After a tragedy, Amila Johnson abandons her life in New York and retreats back to her birthplace of Houston. She tries to start anew but she can't get far with the skills of being an almost classically trained ballerina.
Deciding to take up her fri...
"How many squats do I have to do to get a butt like yours?" Deja fiddled with the strap of the yellow sports bra that glowed vibrantly against her golden-brown skin. She lifted her hickory eyes off her lean frame to Amila's sculpted physique.
"Girl, what are you talking about?" Amila chuckled, dabbing her forehead with a towel before the sweat curled up her edges. "You have a booty."
"But I want an ass." Deja's voice boomed as her hands fell from her bra and slapped her hips.
Amila sighed with a slight smile. Her 'ass' was the bane of her existence when ballet ruled her life. It made its debut once she was deep into puberty refusing her jeans the pleasure of sliding up her hips like they did when she was younger than thirteen. It made everyone over twenty-something police her.
If it wasn't her ballet mistress insisting she cut bread and every carb out of her diet then it was her teachers saying the dresses she wore to school were inappropriate while the slender girl next to her had the same exact outfit on in a different color. It wasn't until recently that her love-hate relationship with it shifted. It gave her the power she needed to execute a couple of fouettes turns back in the day and she loved the way it felt in Dominic's hand.
"Could you say that a little bit louder? I don't think the people doing laps in the pool heard," She glanced over her shoulder catching the eyes of the scattered individuals lifting weights that didn't have earbuds. She shook her head at the bulky muscular man doing his fiftieth bicep curl then turned back to her friend. "Keep it up and you're gonna have another boo."
"Keaton isn't my boo." Deja gripped her waist while checking out her frame from the side. She must've liked what she saw because her lips quirked up higher. "We're just having fun."
Amila reached behind her back, grabbed her foot with ease, and stretched out her hamstring eyeing her suspiciously. "So is that why ya'll are having a bake-off.."
"He said he could make a pumpkin pie that was better than a sweet potato..." Deja huffed, turning away from the wall of mirrors. "And I don't believe it. My Aunt Maureen's recipe will make a villain weep with joy."
"And how many villains did your Auntie feed her pie to?" Amila asked twisting to the side, loosening up the muscles she used on the treadmill. "Are there villains in Huntsville?"
"There's villains everywhere, LaLa." She lowered her voice and leaned in to repeat, "Everywhere."
Amila couldn't fight the laugh that rumbled up her throat. "Have you been watching Maleficent, again?" She asked, following her to Jacob's Ladder. "You know how that movie works you up."
"I'm not worked up." Deja snapped the belt around her waist and measured it to fit snugly around her. "I'm copacetic. Fine. Pleasant which means you need to stop stalling and accept Dominic's offer."
"For Thanksgiving?" Amila's face twisted as she watched her climb onto the machine.
She didn't get much time to think about the invitation the night it was given because Dominic didn't actually give her much time to think. Those late-night hours in Toronto had only been about action; actions that made her toes curl and body buck. But since she was back in Bayou City it was all she could ponder on. She even had a couple of dreams about it. Her mind was dueling between the two answers with their own set of equal pros and cons.
"Don't you need a buffer?" She gripped the side of the machine peering up at her climbing friend. "I'm your buffer."
"To buff what?" Deja huffed out, missing the rung with her foot, and had used too many muscles for her liking to scrabble for the next one. "I can handle Irene and Thomas. Have been for twenty-plus years. Plus, I'm not even staying that long. I'm helping with the groceries and the cooking but once the rest of the Ross-Ewing clan. I'm not spending my one free day answering questions. Fuck that."
Amila laughed, remembering how her homie went off on a distant cousin who tried to pry too deep into her life plans with detective-like questions.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." Deja held out the word as she exhaled. "I'll be at Keaton's anyway. Eating pie and drinking Hennessy." A smile flashed across her face, disappearing from her need to take another deep breath.
Amila faintly nodded, "Fun plan." She was happy her friend was going to be enjoying her day but she was also filled with an anxious energy that made her bite down on her bottom lip.
Deja having someplace to go took away her reason to give Dominic a definite 'no'. Which was the correct answer to give? Right? She didn't need to meet his parents. Nor did she need to spend a holiday with him. They weren't a serious couple and being in the company of someone's parents during a holiday was a serious matter. It was what long-term couples did. It was what people who planned to spend a lifetime together did. And they were neither of those things. Not long-term or planning to be together forever.
"Snap out of it." Deja's clear voice and crisp snapping fingers snatched her out of her deep thoughts.
Amila took a step back realizing her friend was off the machine and standing in front of her.
"What?" She asked, still a little dazed by the residue of her thoughts left behind.
"You're doing that thing where you overthink shit." Deja shook her head. "Stop it. Don't think. Do."
"Isn't that...." Amila's hand went to the long necklace that held the ballet slipper pendant her sister gave her for their eighteenth birthday. "Reckless."
"Yes. That's the point."
"To be reckless."
Deja happily nodded. "You've made meticulous plans all your life. And admit it, you've been having fun since you've just been living life. Being spontaneous and doing whatever the hell you want."
"You're right." She rolled her eyes for posterity.
"I know but we're not going to dwell on that." Deja quipped with a chuckle that Amila echoed. "Go with him. Eat turkey, have a tryptophan coma, and fuck in the leaves."
"Ouch." Amila sounded from the image of rolling around in brittle, crisp foliage. "I don't think I'm going to have sex outside..."
"Isn't on his list, though?"
Amila paused to mentally run down the list and she was right. "I'm not screwing on leaves but a tryptophan coma does sound nice."
"Sleep is always nice." Deja handed her the belt. "Your turn."
Amila accepted the belt from her even though she knew her calves were going to burn but if she was going to entertain the thought of bringing ballet back into her life then she was going to have to ignore the pain of sore legs. Spending Thanksgiving with Dominic was the only thing making her toss and turn at night. The barre class resurrected something inside her that she buried under grief and heartbreak. Now, that the grief was subsiding and her heart was healing she remembered how at peace she felt with earbuds in doing pirouettes in an empty practice room.
She knew she wasn't ready to perform in front of an audience or if she'll ever be but she was certain of one thing. She was a dancer and she was missing her craft. And unlike with her family, she could get ballet back.
Amila's had a love-hate relationship with certain parts of her body, is her relationship with Dominic helping her shed some of those insecurities?
Do you think Amila's decision to dance again is a good thing?
Who do you think will win the pie bake-off; Deja or Keaton?
Dominic wants to get frisky outdoors, do you think Amila will sign off on that?
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