Chapter Text
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I thought it would hurt the first time. It did.
The studio door clicked shut behind Arabella as she left, waving goodbye to Ms. Rosalee. Arabella's wide grin was telling and celebratory as she searched the crowded parking lot for her dad's car. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder and stepped beneath the awning to avoid the light rain. Cars rushed through puddles in the parking lot as the sun set. Their tires spun, sending little drops flying in all directions. Arabella sighed quietly and shifted her weight.
Dad was late.
He wasn't usually.
She really wanted him to be on time today.
It was a little chilly out from the breeze, goosebumps scattering her arms. Arabella looked back at the studio through the slightly fogged windows, reflecting on the night. So much had happened and she couldn't wait to tell Dad about it.
At long last, Dad's car pulled into the lot, parking in front of Arabella. She quickly ran to the passenger side door and hopped in, wiping the raindrops off her forehead. Dad tossed her bag in the backseat. "Sorry that I'm late, baby. Your mama let me fall asleep on the couch," he apologized, putting the car in reverse.
Arabella didn't care about any of that. She buckled her seatbelt quickly and turned to her dad with a grin. "Dad, you'll never guess what happened!" She put her hands down on the dash dramatically, emphasizing her excitement.
Dad chuckled as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Hmm... did you slip and fall? Learn a new trick?"
"Better!"
"Better?" He raised an eyebrow, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin. His eyes remained trained on the road while he thought. "You got a solo or somethin'?" he asked finally.
"Better!"
"Take mercy on your poor old dad, what is it, Bella?"
Arabella was practically bouncing out of her seat. The only thing holding her down was the damn seatbelt. "Ms. Rosalee said I'm ready for Pointe!" Arabella announced, her eyes twinkling with joy.
"Are you kidding me?" Dad asked with his jaw dropped playfully. "That is amazing, kiddo. I'm so proud of you."
"She even got me my own pair! I was wondering why she was measuring my feet last week," Arabella added. "She said I was her favorite and that I couldn't tell anyone. She also said usually I'd be a year or two too young for pointe, but I have the right... uh... anatomy! I have the right anatomy for it! I got to try them on to make sure they fit and they hurt so bad! I couldn't stand on them yet."
"That's still fantastic. Mom's gonna be so proud of you, Baby-Bell. You should be proud of yourself," dad said firmly, turning the blinker onto their street.
Arabella glowed with her dad's approval. He'd always been her number one fan when it came to ballet. He picked her up from every practice, came to every recital, paid for everything she needed without a moment's hesitation. Her mom loved that she took ballet, and was supportive, but it just wasn't the same.
The car pulled into the driveway. The one-story house was all lit up with warm yellow lighting. Mom was visible through the window, setting the dinner table with Arabella's brothers. Dad grabbed her bag from the backseat and they walked toward the house, chattering about Arabella's accomplishment.
Arabella opened the door, calling out immediately for her mom: "Mom! Guess what! You'll never guess what!"
Mom came out of the dining room, giving Arabella a half-hearted smile before looking up at Dad with firm eyes and tight lips. That look. Arabella knew that look. That look meant whatever Arabella had to tell her would be overshadowed by whatever her oldest brother had done now. The young girl's smile quickly faded into acceptance as she took her bag from her dad and dragged her feet to her room. Of course, he'd ruin this moment for her. It was always about him.
***
Dinner was silent, aside from the scraping of forks against plates, and Elvis playing quietly in the background off the radio. Arabella picked at the sirloin, wanting to eat, but feeling too upset to stomach it. All she wanted was one night about her— to celebrate. She dared a glance at her brother. He looked back and rolled his eyes before throwing his fork down. Mom and Dad stayed silent. They didn't want to talk about it at dinner. They never did. They didn't want to involve Arabella and Alex. Alex was a lot like Arabella. He just wanted the fighting to stop.
"Just eat your dinner, Gareth," Dad spoke, his tone hard. Dad was hardly ever angry.
"I don't see why you and Mom are so concerned with my life. I'm an adult. I'm 25," Gareth said, exhaling and leaning his head back.
"Well, it becomes our concern when you decide to pawn the watch your grandfather gave you."
"Exactly. He gave it to me. Meaning it's mine to do what I want to with it. And I decided to sell it. It didn't work anyway. Why leave it lying around when I could get something out of it? It's not like I gave away the memories." Gareth replied coldly.
Mom gave him a disapproving look, but didn't say anything. Arabella couldn't tell if it was because she was tired of arguing, or if she knew he was technically right, just unsympathetic. "You sold Poppy's watch?" Arabella whispered.
Gareth gave her a side glare. "What do you care? You never met him."
Maybe that was why she cared. Everyone had stories about him but her. She dropped her gaze back to her food that was growing colder by the minute.
"Don't talk to your sister like that," Mom interjected as she cut a piece of her steak.
Alex rubbed his forehead and took an anxious sip of water. Dad kept his gaze averted, just like Arabella. Gareth stared back at mom. Challenging her. Things got increasingly uncomfortable. This wasn't an irregular occurrence. It happened about three times a month. Gareth was irresponsible, unemotional. Mom was sentimental and well... a mom. She didn't care about scolding her adult son as long as he still lived under her roof. She didn't have this problem with Alex. He was still in college and still called her every time he wanted to go out with friends for permission. And obviously... Arabella wasn't a problem. She was eleven. What trouble could she get into that would outdo Gareth? Her accomplishments couldn't even come close.
"Mary, save it for after dinner," Dad said quietly, attempting to diffuse the tension.
"No, Theodore, maybe this is what he needs— maybe he needs to be embarrassed in front of his brother and sister."
Gareth scoffed. "Oh, give me a break!"
And there it went. The catalyst for a fight.
Arabella had learned to tune it out by now. She ignored the yelling, the rounds of insults, Alex's attempts to catch her attention from across the table with just his eyes. He wanted her to leave with him. But she wasn't going to. She was angry at Gareth for taking this night away from her. So, if what Mom said was true, and he was going to feel humiliated, then good. Her success was eclipsed by his failure. Humiliation was the least he deserved.
An hour ago, she felt like a star. Now she was invisible. She was jealous. And hurt.
The arguing died with a booming "Enough" from Dad. And the dinner table was silent again. For better or worse, Arabella didn't know. Part of her wanted to spill her good news, maybe get her mom's attention off of Gareth for once. The other part of her knew this wasn't the time. Even if she was mad at Gareth, she wasn't like him; she refused to make it all about her.
Arabella got up from the dinner table, leaving her cold steak and mashed potatoes behind. She went into her room and shut the door, dropping to her knees by her closet and digging through her dance bag. She pulled out the box with the pointe slippers Ms. Rosalee had given her and opened it. Just looking at them made her feel a little better. Sure, she'd have tomorrow to tell mom. It would've been so much nicer to tell her today, though. While the excitement was still fresh.
Oh well...
The fabric was smooth and silky. Arabella could already picture herself on stage. Embodied by her dream role— Giselle. A ghost possessing her in a wisp of tulle and sorrow. It was her favorite ballet. Of course, it was more of a dream than anything at her age, but she intended to make it a goal. Arabella wasn't normally a very driven person. She liked ballet and that was as much as she knew about herself. So, ballet is what she cared about. Giselle is what she cared about. Ms. Rosalee said she was a prodigy— whatever that meant. But Arabella knew it had a positive connotation. Therefore, it wasn't totally impossible that one day she could perform Giselle.
Arabella put the shoes back in the box and tucked them away in her bag. She reluctantly stood up, casting one more glance at her bag before leaving her room. Alex was waiting outside and stood up straight when she came out.
"You okay?" he asked her.
If anything, she was more okay than he was. Arabella nodded and leaned against the wall. "Are they still fighting?"
"No. Gary went to his room. Mom and Dad are finishing dinner. You didn't eat. Come eat," he said kindly, but without room for argument.
Maybe now she could finally tell mom. Arabella followed Alex into the dining room and they sat down. Mom looked up at Arabella and pointed to her plate. "I heated it up for you. Make sure you at least finish the steak."
Arabella peeked at her Dad. He seemed annoyed still. She knew Mom was. Mom was better at hiding it; she'd always been very good at putting on a facade. Arabella kind of admired that. It must've been nice to be able to hide your emotions. Gareth always told Arabella she was too emotional. Somehow that just made her more emotional, which was annoying. The more she showed, the more he scolded her. She didn't know why Gareth was so against 'having a heart'. But she didn't want to disappoint him either.
Taking a bite of her steak, Arabella's eyes flickered between her parents. When would Mom ask how dance was? When would Dad say 'have you told Mom yet'? Did either of them care? Or was the night lost to Gareth's insensitivity?
"Mom?" Arabella said with a hint of trepidation.
"Yes, Arabella?" she said indifferently, brushing a piece of her hair out of her face
Arabella felt discouraged by her lack of interest. But she really wanted to tell her. "Something really cool happened at dance."
"That's nice, honey."
Ouch. Arabella's gaze dropped to her food. She wasn't hungry again. "Ms. Rosalee said—"
"I called the pawn shop. They said I can buy back the watch tomorrow," Gareth interrupted, walking into the room before Arabella could even taste half of the words on her tongue.
She really wanted to scream.
"Good," Mom responded. "Then you can go tomorrow.
"I'll come," Alex said quickly. "We can stop by Staples. I need more printer paper and ink."
Will everyone just stop talking for 30 seconds!?
"Grab me some pens while you're there, black ink please," Dad added, getting up to increase the volume on the radio.
"Got it," Gareth muttered.
Silence.
Arabella spoke up. "Mom, about dance—"
"Hold on, Baby-Bell. Quiet a moment," Dad said as he turned the volume up.
Oh, come on! Arabella's shoulders sunk.
A broadcasted message came through the speakers, and Arabella forced herself to pay attention through the static.
"This an emergency broadcast from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. A nationwide contagion of an infectious disease is spreading rapidly across multiple regions of the United States. Infected individuals exhibit aggressive behavior, resistance to pain, appear unresponsive, and should not be approached. If you or someone you know is exhibiting symptoms, quarantine immediately. Law enforcement and military personnel are attempting to contain the situation. Remain indoors. Secure all windows and lock all doors.
This will all be over soon."
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