Page 102 of Shine Bright

His eyes say You don’t have to prove anything to us, but it’s not that simple, because that’s exactly what I have to do. I have to prove to them that I can do it. That I can take care of Olivia. But most of all, I have to prove it to myself.

“Okay, I’ll call you as soon as I’ve spoken to John and Francesca and know when I can finish work.”

“Good plan.” His smile widens, and he pats me on the shoulder.

“See you tomorrow.” I start to turn away and leave, but Brittany stops me.

“Have you eaten anything yet? You came straight from school, right?”

“Oh, no, but it’s okay. I’ll eat when I get home.” My stomach starts to growl in protest, as if on cue.

Brittany gets up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Would you like to eat something here? Or take something with you? We have some leftovers from today’s casserole.”

For a moment, I can only stare at her speechless. We’ve spent a lot of time together over the last few weeks, but only because of Olivia. I didn’t expect her to invite me to dinner. I don’t know why. It’s really nothing special. Except that it is. It’s different from trusting me with Olivia, because she’s giving me the opportunity to stay a little longer to talk to them. Just to be there.

My eyes suddenly burn with tears, and I have to blink. “If it’s okay, I’d like to eat here.”

Brittany smiles at me, and there’s something in her eyes that I can’t quite interpret. Maybe relief. “All right. I’ll warm something up for you.”

“You don’t have to,” I say hastily. “I can do it myself—”

She silences me with a wave of her hand and then points to the table. “Sit down, Phoenix. I’ll be right back.”

I open my mouth, but Clark beats me to it. “Just listen to her. When it comes to food, there’s no point in arguing with Brittany.”

He pushes me toward the dining table, and a few minutes later, the three of us are sitting there, a plate of vegetable casserole in front of me. The two of them have obviously already eaten; instead, they are drinking wine. I decline when Clark asks me if I want a glass too. I rarely drink, if at all, especially not during the workweek. Some habits you form as a dancer don’t go away even after you’ve left the stage.

We talk about work while I eat. That is, Brittany talks about her flower shop and Clark about the building he’s currently working on at the office, while I listen, occasionally uttering a few sounds of agreement. We still don’t really know how to interact with each other, what to say, because we’re all avoiding the important topics a little too much and a little too obviously.

At some point, Clark and Brittany exchange a questioning glance, just for a moment, and if I hadn’t looked up at that exact second, I wouldn’t have noticed at all. I tense nervously, and I wonder if there was a specific reason why Brittany invited me to have dinner with them.

Clark puts his hand on hers. “We thought it would be nice to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas together this year.”

“Are you serious?” I stare at him in disbelief.

“Yes, why not? It would definitely make Olivia happy if you were here. She talks about you almost all the time now.”

“If you really don’t mind, I’d love to celebrate with you.”

“We’d be delighted,” says Brittany. Her eyes flicker as she takes a deep breath. “It’s just important to us that we keep the holidays with family only. Olivia has a lot of new things to deal with right now, so it would be good if . . . there weren’t any more.”

It takes me a moment to understand what she means. I carefully place the cutlery on the plate. My heart is pounding hard and fast against my ribs.

“That’s no problem.”

“Then you don’t have . . .” Brittany breaks off and looks down, embarrassed.

“No. I don’t have a girlfriend,” I reply, but the words taste bitter, like a lie.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of our business.” She waves her hand dismissively but still can’t bring herself to look at me again.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Honestly, you don’t. I can understand why you would want to know something like that.” I force a smile, but my thoughts are already back with Lia.

Something was different at rehearsals today. She was different. More like the Lia I know. The Lia she really is. Not so controlled, not so composed, not so perfect. She still wasn’t quite herself, but her mask was no longer as impenetrable as it’s been recently.

Her parents are the reason for this, and as much as I despise them for what they’re doing to her, I’m almost glad that her mother’s birthday party escalated that way. Not only because she came to me afterward—to me and not to someone else—but especially because I can’t shake the feeling that it was exactly what she needed.

This argument. The truth. Honesty. Toward her parents, but especially toward herself.