Waltz This Way (v1.1) (5 page)

Drew gave her his arm and helped her out of the car. “Wow. Where’d all this love for Mel come from? You don’t like anyone, Aunt Myriam. Better not let Dad hear you all warm and fuzzy like this over some stranger. He’s been in the family for almost forty-four years, and he still gets no respect. He’ll get jealous.”

Myriam snorted in the darkening night while they made their way up the slate walkway to his parents’ front door, lined with colorful mums just waiting to bloom. “Your dad’s an old coot. And I like Mel. She’s a sassy-mouth. I like anyone who won’t take my crap.”

Yeah. Even he had to admit, he admired a woman who could handle his aunt.

His son, Nate, threw the front door open to reveal the typical swarm of family that gathered. Saturday night was a tradition at the McPhee household, one Drew hated to own up to treasuring but did nonetheless.

Saturdays meant wall-to-wall kids from toddlers to teens. It meant his three sisters and their spouses all crowded into his mother’s kitchen for corned beef and enchiladas with flan for dessert. It meant Tito Puente with some Irish folk music in the mix.

It meant family. How the two had ever managed to blend such completely different cultures was often a topic of conversation and much laughter.

“There’s my Natty,” Myriam cooed, holding out her arms to him.

Nate, almost five-five now, rolled his eyes, but reluctantly let his great aunt envelop him in a hug. Myriam kissed him on the top of his dark head before plowing toward the kitchen to begin her sarcastic inspection of the night’s feast.

Nate knocked knuckles with Drew, who gave his son a grin of affection. “Hey, Dad. I found an awesome website about quantum physics.”

His son’s genius left him ever in awe. “Quantum physics, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever been as excited as I am right now,” he teased. He and Nate had an understanding. Nate could be as smart as he wanted to as long as he didn’t expect Drew to match his IQ or his interest in everything Mensa.

Drew didn’t pretend to get most of what interested his son, and Nate was okay with that. They found other things to do with each other.

Nate laughed, his blue eyes so like his mother’s, giving Drew the amused-bored look he’d perfected since he’d turned twelve and had gone purposefully aloof.

Drew clapped Nate on the shoulder. “Hey, you got your laptop?”

“I didn’t find a new website on quantum physics by magic.” Nate snickered.

“Can you look something up for me?”

“Sure.”

“You ever heard of a show called Dude … something?”

Nate made a face. “You mean Dude, You Can Dance?”

Drew shrugged with an outward show of indifference, hoping Nate wouldn’t question his interest in something so damn girlie.

“Yeah, that’s it. I promised Aunt Myriam I’d look it up.”

Nate nodded, moving his way through the throng of people to a corner of the living room. His lanky body folded into a corner chair by the arched windows in the dining area and he reached equally lanky fingers out to grab his laptop. “Aunt Myriam loves Dude, You Can Dance. So does Gram. Most girls do.”

Drew watched his son type the words in on Google and caught a quick glimpse of a picture of Mel with those wide eyes of surprise his aunt had mentioned before Nate clicked on the website for the show.

What a shitty way to find out your spouse had been unfaithful. Again, there was a familiar sting of understanding for Mel in his gut.

“What do you want to look at, Dad?” Nate’s sharp eyes lanced his.

What the hell had Aunt Myriam said Mel’s ex-husband’s name was? “Who’s the guy that runs the show? Do you know?”

“Stan something,” Nate replied, clicking on the choreographer’s name. His picture appeared along with a loud blast of the show’s theme song.

“Turn that down!” Drew ordered, his eyes scanning the crowded room. All he needed was for his meddling family to find out he had just a little interest in a woman, and it would be on. They’d never let up. Especially his sisters.

But it was too late.

Myriam pinched his sides from behind and snorted with laughter.

“She’s a looker, that Mel. Knew you were interested.”

Yeah. She was interesting.

And just recently divorced in a public and ugly way.

Which made her a little less interesting.

Unless you counted her mouth and her hips.

Those remained interesting.

In fact, they left him all shook up.

“Hey, Pop Rocks. How was senior speed dating?”

Mel flopped on her dad’s rust-and-red-plaid couch with a deep groan. “Not so speedy.” Weezer sauntered over from his bed in the corner to impose his big head onto her lap. She absently rubbed his ears, loving their soothing velvety softness. Jake hopped up on the couch and put his paws on her, his eyes begging for attention.

Her father chuckled. “Well, we’re old. Speed’s not on our résumés anymore. That cranky Myriam give ya more trouble?”

Thinking of Myriam reminded Mel of her rakishly handsome nephew Drew. And then she stopped herself from thinking about him because that would only lead to trouble.

Mel rolled her head from side to side to ease the mounting tension in her neck. “Myriam is the very definition of trouble, but she brings with her a good cardio workout. You should’ve come. You would have had fun.”

Her dad grinned from his La-Z-Boy, a copy of The Divorced Woman’s Guide to Healing in his lap. Joe propped his glasses at the end of his nose. “I can’t show off all my best moves in front of my kid. You don’t wanna hear your old pop lay a line on a woman, do ya?”

Mel winced and chuckled, planting a kiss on Jake’s head, then rose to head to her father’s small kitchen. “Okay. Stop there. You’re right. I don’t want to hear you make the moves on some poor, unsuspecting seventy-year-old.”

“Hey,” he called from the living room. “You’re not gonna eat chocolate frosting for dinner tonight, are you, young lady?”

“Actually, I was considering vanilla. You know, because it’s made with a bean and beans are technically vegetables,” she halfheartedly joked, pulling the can from the fridge.

Joe was suddenly in the kitchen, filling it up with his large frame, his thick hands buried in the tops of his suspenders. “That’s funny. Gimme that.” He grabbed at the can of frosting, successfully stealing it from her grip. “Now before you go wallowin’ like a pig in mud in that can full of sugar, you got a phone call while you were out.”

Mel grinned, swiping at his hands to make him give the can up.

“Jackie?” She was the only person who called her lately. Ever. The few friends she and Stan had made as a couple were now Stan and Yelena No Last Name’s friends.

Bitter. She was just a little bitter about that.

Joe held the can high, daring her to jump for it, a game they’d often played when she was younger and trying to develop strength in her legs. “Nope. Maxine.”

Her steam ran out and she sank to the floor in a pile that left her knees creaking. Mel got the feeling Maxine was lying in wait for her to come to her senses and allow Maxine to preach her divorced words of wisdom.

Maxine had minions, too. Minions Mel had mentally dubbed the Hare Krishna’s of Single, banging on their tambourines while they spread messages of self-love and empowerment. “She say why?”

Her father pitched the frosting over her head and into the garbage with a remarkably deft shot for someone who was seventy-two. “She said you gotta meet her tomorrow at Trophy, nine o’clock sharp. Which means no sugar for you or you’ll be up all night with the jitters. Can’t have that. I made you a nice salad and some pasta. Just like your mom used to cook. No more junk or you’ll rot your teeth.”

“My teeth will survive. I had them all capped at Stan’s request. My butt, on the other hand, probably could use less frosting.”

Joe chucked her under the chin. “You knock that off. I won’t have you wanderin’ around the house callin’ yourself fat anymore. You’re not fat. You’re beautiful. No daughter of Joe Hodge can be anything but. Just like your Mama was. Now quit buyin’ into all that crap Stan the Ballerina fed you. What does he know about beautiful when he’s porkin’ a woman who looks like the skeleton I hang on my door at Halloween?”

“Dad!” Her father and the word “porking” were too much after tonight and all the seniors’ sexual innuendo she’d heard while she’d drifted from table to table. Who knew you could utilize a walker like that?

Joe’s face held no apology when he shook his head at her, the wrinkles in his face deepening. “It’s true. I don’t know who you are anymore, little girl, but you ain’t the kid I sent off to New York all those years ago who told me she was going to pursue her dream whether I liked it or not. Even after your mother and me argued with you about it for weeks before you left. Remember that?”

Mel’s eyes fell to the floor in self-disgust. No. She wasn’t even a mere shadow of the girl he’d sent off to New York to audition for a Broadway play she couldn’t even remember the name of now. This was somewhere Mel didn’t want to go. The place called “Who Mel Used To Be.”

Her father grabbed for her, pulling her into a bear hug and kissing the top of her head. She buried her nose in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of Old Spice and spaghetti.

“Hold your head up, meat loaf. I’m tired of seein’ you staring at the floor all the time. You got nothin’ to be ashamed of, Mellow-Yellow. You were a good wife to that shit. He was a bad husband. Stop beating yourself up about it by abusing your body and eating all that garbage.”

Mel tipped her head up, tears glimmering in her eyes. “Have you been going to some sort of therapy I don’t know about, or did you get that from the divorce books you’ve been reading?”

Joe chuckled and ran his knuckles over her scalp. “I’m not above watching those doctors on TV or reading a book so I can find a way to help my kid. You’re eating all that garbage because you’re depressed. That’s gotta stop, and you have to get to bed at a decent hour tonight instead of sitting up and watching Hoarders all night long. You’re not getting enough sleep. You’re not eatin’ right. You’re not dancing. You’re worrying me, Mel.”

She gave him a squeeze and a pat on his broad back. “Don’t worry, Dad. Please. I promise my will to live will come back. I’m just not sure when that’ll be,” she joked.

Though these days, since her life had changed so dramatically, she wasn’t sure that was really true. She’d been drifting since she’d arrived in New Jersey— going through the motions because she wanted everything to be all right again.

It just wasn’t. She had a hole in her soul and nothing to fill it up with.

She missed her rundown studio. She missed the children who’d attended her dance classes. She missed her house and her bathroom with the antique claw-foot tub. She missed the ballet barre Stan had installed in their basement.

She missed.

Oddly, in all of the things she missed, Stan didn’t so much factor into the missing she was doing as of late. Stan and his lies were something she definitely didn’t miss.

So many lies. Lies she’d so foolishly bought. She no longer knew when he’d begun to lie or if he’d always lied and she’d just been too stupid to know. The rumors were endless, and while it didn’t take away the sting of his public betrayal, it made missing him an item at the bottom of her list.

“Listen to your pop. Being the newly informed guy I am, I’ve learned something about your divorce, and not just from TV and a book. From Maxine, too.”

Mel pushed away from him, placing her hands on her hips.

Maxine … the Zen to all things divorced. If you listened to her father, Maxine’s ex-trophy wife advice to divorced women was considered on par with the soothing chants of Tibetan monks.

Just the idea that she’d been labeled an ex-trophy wife by the press made her want to dig a hole and climb in. The label implied she’d never done anything but shop and drip diamonds, which was totally untrue. Sure, she’d had some diamonds and credit cards with no limit, but most of her time had been dedicated to teaching her kids to dance and staying out of Stan’s critical line of fire.

“Oh, more Maxine insight. I’m on tenterhooks.” At her father’s request, when Maxine had hired Mel part time in the Village, she’d also given her the Trophy Job Employment Agency pitch.

A pitch filled with uplifting messages and words Mel would rather gag on than utilize. The divorce journal being high on her list of gag-worthy suggestions. Writing was never her thing— all her creativity flowed through her limbs— not a pen and some paper filled up with emotions she didn’t understand well enough to describe in meaningless adjectives. In fact, she’d come close to failing English her junior year.

Joe’s gray eyebrow rose in disapproval. “Maxine knows where you are because she’s been there, too. I remember what she was like when she first moved here, and she was just like you. Don’t put her down for doing something about it. She scooped—”

“Poop. Jake’s poop. Big poop. I remember.” Mel heard the pride in her dad’s voice when he spoke of Maxine. He made her sound like she’d saved the world in her Donna Karan dresses and Louboutins instead of just surviving an ugly divorce.

Joe ignored her pettiness. “I’ve learned that you should be sad your marriage is over. Especially after the way it ended, so sudden and all. But you should have lots of other things that fill you up and make you happy, sweet face. Things that help you get through the sad. I’ve figured out, you don’t have them. All you had was Twinkle Toes— he was your priority, and that’s a cryin’ shame.”

Her throat clenched tight. That wasn’t entirely true. “I had the studio, and the kids …”

“ Yep— all owned by that shit of an ex of yours. He pulled all the strings, and he only let you keep the studio because it looked good in the press for his wife to teach kids people considered underprivileged. But he complained about it all the time, didn’t he? No, don’t answer. I know he did. When he decided he didn’t want you to have those things anymore because he wanted out for a younger chippie, he yanked the rug from under you and took it all away. You let him have all that control. Not a good thing in this day and age.”