May had always been the stereotypical firstborn child. Responsible. Rule-abiding. Structured. Jasmine, while she appreciated the need for discipline and control in her dance career, was more carefree when it came to her relationships. While she hadn’t dated anyone in nearly two years thanks largely to her injury, she enjoyed going out on dates and being social. This upcoming date with Will had given her mood its biggest boost in ages.
“I’m not sure I feel that way about him,” May said.
“Why not? Isn’t he attractive?”
“Not in a young Elvis kind of way, but I wouldn’t beat him off me with a stick.”
Jasmine rolled her eyes and finished putting her shoes back on. As she opened the stall door, she said, “You’ve really got to adjust your expectations beyond The King, sis. Sometimes all a woman needs is hot sex and a satisfying orgasm.”
“Amen,” chimed a voice from one of the other stalls.
May’s cheeks flushed with color. Jasmine brought her fingers to her lips to stop a laugh.
“Oops.”
Issuing a deep sigh, May took the two dresses from her and headed for the dressing room’s exit. Ten minutes later, they were climbing into Jasmine’s car and heading to their father’s house. They tried to meet with him for dinner every couple of weeks.
He greeted them with hugs when they arrived. “Hello, my daughters,” he said. “So nice to see you, as always.”
“Good to see you too, Bàba,” May said.
Jasmine kissed her father’s cheek and murmured a polite greeting. Things between them were still strained. The past three months had been among the most difficult of her life. Her father’s increasing lack of support toward her dance career wasn’t helping.
“Just because you can dance again doesn’t mean that you should,” he’d said at their last dinner together after her final PT appointment. “You need to allow your body to heal.”
“I have healed,” she argued. “My doctor gave me clearance. I’ve already started upping my exercise and practice regimens to prep for auditions in the coming couple months. There will be companies planning ahead for holiday ballets.”
“So you’ll give up your steady work to make little more than minimum wage in an inconsistent work environment?”
Jasmine had put down her silverware with great care. “Why are you saying these things? You’ve always known this was my path. You never voiced these objections before.”
“You weren’t hurt before.”
That had eased some of Jasmine’s hurt and anger. “Bàba, all jobs involve risks of some kind. Even you face risks going out to a college campus every day in a time where mass shootings happen on an alarming basis. I’ve worked hard to overcome my injury. I deserve to pursue this dream.”
“You’re right about the risks we all face,” her father had conceded. “But I can’t help but wish you’d find a new dream, my child.”
Now they stood on opposite sides of a critical line. Jasmine didn’t need her father’s support to achieve her goals, but it did hurt her heart not to have it.
By some miracle, they managed to avoid discussing her dancing or her injury as they sat down to eat. May kept the conversation going, sharing stories about the past couple weeks at Steamy Beans. She talked so much that Jasmine wondered if she’d snuck in an extra shot of espresso when she wasn’t looking.
“So, Jasmine, will you tell me about this young girl, Katie?” her father said when May eventually paused for breath.
Jasmine turned to give her sister a look. May winced.
“I’m so sorry,” May said. “It slipped out when Bàba asked about getting together on Saturday. I mentioned Will and one thing led to another.”
Apparently that explained her sister’s uncharacteristic chatter, Jasmine silently grumbled.
“Why would you not share this news with me yourself?” her father asked.
“Because I knew you’d just use it as more ammunition to try to convince me to give up my pursuit of a job as a dancer.”
He took a moment to process that before nodding. “I suppose you are right. If you can teach children and young adults for respectable money instead of risking further injury to yourself, why would you not do it?”
She’d be lying if those same thoughts hadn’t entered her own head over the past couple months. But it stung to have them spoken by someone whose support she no longer had.
Folding her hands together in her lap and gripping them tight, she said, “Because I’ve come too far to turn back now. I’ve committed myself to nearly twenty years of rigorous lessons. More recitals