You never said to park in your garage.”

 

“I don’t mean that.  I mean, you should’ve just gotten an apartment in my building.”

 

I didn’t respond. 

 

“Have you found a place yet?”

 

“Not yet,” I informed him.  I’d been to see several options at various locations in and around the City, but nothing felt right.  More recently, I’d been considering different options.  James believed I needed a well-positioned spot in the City, close to the action and preferably close to my dear friend.  But I felt myself being pulled in a more suburban, more spacious, more stable direction. 

 

“Boring,” James would inevitably call it, before inevitably following my lead.

 

The commute to my first practice with the team was long and unnerving.  I considered myself a City girl, but moments in traffic and walking on various streets alone reminded me the label wasn’t real.  Despite ineffective signage, I did find the studio a block from where I had parked on the street, having walked by various intimidating strangers on my way to a locked door.  It took nearly five minutes from the time I rang its bell for a man to approach from behind the door and let me in. 

 

“Are you with Sarah?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Come on in.  She’s in the back studio.”

 

“Thank you,” I offered as he locked the door behind me. 

 

I’d never practiced at such a secure facility, but based upon its location on a creepier section of Eye Street than I’d ever been, I was grateful they wouldn’t just let people come and go.  I decided to worry about the lonely, dark walk to my car later.

 

I was happy to find Mari present and after a few introductions to the team members Sarah brought together, we began with a song devoted to stretch.  The remainder of that first practice was spent learning the first four eight counts of the routine, after which we repeated what we’d learned to the song of choice.  None of us could keep up, save Sarah, who had obviously practiced in advance of our training. 

 

Besides Mari and Sarah, everyone was new to me.  There was Vivian, who I recognized from a performance at one of the big events.  She worked in IT for a defense contractor, was a member of at least two other performance teams, and lived with her two daughters in Northern Virginia.  Every sequence she mastered turned sultry and I wondered if I was up for this Kizomba styling endeavor.  I realized quickly that I’d relied heavily on my leads to bring out my movements across various dance genres, including my favorite, and I had yet to master effective solo dancing. 

 

With Vivian came Becca, another working mom who preferred Zouk but promised Vivian her participation in this team.  I’d seen her at various events and despite her pleasant greeting, she seemed uninterested in a new friend.

 

Nina, I later learned, was the wife of the man who allowed my entrance through the studio door.  He was a Bachata instructor at the studio and they were both brilliant photographers, in addition to their reported full time jobs.  The couple were the most welcoming of my new acquaintances. 

 

Taryn and Tracy, who didn’t know each other before this first meeting of our team, became fast friends.  Taryn was a government lawyer, a few years older than the rest of us, kids already grown and I’d later learn, she was a distant cousin of Elijah.  Tracy was new to the area, but not new to dance.  She had performed off Broadway and now spent her time as a freelance political reporter. 

 

Despite Tracy’s history of professional dance, Gabriela was the most experienced in the room.  She’d studied dance at elite schools and found herself as one of the more sought after teammates for any genre.  I didn’t recognize her at first but later learned that she was one of the performers at my very first Congress, the team that closed out the show and beautifully exposed the audience to something I never knew existed and still do not fully understand:  capoeira. 

 

Lastly, there was Gia, the youngest among us.  Gia was in nursing school in Baltimore, and lived off campus with a roommate who also danced but who wasn’t interested in this particular team.    Throughout our many months of practice, Gia found it hardest to make scheduled events, often held up by classes, part-time employ, or the lack of a ride. 

 

Sarah had her ten team members, and despite my previous experience with her and Mari in Kizomba ladies styling, I felt like the least likely to succeed on this team.  That is perhaps why, after a three hour first practice and nearly hour long commute home, I put in another two hours of practice on my own to ensure muscle memorization of the first part of our routine. 

 

The instant gratification of each social dance and rapid deep dive into my return to dance prompted by James and then shoved forward by me, had been replaced that Fall by a more steady, methodical building up of endurance, balance and mastery of a singular routine. 

 

I’d even taken up Yoga for better balance, strength and flexibility, building upon what I’d learned in those early classes with James at the Academy.  I’d found a new partner in Pierre’s wife, at least for Yoga, while Pierre and I continued making plans to take over the legal world, or at least to partner up formally. 

 

Despite my many distractions, there was always time for James.  Until the start of year end holidays, we still religiously spent Tuesday evenings at the Academy and attended a few socials together, but more of our time together was spent outside of dance, since James too was tied up by legal and other endeavors. 

 

The only Sunday without a scheduled practice for the remainder of that season was the weekend of Thanksgiving.  After an enjoyable holiday with family, I was driving home from my parents’ house when I spotted it and stopped.  A new model home in a development where I’d be close enough to family to enjoy their company, close enough to main roads to make for an easy commute to work, and far from the dance studios and social venues where I’d spent the bulk of my time over many months.  I vowed to go back the next day and check it out when an agent would be present to let me walk through and answer questions I wasn’t ready to ask. 

 

Within minutes of walking through the door, I knew I’d found my home.  So much so that I immediately called my parents and sister for reinforcements.  They confirmed my initial gut feeling and hours later I was making an initial deposit and selecting the site where my new home would be built.  There were four options and we all knew the spot.

 

I used to think of long-term anything as bondage.  I didn’t like making promises, even to myself, that required anything beyond what was right in front of me.  I hadn’t trusted my body to carry be through law school, through life as an attorney, and certainly not through something resembling a dance.  But I’d made it.  And more than that, I’d actually been planning for things beyond a week at a time. 

 

My cases typically lasted a year.  That was a year of planning, strategizing, and working for the best results for my clients.  But that’s just it.  My work was about meeting my clients’ needs and goals.  I rarely addressed my own long term.  Even my time in dance felt temporary.  I could go to a class or skip a class.  I could show up at a social or stay home.  Even the out of town trips weren’t a stressor because I could decide not to go or decide to leave early.  I didn’t feel that pressure of disappointment.  Not disappointing myself but disappointing others, since that’s where the real pressure lies. 

 

But I was enjoying a different season.  I was planning the start of a new partnership with Pierre, which we hoped would last through retirement.  I’d joined Sarah’s team, which was much more than a weekend event or a last-minute performance.  Sarah’s team was nearly a year-long commitment to practice and performances.  And now, I was building a house.  Decisions would be made over the next several months and I’d watch my future home raised from its current status as a pile of dirt to a place I wouldn’t soon depart.  In a way, I was contracting away my freedom, but I was also dismissing my fears.  And I felt steady, not remotely off-balance.  At least at that time.

 

“Are you coming to Austin?” Elliott inquired via text message.

 

“When?”

 

“January.”

 

“Can’t.”

 

Elliott presented me with a sad looking emoji before responding with, “but it’s my first time DJ-ing.”

 

“You’ll be great.”

 

“But you’re not coming?”

 

“Can’t.”

 

“Okay, well, that’s sucks.”

 

“Sorry.  I’ll make it up to you.”

 

“How?”

 

“How about I come to Nashville in April?”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yep.  Already made plans.  I’ll be there for a long weekend with friends.”

 

“Can’t wait,” he indicated and added a happier emoji offering. 

 

By early February, our team had mastered the entire routine and it was time to have a little fun with it.  Sadly, with so much dedicated practice and perfection, I’d lost any sense of fun or ability to bring me into the performance.  Sarah sat me down after practice one Sunday evening.

 

“I need you to find a way to bring something to it.”

 

“I’m trying.”

 

“I know,” she nodded.  “When was the last time you just went out and danced?”

 

“It’s been awhile,” I spoke honestly.  I hadn’t been to a social or a weekend event in weeks.  I’d spent all of my time planning with Pierre, holidays with the family, and constantly making decisions for the house. 

 

“Let’s go,” Sarah suggested.

 

“Where?” I responded.

 

“There’s a social tonight. 

 

“I don’t know,” I looked at my phone and noted the time.

 

“You guys wanna come?” she looked to Nina and her husband.

 

“Sure, we’ll come,” Nina answered and her husband nodded. 

 

“Okay,” I changed my shoes and followed Sarah to a spot in the City I’d never been. 

 

I was pleased to find Zeke handling the music for the evening.  It was a small space next to a restaurant still bustling with patrons.  Immediately upon entering, I recognized familiar faces.  Eddy snatched my hand before I could drop my bag and change my shoes.  For nearly an hour, I took turns with various leads, some new and some with whom I’d enjoyed many dances.  After a water break, Sarah instigated a circle and encouraged dancers to each take turns in the middle:  a little freestyle fun, she called it.  I knew she’d expect me to take my turn and I stood back a few steps to avoid it.  Sarah offered me a frown after two attempts to get me into the spotlight and then she turned to Zeke who cued up a favorite I couldn’t resist.

 

I shot Zeke a look of contempt, but it quickly turned to a smirk as I let the melodies remind me of so many amazing moments set to these particular lyrics.  Zeke nodded for me to go out and dance and with a slight push from Sarah, I gave in and found myself at the center of the onlookers.  I paused for a moment before I couldn’t help but let the music force my feet into action.  Seeing the smiles and nods, plus Sarah’s generous encouragement, I let myself go and just danced.  She only left me there for about thirty seconds before Sarah joined me in the middle and after a hug and a “yes,” danced right alongside me. 

 

“I knew you had it in there somewhere,” Sarah smiled as we headed for our cars.  “Don’t forget this.”

 

“I won’t,” I assured her. 

 

“Or I’ll make you do it again,” she grinned. 

 

“Promise?” I offered, half-jokingly. 

 

Weeks turned to months as I embedded myself in practice with the team on the weekends and spent my days in preparation for partnership with Pierre.  I knew we’d succeed in our law firm endeavor when Pierre didn’t flinch at my suggestion that we purchase a Lady Justice statue and set it prominently in our office lobby.  Pierre insisted we order a larger version than I’d selected and I must admit, she didn’t disappoint.  We often warned our clients, “if you’re looking for justice, she’s right here, not in that courthouse over there.”  Harsh but often true.    

 

James had similar plans moving forward, and spent the bulk of his time working on his own new partnership.  He was building up an infrastructure to promote that vision he’d expressed to me over our original cocktails and I knew he was excited to see it manifest.  He’d taken a break from dance and we began finding it difficult to make time for our friendship but for daily text messages and the occasional lunch.  He had joined my family for our traditional holiday feast and fit right in.  As I’d mentioned to him before, James was easy.  My family was even easier.  They often welcomed strangers to family dinners and special occasions, with most begging or finding excuses to return. 

 

James had given up trying to talk me out of my house purchase and would even send pictures of the occasional furniture piece he thought suited my taste.  I think it was his way of offering support for my choice.  He was the first non-family member to see my house fully built and furnished, after which we enjoyed a lengthy dinner at a local spot to catch up. 

 

“I can’t believe you built a dance studio in your basement,” he shook his head after a sip of red.

 

“Had to,” I smiled.

“And it all started with this,” he held up his glass.

 

“What started?”

 

“A year ago, we had a couple glasses of this.”

 

“Yes, we did.”

 

“And you thought I was weird.”

 

“Wait a minute.  I thought you thought I was weird.”

 

“Let’s face it, we’re both weird.”

 

“But the right kind of weird, right?”

 

“Cheers to that,” he touched his glass to mine. 

 

After a sip, I set my glass on the table and looked at James.  “Things are changing aren’t they?”

 

“Yep,” he responded without hesitation. 

 

“Are you ready for what’s next?”

 

“I think I am.  You?”

 

I nodded.  After another sip, I asked, “do you think you’ll ever come back to dance?”

 

“Doubt it,” he answered honestly.  “But I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

“Another glass?” the woman stood beside the table looking first to James.

 

“Another Malbec?” he asked me.

 

“I think I’d like to try a Bordeaux.”

 

“Two please,” James held up two fingers. 

 

We quickly moved beyond the start of what seemed like a somber discussion, and began chatting about our new partnerships.  I think we both knew that life was about to get busier, that we’d be spending most of our time with other people, and that perhaps we should savor the last few moments of what had been a purely platonic and yet extremely intimate friendship.

 

After she left the glasses on the table, I raised mine and offered, “to new wine.”

 

He raised his glass to mine and suggested, “may it bring us as many good times as the last one.”

 

By the first Sunday in April, I felt ready for the start of performance season, and so did the rest of the team.  We had put in the time and hard work and were excited to show everyone what we’d been doing.  Excitement turned into anxiety when Sarah pulled out our performance gear that had finally arrived after weeks stuck in transit.

 

The body suit contraption provided full coverage from the waist down, but the top resembled a dangerous halter with a completely open back.  I thought of my spine and cringed.  No protection.  Full exposure.  I was not pleased.

 

“This is what they want me to wear?” I sent a picture to my girls. 

 

“Looks cute,” Maya suggested.

 

“Girrrrrrl,” Adeline chimed in. 

 

“You should wear it out in Nashville.  LOL.” Maya added.

 

Adeline chimed in with laughter denoted by two lines of hysterical emojis.   

 

“You two are not helping,” I responded. 

 

“T-minus four days,” Maya offered. 

 

“Can’t wait,” I replied. 

 

“See you Thursday,” Adeline’s message read.

 

I responded with a heart emoji before hanging my future performance wear in my bedroom’s closet and adjusting my focus to packing for the trip.  As I began pulling out options, excitement crept in.  It had been more than year since our last travel excursion together and I was genuinely looking forward to time with these amazing women I’d known most of my life.   

 

Time to meet my Besties.