Page 88 of Shine Bright

I’ve been waiting weeks for this day, and now that it’s finally here, I’m incredibly excited and scared shitless at the same time.

What if she doesn’t like me? After all, she doesn’t know me, apart from what her grandparents have told her. But that’s different. What if she wants to see me this one time but never again after that?

I changed my clothes four times this morning, as if she would care about what I’m wearing. In the end, I just put on jeans and a hoodie again, because I feel most comfortable that way. Clothes I don’t like wouldn’t necessarily make me feel better.

I can’t even remember the last time I was as nervous as I am today. Livy’s expectations for this meeting certainly aren’t as high as the ones Brittany, Clark, and I have. But what do I know? Nothing. After all, I don’t know her either. Maybe she’s just as nervous as I am. I kind of hope she isn’t, because the last few days really haven’t been easy.

I was distracted the whole time. Even Francesca noticed, and it’s no wonder. But after I told her why I was so restless, she just patted me on the shoulder and assured me that everything would be fine. I hope she’s right. But for that to happen, I’ll have to arrive on time, and right now that doesn’t seem very likely. Rehearsal ran longer than usual, as has often been the case lately.

Things aren’t going well with Lia and Tyler. Nothing is working, and it clearly has to do with her. Actually, it has to do with both of us, and neither one of us can do anything about it. Since Lia made me leave her room three weeks ago, we haven’t exchanged a word that wasn’t related to the performance. Tyler is there every day now, playing the buffer between us without knowing why. When he asked what was going on, I lied and said Pearson wanted him there. But it was Lia who dragged him along, just one day after she miraculously recovered from her mysterious cold.

She returned to class and acted like nothing had happened. Her makeup was as perfect as her hair. Everything about her was perfect. Her movements were graceful and beautiful and far too controlled, as if that was the way it had always been. As if those moments when she let go and dared to show her feelings never happened.

The wall she built around her heart is higher than ever, impenetrable and insurmountable.

Her smile is fake, her gaze is empty.

No one even notices, or maybe they don’t care. It’s hell to see her every day and not talk to her, not ask how she’s doing. Not tell her that I feel absolutely awful. Not tell her that I miss feeling her skin on mine, her weight on my body, having her in my bed. I miss her smile, the real one, and the trust in her green eyes. I miss falling asleep next to her and listening to her telling me her secrets. I want her to remember my secrets and keep them safe.

My heart constricts; it’s just not right. None of what happened or what’s happening right now. On the other hand, of course it is, but it doesn’t feel that way, damn it.

I’m not ready for whatever this is with you and Olivia, and I can’t let anything or anyone hold me back.

Her words are burned into my memory, haunting me all day long, from the moment I open my eyes in the morning until I close them and finally fall asleep after hours of tossing and turning. She ripped off the Band-Aid, even though I should have been the one to do it. Except I couldn’t. I was too weak because Lia crept into my damn heart. And because it feels like she still belongs there.

But I knew it would end this way. I knew it the day I talked to Brooklyn and then, hours later, told her about Olivia. Although that’s not entirely true. Actually, I knew it the moment I saw her in the theater foyer on the first day of the semester. Before it even really started. I knew it from the beginning, but I refused to think about the consequences even once.

A loud honk behind me snaps me out of my thoughts. Now I’m the one who isn’t paying attention and is going too slow. I step on the gas and turn left, forcing myself to banish Lia from my mind. I can’t think about her anymore. Not today, not now.

I have to focus on my daughter.

A few minutes later, I turn into the parking lot. Cold air hits me as I get out of the car. It’s November now, and the temperature has dropped accordingly. The sun set a while ago, and even though it’s not totally dark yet, it won’t be long.

As I walk, I glance at my phone and see that Brittany has been trying to reach me. Damn. She probably wanted to make sure I was coming and didn’t forget. As if I ever could.

I push open the door and hurry through the building, following the sound of music, slowing down when I spot Brittany standing in the hallway outside the studio, her gaze fixed on the large window set into the wall. She’s not the only one waiting here; I count seven mothers and one father, some of them chatting quietly, others looking at their phones, bored.

Brittany looks up when she hears my footsteps, and a relieved smile spreads across her face.

“Sorry, the traffic was hell, and I got held up at work.” I can feel the curious glances of the others as I walk over to Brittany. They’re probably wondering who I am and what I’m doing here. I ignore them. Eventually word will get around anyway, but for now, they can think whatever they want.

“It’s okay. They just started. One of the girls has her birthday today, and they sang for her,” she says, greeting me with an awkward hug. She used to be better at hugging me, but I take it as a positive sign that she wants to get close to me again. We’ve met four times in the past few weeks, always without Olivia.

And now I’m here today, at Olivia’s ballet school, because she wants me to watch her dance.

“There’s Olivia . . .” I don’t hear the rest of what Brittany says as I turn toward the window and immediately spot her.

She’s not the only girl with blond hair tied back in a ponytail wearing a pink leotard and white tights, but she looks just like Isabel.

My breath catches, my heart skips a beat, my vision blurs. She looks so much like her. Not that this is anything new for me; I’ve seen photographs of her. But photos don’t do the reality justice at all.

Breathe, Phoenix. Just keep breathing.

But it’s difficult to breathe when you see your daughter for the first time in four years and she’s no longer a baby but a petite little girl with the bluest eyes in the world and a smile that automatically makes me want to smile too.

It’s hard to breathe when you not only know what you’ve missed but can actually see it.

A stab of pain pierces my heart. I have missed so much. Blinking, I try to hold back the tears that are threatening to overflow. I’m seething inside with a storm of guilt, grief, pain, pride, and joy—it’s all too much, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know what to do.