KATE
“I really don’t like this.” Weston growls, never once easing up on the tight embrace he’s holding me in.
“Remember our promise?” I counter in return
He sighs, a look of defeat crossing his face and it makes my heart sink. I don’t like seeing him worried. But I do also understand his thinking and I can’t blame him. If the roles were reversed- and thank God they aren’t, because that would be quite weird- I would be worried sick as well.
I can’t help the part of me that wants his approval, so I let him in. I pull his lips to mine, feeling the soft silkiness of home. His tongue teases my mouth and I open to him, needing to feel whole just for a short time before I get on this bus and head out of town.
“I won’t overwork myself.” His forehead rests on mine, our breath dancing around each other’s. “This baby is my priority, babe. I won’t do anything to harm it. I promise.”
“I know you’ll do your best to be careful.” he says, his arms tightening around me as the rest of the dancers begin climbing onto the tour bus.
“I’ve got to go.” I kiss him one last time before forcing myself to step away. If I don’t go now, I won’t go. The fact that I’m so attached to him now more than ever, scares me, but also comforts me at the same time.
I lean down and grip the handle of my duffle bag before hanging it over my shoulder.
“Is it too heavy?”
“Wes.” I look at him, worry lines creasing his face. “It’s only one week. I will be back before you can even miss me.” I grab his neck and pull him to me before releasing him and stepping towards the bus.
“I already do.” he says quietly.
My head snaps back and tears spring to my eyes, but I blink them back before they have a chance to fall.
Be a big girl, Kate. It’s only one week without Weston. I’ve done this before. I’m used to this. Suck it up.
But it’s not that easy.
I climb onto the bus, silently cursing my raging hormones and libido. One week is going to feel like a goddamn lifetime.
I plop down in the nearest sear, resting my dance bag beside me. I would never tell Weston this, but my bag is actually quite heavy. However, the last thing I need is him worrying even more. Weston has proved to be more overprotective than ever.
I pull my phone out from the back pocket of my jeans and pull up his name, scrawling out three little words...
I love you.
WESTON
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and, when I pull it out and look down at the screen, a smile crosses my face. I look up at her through the window as the bus roars to life.
I send my response at lightning speed.
I know.
It’s easy to see the moment she’s read it. She looks up and blows me a kiss, trying her best to look strong, but I know my girl. As the bus pulls away, I realize I can feel two pieces of my heart being taken with it.
I know it was my idea. That stupid promise. In that moment when I was trying to ease her panicking, it was right. Now, not so much.
I can’t help but worry about her. We were told at her ultrasound that she isn’t having a high risk pregnancy as of yet. The baby’s fine. Kate’s fine. It should be easy to not worry, but I know Kate. Her past scares me more than I’ll like to admit and it’s hard to not fear that it’ll affect our now.
I also know her more than I know myself. She pushes. She’s determined and hardworking, always afraid of letting people down. She pushes herself much further than any average person can take, and I know that she doesn’t always know when enough is enough. Boundaries and breaking points are frequently tested with Kate, in and out of dance.
Touring for a week across the US, doing shows every night, plus practices and dress rehearsals, is a lot for any dancer, let alone one who’s pregnant.
How the hell am I going to make it through this week without jumping in the car and dragging her back kicking and screaming?
KATE
One dance step at a time. That’s all I tell myself. Get through this one. Then get through the next.
I keep having to remind myself not to dwell on the fact that I’ll be doing this every night for the rest of the week. Usually, the pressure of everything I need to do further spurns me to continue, knowing that giving up just isn’t an option. Now that I’m pregnant though, giving up is the first thing that actually sounds right.
I’m exhausted and losing my breath. The jumps are easy and fun but it’s the spins that make me dizzy and lightheaded, which only makes getting the proper momentum for the jumps just that much harder. It’s a vicious cycle.
All I want to do is put my feet up and do nothing. Maybe watch some tv and order room service. That isn’t quite an option though. I’m a lot of things, but a quitter isn’t one of them.
I take a deep breath, gracefully transitioning from my triple pirouette en dehors into fondu. This particular move demands great strength through my back and shoulders and it’s one of my least favorites. The stop in the middle of it makes it even more difficult, because I can feel I’m losing some of the torque when attempting to corkscrew the torso to get another revolution.
I suck some air into my lungs, focusing on my technicality and making sure that I don’t sickle my feet in the process.
“Perfect turnout, Kate.”
I become rejuvenated under the praise of my choreographers and I can feel a new energy zig zagging throughout me as I pick up momentum and fly into my renverse jump. With feet pointed perfectly and arms extended, I land gracefully before transitioning into a fouette and ending in my final pose.
I’m breathing heavy and more exhausted than words could possibly describe, but a sense of accomplishment takes over. I fucking nailed it.
I bow slightly before walking off stage to grab my water bottle. I am slightly lightheaded and my stomach is a little queasy; still, I’m happy. Weston’s warning to take it easy is playing on a loop in my head and it’s going to be hard to tell him this, but I can’t not push myself.
I’ve done this all before- the routines, the aches and pains. I’m used to having to ice my knees every night and wrap up my blistered feet. It comes with this job and half-assing it can, and usually will, cause more problems- more injuries.
I can’t half do it. I have to do it right so that I don’t injure our baby in the process. I will never let anything harm it and the minute my red flag goes up I will stop, but right now everything feels just fine. My stomach plummets as my legs give out and I slide down the wall, resting on the cool floor.
I close my eyes, breathing. Focusing on the way my body is feeling and aside from the overwhelming exhaustion, I feel okay.
~*~
I’m in wardrobe getting my hair and makeup finished and then I have to try on my backup dance costume before the show tonight. I accidentally snagged my usual one on a show prop I walked past in the hallway at the theatre we performed at last night.
The Kim Possible theme song blares from my cell and I rush to my makeup table to grab it.
“Hey you.” I answer, feeling so much happier all of a sudden.
“I miss you.”
My heart constricts at his words and my sentiments are mirroring his exactly. I miss his scruffy bearded face. I miss running my fingers through his long hair. I miss just laying with him and listening to him talk about random things that barely even matter. I miss looking into his deep green eyes as we flirt and bicker over the most mundane things.
This long-distance thing fucking sucks.
“I know. Hold on one sec, babe.” I click the video request button and seconds later, his handsome scruffy face enters the picture. I can’t help the goofy grin that reaches across my face and tugs at my cheeks.
“Hm... Now, why didn’t I think of that?” He chuckles. “You look beautiful, Katie.”
“Thank you.”
I place my phone propped up on my makeup table while I apply liner and lipstick to my lips. Before he’d called, I’d finished my contouring and eye makeup to performance perfection.
“How’s the baby?”
Dammit. I can feel the eyes of Lissa, one of the other principle dancers, on my back and I know she overheard Weston’s question. I wasn’t ready to let everyone know about my situation, but now it’s only a matter of time before the entire dance company knows. Lissa can’t keep her mouth shut to save her life and, if it’s something that will benefit her, she usually doesn’t hold back.
“We’re fine, Wes. And thanks for telling my entire dance company I’m pregnant, by the way.” I glare, but he only smiles deviously, as if that was his plan all along.
Fucker.
I pick up my phone and head towards the dressing room to change into my dance attire. It’s velvet purple with a large lavender tutu adorned with flowers and rhinestones. It’s lovely, but a tad itchy, which is why it wasn’t my first choice.
I hear a whistle from my fiancé, but tune it out as I begin to shimmy it up my thighs easily. When I get to my midsection, I notice it becomes much tighter. A lot tighter than I remembered it being.
“Shit. I am getting bigger.”
And that’s when Weston chooses to be silent. I turn my eyes to the screen, obvious anger appearing on my face. His eyes widen slightly before he smiles sweetly at me, as if he’s innocent and doesn’t have the smallest idea as to why I’m upset.
“It’s your damn fault I can’t fit into this.”
“No, my love. It’s our growing baby’s fault.” I can feel my eyes soften, because how can I still be upset after that response?
I can’t.
“Everyone’s going to know when I go out there, Wes. I mean, in this costume, it really looks like I put on some weight.”
He laughs loudly before biting his lip to smother his laughter. “You’re being dramatic, Kate. You’ve only gained a couple pounds, if that. And it’s barely noticeable. Trust me when I say this, you baking our little gummy bear in there is the most beautiful thing in the entire world.”
“Stop sucking up.” I giggle at him. He’s a miracle worker when it comes to putting me in my place. I will never understand how he does it.
“Just stating the obvious truth, my love.”
“FIVE minutes till curtain call.” I hear Lissa holler to everyone within close proximity. At this very second, I despise the world, especially her.
“I gotta go.” I pucker my lip pouting like a child and on the verge of tears.
“I love you two, baby.”
“I know.”
Click.
I exit the dressing room and the whispers stop immediately. News spread faster than I would have thought humanly possible.
Lissa, that bitch.
“Yes, I’m pregnant. If you have anything else to say, I recommend you keep it to your fucking self.” I snap and stomp over to my Pointe shoes. I pick them up, grip the pale ribbons in my right hand, and head into the hallway to put them on in peace.
Why must girls always be so damn petty?
~*~
“Beautiful performance tonight, Kate.” The director pulls me aside briefly. “Please meet me at the lobby before we board the bus tonight. I think we have some things to discuss.”
“Of course, Mr. Pernaud.”
I walk towards the dressing room, my gut screaming at me, knowing the exact reason he wants to talk later. I grab my sweatpants, camisole, and hoodie, setting them on the stool of the vanity while I peel myself out of the tight dance outfit. Instant gratification begins to set in. I’m free.
I slip the camisole over me and slide my baggy sweatpants up my waist. God, they feel like heaven after squeezing myself into that claustrophobic outfit. I toss the hoodie over my head and sit on the vanity stool, slowly beginning to pick out the bobby pins from my curled updo.
The waves of curls fall down to my shoulders in a perfect chaotic mess. Not feeling like I really want to struggle with it, I toss my purple and lavender outfit into my dance bag and head for the lobby.
No point in putting it off.
Best to get this out of the damn way, I suppose.
~*~
“It’s come to my attention that you are pregnant.”
I sigh deeply because I had a feeling this was what we were going to talk about. Everything in my life is revolving around this baby and, while I’m happy, it’s also adding a new level of stress that I wasn’t particularly expecting or wanting.
“Yes, Mr. Pernaud. I am.”
He nods his head, his lips forming into a grim line, as if I was telling him the world was ending tomorrow and he only had one day to get his shit together.
“I see.” He clears his throat loudly, like it’s helping him to gather his thoughts. “That does voice some concerns for the company.” He pauses, as if expecting me to interject, but when I don’t, he continues. “You are one of, if not the best principle in the company. We will be sad to see you go.”
“—What? What did you just say?”
Did he literally just say I will be leaving?
“Unfortunately, under the circumstances, we can’t put you or your unborn child at risk. It also would host a pretty severe liability for the company.” His eyes darken and I have to bite my lip to keep from saying any choice words. “You are free to finish out the week here on tour, but after that we will be dissolving your contract.”
“After all the hard work I’ve put in and all the great publicity and awards I’ve received on your company’s behalf, you’re just forcing me out?” My voice is raising an octave and I’m struggling to not break down sobbing. “Mr. Pernaud, this is my dream; I can’t just give it up. Yes, I’m pregnant but I’m not injured. I can come back from this.”
“Yes, Miss Benson, you very well may bounce back from this, but I highly doubt that would be true. With childbirth, your body changes. Not to mention you’re reaching the shelf life of a professional dancer. You are already older than most of the other dancers and I think this just may be the deciding factor in you hanging up your dance shoes. Retiring isn’t a bad thing. I just can’t in good conscience allow you to continue the rigorous training of a principle while your pregnancy progresses.”
A tear slips down my cheek and I have to blink back the rest. I won’t break down in front of him. I’m stronger than that.
“Then what do you suggest I do? Just go home and do nothing. Give up dance completely because I’m having a baby?”
He sighs sadly, but I’m not buying the sympathetic act he’s trying to sell me. I’m not stupid; I know that Jean Luc Pernaud is only looking after himself and his business.
“No. I would never recommend that someone as talented as you give up dance completely. However, I would like to put it out there that you would have wonderful promise as a dance teacher.”
“A dance teacher?”
I honestly hadn’t ever thought about that.
“Yes, Miss Benson.” He smiles. “You have impeccable technique and work ethic; I have no doubt that it would be a great choice for you.”
I don’t want to tell him this, but it really is a good choice. I can’t remain a professional dancer forever and eventually the time would’ve come when I would have had to give it up anyways.
“It’s not the same, but it’s something to consider, I suppose.”
“Good.”
I stand from my seat and grab my bag. As I walk away, his voice halts me in my tracks. “If it’s truly something you want to pursue, let me know. I have a feeling a position for a dance teacher may just open up for you.”
I look him in the eyes and nod once before turning back around and walking away.
What the fuck just happened?
Was I seriously just fired and offered a job at the same time?