8.14 Part Four: Recital Night and Marlo

(Potential) Trigger Warning

Marlo's POV, at the recital...

   Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths, deep-
  "And now our star pupil, Marlo Janes, is going to preform her routine entitled rêve d'un cygne volant, dreams of a flying swan." Madame Bourguignon announced. Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths. Calm down. Calm down. You skipped two days worth of meals for this and only drank a protein drink this morning, so you know you looked great. Just go out there and wow everyone- forget your fight, was it really a fight, with Pho- c'mon, if you don't you're... Well, then. You're worthless. You don't wanna be worthless then, do you? No, you don't. But you are. Maybe you won't be if you do really great. Just go out there and wow them Go! I stopped thinking and began walking onto the stage; I needed to let go of my thoughts and let the music and dance takeover me.

   And then it was all over, as quickly as it had begun. The stressful part of the evening was over; now it was time to turn on the charm, time to begin to schmooze and convince the parents that their little angel need the stress of the other ballerinas being thinner and more agile then them, the stress of whether or not they'll win the competition, and should pay a month's salary to learn about the competitive, destructiveness that was a beautiful art I couldn't live without.

The next morning...

   I woke up to see the sun streaming in through the window above Pho's bed. I took a deep breath and yawned; I had fallen asleep close to ten-thirty, before dad- I assumed he had shown up, considering that an iPhone charger and pink toothbrush was carefully place on the table- had shown up, and he usually made me go to sleep around eight-thirty. My feet hit the cold floor and I instantly shivered; I was lucky I lived in an area that was always warm, I had lost most of my body fat and now anything below seventy degrees Fahrenheit made me cold.

   I glanced at myself in the mirror, my braid had come undone throughout the night, and decided to change out of my pajamas later. Right now I had something much more important to do. I began tiptoeing out of our room, after I shoved my phone into my PJ pocket, quietly opening the door so it wouldn't wake Pho. I liked to think I did this because I was a naturally nice person, but in truth I did it because if she woke up me I couldn't do what I always did in the morning. I scurried over to the stairs, scrambling down them to the living room, then into the kitchen. 

   I stood on my tippy toes and leaped up, grabbing a bowl and the Healthy Whole Grain O's from the cabinet I'd open. I set the bowl and knock off brand cereal on the counter and walked over to the fridge, pulling out the skim milk. Doing this, this being convincing whoever I was around that I had in fact consumed a food product close to breakfast without actually consuming anything, wasn't an exact science. I had to pour a few bits of cereal into the bowl, then top it off with a tablespoon or so of milk. I'd take a spoon and much the cereal until it looked like I'd actually ate the rest, then I placed the bowl in the sink and let whoever I was with lecture me on how I should put my dishes in the dishwasher when I was done with them. 
   Lunch was probably the easiest to act like I'd  ate; I went to school everyday with three dollars for lunch, but instead of buying lunch I bought gum or zero calorie beverages that I chew or eat in order to trick my brain into think I'd ate something. If I talked a lot to my friends or occasionally swiped a cracker or celery stick from their tray, they never inquired about my eating habits.
   Dinner was the most difficult meal of the day, because daddy insisted we all ate at the table together, as a family. Usually we had pasta, pizza, Mexican, or some sort of marinated meat with salad and corn or green beans and mashed potatoes or peas or lima beans. If we had pizza or pasta I'd try to act like I had a big lunch that day and pick at the toppings, drink a protein shake I mixed up for myself, and try to keep my calorie consumption under three hundred. Mexican was simple- no tortilla, keep the meat to a minimum, eat the lettuce, tomatoes, no cheese, and then chug a protein shake. No carbs, which meant no sugar or bready items, no dairy, no sweets, nothing fried, bulk up on veggies and fruit, preferably the fresh variety. Occasionally switch up the calorie consumption to make your metabolism work, chew lots of gum, drink lots of water, work your butt of at your three hour daily ballet practice and twice a week yoga. That was my regime and I had stuck with it; it was fool proof and it worked.
   "Ding!" My phone went off. I pulled it out at glanced at it. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap. Crap! Why did this have to happen? Why?!
   "Prestigious residential New York City American Ballet Academy raises non-continental tuition costs." NyCABA (knee-cAH-buh)  was the most prestigious American ballet school that excepted thirteen to sixteen years olds; usually they allowed American territories, such as the US Virgin Islands, where I inconveniently lived, to apply. The school accepted dedicated dancers who were twelve to fifteen and trained them so that way when they turned sixteen they could audition for a company. The competition was murderous; the school was the best in the country and thousands of people from all over the world auditioned. I had yet to tell my parents about it; tuition was a bank breaking thirty-thousand dollars a year, fifteen of that thirty was devoted to housing. If we lived in New York, I wouldn't have to board, but since we didn't... Well, the numbers spoke for themselves and with the rule change, who knew how much more they'd demand- not that it would stop me from needing to get it.
   I angrily tossed my phone at the wall- CRACK!- I glanced over; it had hit the glass sliding doors. As if I didn't have enough worries; mom would probably go balistic when she found out. I opened the glass door and stepped outside, to try and assess the damage when I spotted a shadow out of the corner of my eye. Was someone on the balcony?
   "Hello?" I cried out, taking a slow step back into the house.
   "Shh!" A gruff voice cried out from above, on the balcony. "Just lemme in."
   "AHH! MOM!" I screamed, slamming the door shut. Someone was here; were they trying to break in? Why would you do that this early when everyone was waking up? Why not wait until the afternoon or evening? I turned my back and began tip toeing out of the kitchen, hoping they wouldn't do anything before I could go tell mom.    
   "Wait!!" The voice called out and I heard a scratching on the door.
   "MOM SOMEONE'S TRYING TO BREAK IN!" I took off running, towards the stairs when I bumped into mom.
   "Marlo!" She whispered. "What did you hear?"
   "Someone on the balcony."
   "On the- on the balcony?" She paused, a glimmer of regret crossing her face. "The balcony..." She sighed.
   "Yeah... is there something I should know?"
   "Just stay here. If I scream, call the police and play a Sarah Mclachlen song at my funeral."
   "Mom!"

   "I'm joking, sweetie." She smiled, ruffling my hair, something she hadn't done since I was six. She began strutting over to the kitchen and slide open the door. "Harbor!" She exclaimed over dramatically. "What in the world are you doing here?"
   "I'm um... Uh... Um..." Their voices dropped, so I began walking closer to the kitchen so I could here their whispers.
   "Did Marlo see you?"
   "I don't know. I thought if I went out the balcony door in your bedroom they wouldn't see me..."
   "Well, she might have! What are we going to say? We may have agreed to forget that this happened, but the kids... I mean, she's in middle school and Phoebe's in high school, so they obviously aren't clueless. What would we say? Wouldn't this confuse them?"
   "I don't know... we aren't getting back together- this was a one time thing- maybe they'd get that?"
   "Dammit. This complicates crud."
   "Let's just... I don't... I'll go, you say it was a tree branch."
   "She isn't stupid."
   "I know; I raised her smart."
   "I-I... raised her pretty."
   "Maya." I heard him whisper sigh. "I'll go, let's- tree branch, okay?"
   "Okay." I heard the door slide shut and nonchalantly began playing on my phone. I looked up at mom when she walked by.
   "No police?"
   "Oh, no. It was a tree branch."
   "Sure..."
   "Honey, I'm feeling really tired; I didn't get much sleep yesterday, I think I'll try and get a little more sleep, if that's okay with you."

   "Sure." And with that, she scurried up the stairs to her bedroom and I plopped myself down on the couch, hoping that some Netflix and New Girl could help me forget about my parents and their time together; the idea disgusted me, even though I knew was here, so that meant... but still! It was an awkward, horrible prospect.

NOTE: I have no idea how accurate my eating disorder logic is or if that's how someone who suffers from an eating disorder mind works, so I apologize in advance for whatever mistakes I made. 
IMPORTANT! - >  If you suffer from an eating disorder, please seek treatment. Here are a list of hotlines which I hope may be helpful to you: http://www.something-fishy.org/other/hotlines.php

8.14 Part Three: Recital Night and Maya

Maya's POV, at her home...

   Dammit, dammit, dammit. I glanced at the bills; they'd been higher than I thought they would... I had bought new furniture for the girls' room, but I'd sold the car so I should have broke even. How was I going to pay this month? I'd screwed up and sent myself into debt that was deeper than what I thought was humanly and mermaidly possible. Why'd I have to purchase all these pointless things? Massages, luxurious clothes and jewelry that I'd pawned off a few months ago to pay my bills, salon trips, and vacations. I had tried going on dates, but I wasn't young enough anymore to be some elderly man's gold digging arm candy. Why had I been such a bitch to Harbor? Our life wasn't perfect, but he was sweet and kind and willing to bend over backwards to accommodate me. If only I hadn't been so obsessed with perfection.
   I couldn't afford the cost of a cab, so I couldn't go to Marlo's performance, not that I could tell Harbor or the kids that. Let them think I was flaky, let them think I was out shopping or something, let them think anything, as long as they didn't know how bad my life became after I left. I wasn't humbled by my lack of money; I still had pride and an image to preserve, even if my image wasn't that great considering the fact that I worked at a fast food joint. I may have sold my wedding ring so I could buy diamond powder for Marlo so she'd think I cared, but at least I maybe her happy. I honest to goodness did love and care about my children who were currently sleeping upstairs, but I left. They probably thought I hated them; I had to show I didn't, but I didn't know how. Dammit. Why couldn't I learn that looks and things weren't everything? I'd taught my children that because I'd had looks and thing back then; I wish I'd learned.
   The knock on the door interrupted my wallowing in self pity. I didn't deserve pity; I was a bitch, but still. Sometimes it helps, even when you know you're the one in the wrong.
   "The door's unlocked!" I cried out, shoving the bills underneath the couch cushion.
   "Hey, Maya." I heard Harbor say before I saw him. "I just need to give Marlo her toothbrush and Phoebe her phone charger, I'll be quick."
   "They're in there room... I sent them up, since I figured it was getting late."
   "Okay, thanks." He said, walking over to the spiral staircase. I heard him going up, then tiptoeing back downstairs. "They're both asleep." He beamed, as he began walking to the front door.
   "You can stay a bit!" I rashly exclaimed. "I mean if you want."
   "Okay..." He paused. "Are you sure?"
   "Am I- yes, yes. I know that we haven't talked much since that one night and I just... We've been broken up too long to have not made amends. I wanted to apologize."

   "Maya..." He sighed, sitting down on the far end of the couch. "Look. Things... we have this history. I think it's best if we just let everything okay. Don't try to fix things, because I don't know it you can."
   "I want to, though! I'm a bitch, I get that. I tricked you into signing a contract, I told you I'd turn you in as a sex offender, that's some fudged up sugar! I know it is and dammit, I can't... I was thinking today, the kids hate me. I can't deal with you hating me to and I know it's too late with the kid, but with you... maybe you could at least not hate me. You don't have to like me, just, if you could tolerate me."
   "The kids don't hate you. You're their mother and you frustrate them and they may not be fond of you, but they still love you. Besides, you could start showing up to things. Stop treating Marlo with favoritism and stop making empty promises."

  "I'll try... I don't mean to do stuff, I just. Dammit. I use to be able to convince you to do all this sugar, why can't I convince that I've changed?"
   "Maya, we may not be actually divorced, but that's how I explain it to people. Here's the thing with divorces: people don't change. Maybe one day people learn, but they don't change. We're done, over and now we have to accept that we're never going to be together again... And I don't hate you, but you did scar me, I'm not sure that I trust you and sometimes I feel like I'm the only parent... you haven't shown that you've learned, maybe if you did I'd accept it. "
   "I meant to come to her recital tonight, I did, I just couldn't-" I stopped in my tracks; I didn't want to tell him about me not being able to afford transportation.

   "You couldn't what?"
   "Never mind."
   "Tell me. Please."
   "Nothing, bitchy self centered reasons."
   "At least you know that the reasons are bitchy and self centered. That's progress."
   "See?"
   "Maybe I should go..."
   "If you want." I sighed. I'd messed up, I knew it, and I couldn't change his mind.
   "I don't know... One thing, though. I'm going to be taking a small trip in about a month for one week, so I can't watch the kids. Can you?" Watching them meant more money for food and power and water. I'd have to pickup more hours at Speedy McBurgers, but if this is what it took to show that I was indeed responsible and not flaky, I'd do it.
   "Sure, no problem." I shrugged. We sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. This was horrible; was this how it was always going to be? We hadn't spent this much time together in so long... "Do you want something to drink?"
   "Sure, soda if you have any... Maybe beer. Or wine. I'm not picky, I'm just hoping that we can get rid of some of this tension and make the situation less painful."
   "Alcohol certainly does those things..."
   "Do you have any?"
   "Um, some red wine that's labeled for cooking... I bought it for pasta sauce, but I guess it's drinkable."
   "Sure." He shrugged, standing up. "I'm guessing it is in the kitchen."
   "Oh yeah. It is." I said, standing up and walking towards the wine. He followed me, glancing around the home he'd hardly stepped a foot inside.
   I threw open the kitchen cabinets and began fishing around for the wine, which I located at the very back. Even in my heels I was too short to reach it, so I turned to ask asked:
   "Hey, pull over a chair, will you?"

   "Huh- uh, um, yeah sure." He immediately pulled his eyes up from my backside to my face. Was he really staring at me? I assumed I was repulsive, but maybe not.
   "Were you staring?" I smirked.
   "Um... not exactly. A friend of mine and I were discussing my romantic life."
   "And?"
   "I have none."
   "Ah. Neither do I."
   "Well... I mean, you're attractive, so if you wanted to..."
   "I'm all stretched out, though. I'm not educated and I'm not nice."
   "You aren't stretched out."
   "Compared to nineteen year olds I am." I said, as climbed up on the chair he'd brought over. I could almost reach the wine, I just needed to stand on my tippy toes. I began teetering, then I was on the floor and pain was shooting through my left ankle. "Dammit." I was cursing just because of the fall; I was running low on laundry and, needless to say, thought it'd be perfectly okay to skip the undergarments, which, in hindsight, I probably shouldn't have done, considering my choice of attire.
   "Are you okay?" Harbor asked, rushing over to me. He took my hands and helped me stand, which caused my ankle to hurt more. I wanted to scream, yet I couldn't. The children were sleeping and I had done this to myself; smile through it.
   "Oh, um yeah. The wine's in the cabinet, can you get it?"

   "I think you're tipsy enough without alcohol." He smiled. "So, sadly I will not."
   "I... I, yeah." I faintly said. I hadn't realized how handsome his eyes were... so deep, like a heavenly pool of... I felt my knees weaken and it wasn't because of the fall. "You're so handsome..." I whispered. "Are you sure you don't have a romantic life?"
   "I'm sure."
   "You know... you're the only man I've been with." I blurted out, without thinking about how peculiar that'd sound to him.
   "Okay..." He paused, I could tell he was thinks. "Wait. What about the stripper firefighter that one day?"
   "Um..." I began blushing vibrantly; why had I brought this up? "We didn't... I couldn't..." I couldn't sleep with him; he was a decade younger than me and I wanted perfection and perfection meant being faithful to your partner. even if you weren't faithful, you didn't cheat with someone you were paying to sleep with you.
   "Really?" He said, raising an eyebrow. He probably thought I was lying and I couldn't blame him; I wouldn't believe me, either.
   "Yeah... I know it was off topic, I just... I wanted you to know that."
   "Can you get up the stairs?" He quickly asked, changing the subject.
   "Yes." I said, as I began hobbling towards them, then suddenly I began falling, flailing.
   "I'm going to say no." He said quickly, rushing to catch me. "I'll help you."
   "Thanks." I said, holding onto his arm. It was a slow process, but i was able to get up them and into my bedroom, with his help.
   "I think I'm going to let myself out." He said, turning to leave my bedroom.
   "Wait! I mean, just... I'm sorry. Again."
   "I know you are. I'm working on rebuilding my trust for you and..."
   "Harbor..." I quietly whispered, staring into hiss eyes. "I did love you. I honestly use to, even when I did those things to you..."
   "You don't anymore?"
   "I don't know... I don't. No. I know I damaged you and I know you can't let that go. I know you're better off without me."
   "I... yes... I think so, too."
   "Just..." I reached out and grabbed onto his hand, pulling him towards me. He sat down next to me, on the bed. We were so close, our thighs were touching and I could smell his cologne. The scent of cinnamon and manliness wafted into my nostrils, making me wish I could smell him all day long, regardless of how peculiar that sounds. "We're a finished chapter in each other's novels that are our lives."
   "That sounds so poetic and smart... and that's hot."
   "Maya, agree with me: we're done. Okay? Nothing will ever happen again. You said yourself you use to love me, you don't anymore. You don't, okay?"
   "I know... I Harbor... you're so attractive."
   "The pain's making you crazy. I should go."
   "Wait..." I leaned forward, gently placing my lips against his. "You needed a goodnight kiss." I said, after I pulled away to see his face sculpted into shock.
   "We're done. We're done. We're done." He kept repeating that, over and over, and over. I nodded and began saying it too. We were done; I knew that. We had been for so long, I shouldn't have kissed him. But I wanted to... I didn't want a relationship or an emotional attachment, I wanted him to kiss me back. I wanted one last time, I wanted what I hadn't had in so long. Dammit, was that too much to ask?
   "You know, people..." I leaned closer to him, letting him glance down my dress to see the lack of undergarments. "People, they do meaningless stuff all the time. It doesn't have to mean they have feeling for each other; they're motivated by lust and lust alone." I leaned closer, placed my hand on his chest, I began feeling his abs and sculpted chest through his shirt.
   "But it isn't right. Maya, I don't love you and the children could here..."
   "I know." I said. I looked at him and he looked at me and I slowly pulled away; he wasn't interested. Then, I felt his hand on my leg, creeping upwards.
   "Don't think it means that I hate you or that you're ugly. You aren't and I don't hate you."
   "I think I knew... I think I know."
   "I haven't actually been with someone in a long time. It probably wouldn't be good, anyways."
   "The same goes for me."
   "So, we shouldn't." I felt his hand creeping up my thigh. "Humans are complex animals, we have brains that know right and wrong, yet we're still animals with animal urges. Urges that can be difficult to contain."
   "Not impossible, though."
   "No, not impossible. Somehow... somehow, dammit. I'm... look and I don't think a warm shower and I, myself, will be much of a remedy." I glanced down at him and blushed. "My hand or..." I heard him whisper to himself.
   "We're animals."
   "We are, dammit."
   "You can ignore your brain, but your primal instincts take more effort to ignore."
   "They do. Tell me you have them to. Tell me woman have a point of no return. Because, I'm at it and if you don't have one-"
   "I do, oh I do and..." And he was kissing he and I was kissing him and kicking off my heels and pulling open the front of his shirt, he was using his hands to pull my dress up, up, up, until it was off me.

   We could have avoided it, but we'd convinced ourselves we were animals. Sometimes when you put two people together for a long enough time, something will happen, even if you're sure it won't. The loud groans, the wildness, all night exhaustion causing messiness- we didn't have to, we could have not, but dammit we both wanted to, because we'd convinced ourselves we should, even though, in truth, it wasn't because of emotions or anything, it was just because it was convenient and it had been awhile for both of us. And we had assumed we were okay with it... We assumed.

8.14 Part Two: Recital Night and Harbor

At the recital...

   I held onto my glass of nonalcoholic grape juice, as I sat at one of the small tables that was on the balcony overlooking the ballet studio's performance area. Marlo's performance had just finished and now she was being forced to follow her instructor and the studio's owner around, telling everyone who had shown up to the recital slash open house about how the studio has made her life so much better and how every kid needs the exact same experience. If you had children, you needed to sign them up for top notch private lessons that cost a pretty penny and if you were childless you needed to donate money to the studio so they could higher more instructors and expand and maintain the facilities. I thought the studio was great; Marlo seemed to love it, but you would have thought that at the cost of the lessons they could have bothered buying better quality food and some alcoholic beverages.
   As terrible as it sounds, I was partially grateful that Maya hadn't shown up. I felt terrible for Marlo, but if she had come the night would have been turned into an awkward act of avoidance and me wish that the studio served vodka and cranberry juice. Dealing with Maya was difficult to do when sober, not impossible, I did it all the time, but extremely difficult.
   "Hey, man." I heard a voice behind me say.
   "Yeah." I said, as I turned to see a man with a Rolex and polished, leather shoes behind me. "Um, hello."
   "Hey, I just wanted to say congratulations. You're daughter's the skinny little thing that did the solo, right?"
   "Uh, huh. Marlo." I proudly nodded.

   "She did great with the dancing, as well as the salesmanship. She's highly convincing; I've been on the fence about getting lessons for my kid, they're so damn expensive and with my eldest's tuition I wasn't sure, but after she did her pitch, I'm in."
   "Ah, well she defiantly gets the convincing part from her mother." I chuckled. "I'm Harbor Janes."
   "Walter Wallace." He said, as he stuck out his hand, which I gladly shook.
   "So, you've got a daughter?"
   "Son, actually. He does football and the coach suggested he try ballet to help out during off season. The wife decided since I was the one who got him into football, I was the one who had to come tonight. I see you got forced into it, too."
   "I'm actually part of the middle aged divorcee crowd. The ex is a bit flaky and head strong, so I'm usually the one who has to come to these things."
   "Ouch. Sorry, man."
   "It's fine. We called it quits a few years ago, at this point I'm use to it. The kids are the ones who suffer."
   "Woman." He said, shaking his head. "Some of 'em are blessing, some of 'em are curses."
   "I feel bad for the next generation who finds that out about my daughters."

   "Ha, really! I got myself an eighteen year old, she's off at uni and starting to date, I'm telling you. She's a sweet girl, but incredibly detail oriented, which is great considering the fact that she'd studying maths, but for her boyfriend not so much."
   "I've got two girls, my eldest just entered high school... I'm dreading the day she discovers boys, or even girls for that matter."
   "Eh. I learned that you can try to protect your baby girl as much as possible, but eventually you just gotta let 'em make their own choices and trust 'em. They'll get hurt, you can't stop that, you just gotta be ready to comfort 'em."
   "Good advice... thanks."
   "No problem. I wish someone had told me it four years ago, might as well pass it on."
   "How old's your son?"
   "Eight. Lemme tell you, kiddie sports has gotten much more competitive since we've been kids."
   "Let's see... I was never the athletic type, but for me that was about two and a half decades ago."
   "You're kidding, right? Twenty-five years ago I was twenty-three."
   "I was nine."
   "And you're calling yourself middle aged?"
   "I am, in a way. I got the cruddy office job, the ex-wife, the two kids that are almost teenagers, if I had the mid-life crisis I'd be set."

   "Oh, no. Man, wait until forty. That's when everything starts falling apart. My back, my allergies, my hair started thinning. Forty-five is when the wrinkles and graying and need for reading glasses started; the really middle aged is in your early forties, not thirties."
   "I dunno..."
   "Trust me, the forties is middle aged. In fact, the wife and I decided instead of sports cars or new homes or some insane criss purchases, we'd each take separate vacations. She's going to Paris, France with her book club and I'm planning on Vegas, baby."
   "Vegas, huh?"
   "You ever been? The only time I've been was for my bachelor party and with my frat to celebrate the fact that we'd all made it through college and earned our LL.M. degrees." He's got a degree in law? I've got my measly high school degree and he's got a bachelor's degree and a what, Juris Doctor Degree, and an LL.M.?
   "Um, yeah I've been once. Didn't end well."
   "You should go sometime."
   "I don't know, with my job and having to plan everything and the kids..."
   "Don't you have a girlfriend who can watch the kids? Or couldn't your ex?"
   "We'd have to change t he custody plan, she'd never agree and there isn't a girlfriend."
   "I'm surprised, there's got to be a single ballet mom who's got the intelligence and kindness to go along with the looks you could convince to give something a go."
   "I've been focused on raising he girls properly and my job." I shrugged. "Dating hasn't been a priority."
   "You know what, my trip's booked for three weeks from now, why don't you come along? Do Vegas right, maybe find someone who can help you get back in the game."
   "I don't know... my job, the kids-"

   "Look, if it's money, the thing's already booked and we've payed for it; it won't cost you a dime, other than the gambling and food. My friend's had to drop cause their kid's going into the military and that's the last weekend they have together, but we still have two hotel rooms booked. It'd be us and two other guys from my office. We're all happily married so we can't party and we need a single guy to live vicariously through."
   "I appreciate the offer, honestly, but I'm not a party guy, I wouldn't want to ruin your mid life crisis trip. Also, we've just met, how do you know I'm not some effed up creep?"
   "I'll take my chances. Besides, if you're in your early thirties and have a high schooler, you probably haven't ever got the chance to party properly. When else are you gonna have the chance to get to go to Vegas for free, while you're still young?" He did have a point, as much as I hated to admit it. Besides, I hadn't had a break from parenting in so long, it couldn't hurt to have a bit of relaxation.
   "Fine... Okay, I'll discuss with Maya tonight when I drop the kids off at her place and if she agrees to watch Phoebe and Marlo, then okay."
   "Great; I knew I could convince you. Trust me, we'll show you how to party right... Reasonably, of course."
   I had come to the ballet studio expecting to be over eager for the recital to be finished, but instead I ended up enjoying myself, made a new friend, and am going to Vegas. Not bad.

8.14 Part One: Recital Night and Phoebe

Phoebe's POV, before the recital...

 

  I stared at myself in the mirror, pausing to pat down a blonde piece of hair that had escaped my hours of styling. I normally didn't care about my appearance; it was the room I designed that need to look breathtaking, not me. But tonight was special, tonight was the ballet studio's open house and Marlo, who had apparently become a star pupil and Madame something-or-other-pretentious-French-name's pet, was performing a short routine to try and convince all the other parents to sign their child up for overpriced private lessons. Marlo, who had always been mom's favorite, had convinced her to show up to the recital, which was rather surprising considering that in the four and a half years since the divorce, if it wasn't a birthday or major holiday mom was a no show on the days that weren't death out to her.
   Of course, when Marlo needs someone to help her be a pain in the butt, high maintenance twelve year old mom waltzes in with high end makeup and glittery costumes makeup made from freaking diamond powder. I went to the freshman dance two months ago because Kathleen, my best friend since seventh grade, thought that Quentin was going to ask me to dance and was just being shy. He didn't, though and while I like the keep thinking it was because he was shy, the fact that I used one of my oil pastels for blush and a charcoal pencil for eyeliner, which than triggered break outs I didn't know we're humanly possible, probably didn't help either. Mom didn't help me then with my makeup, yet Marlo gets powdered diamond. I wasn't jealous; I knew mom was materialistic and self center, this was probably why she and dad called it quits, yet I couldn't help and hope at one day she'd mature.
    Hair in place, check. Outfit... Presentable. I looked fourteen and I suppose looking your age is good. I wasn't grown up and cool like the effortlessly gorgeous girls I wanted to mimic, not too young like the immature girl who were perpetually stuck in the world of BFFs and recess gossip from years ago, and definitely not slutty grown up like the cheerleaders and Aberzombie and Bitch wearers. This would have to do.

   "Pho!" I heard Marlo sequel, as she bounded into the room like a gazelle.
   "Hey, how do I look?" I turned to face her, showing off my apparel.
   "That's such a good color on you! And you're so thin…" She sighed, glancing down at her stomach. "I mean this," she pointed at her stomach, "c'mon."
   "You're in seventh grade. Relax." I rolled my eyes. Whenever she had to do a larger performance, she always freaked out about her appearances. I didn't understand why; she was more athletic than most kids out age and ate super healthy, but I suppose if I were in the spotlight I'd want to look perfect, too.
   "Yeah… I just. Ugh, everyone's so cut throat. One mess up and all of a sudden I'm not he one…" She drifted off, like she usually did whenever we began talking about anything involving her ballet.
   "When's mom coming over?"
   "Oh, she, um, she texted me and she said that something came up so she can't make it, but we can still spend the night at her house and watch a chick flick and give each other pedicures."
   "I'm sorry. That sucks." I tried to sound sympathetic, but in truth hit sounded just like mom to pull something like that. I wish she wouldn't hurt Marlo, though; she had yet to figure out her ways.
   "Yeah, but whatever. I mean she was going to do my hair and makeup and stuff, but whatever. Dad's coming."
   "Yeah. And so am I and we're all proud of you. We don't need mom there, do we?"

   "I do!" She gasped, suddenly offended. Crud. I wanted to sound supportive and uplifting, not mean. "You know, just because mom actually likes me doesn't mean you have to be all ugh about her."
   "Mom likes me…" I wouldn't let her play Barbie with me, but that didn't mean that she didn't like me. I had some issues with her flakiness and attitude, but she was my mother.
   "Yeah. Keep telling yourself that." And with that she pranced away, just like my pity for her did.

After the Performance...

   Marlo was perched on the lacy forest green and white duvet that covered the twin bed in our room. Or at least, it was suppose to be our room, in all reality in was in mother's house- we were being forced to have mother and daughters night at her house, it was her pitiful way of trying to makeup for missing the ballet recital- therefore she was the one who got to decorate it and decide what went in it and what didn't. I turned my head away from her; she had yet to apologize for saying mom didn't like her, so I had given her  the cold shoulder during her recital. She had done well, that was undeniable, yet I wasn't going to inform her of the fact. She didn't need her head to become any larger.
   "I'm finished with the bathroom." I coldly announced. 
   "Okay..." She replied, glancing down at her hands. "Daddy said he was going to drop off my toothbrush; I forgot it at home."
   "Okay." We looked at each other in silence for a few seconds, before I broke down and began speaking. "You did good tonight."
   "Thanks."

   "Will you text dad, ask him to bring over my phone charger? I forgot it in my bedroom."
   "Sure... or you can just borrow my phone." She shrugged. "It's on the nightstand." I walked over to the stand and picked up her iPhone, unlocked it, and iMessaged our dad, who quickly replied.
   "He says he'll be here in about ten minutes, close to ten-thirty." 

   "Pho..." She said, as she stood up off the bed. "I..."
   "Yeah?"
   "Well, um... Look, I'm sorry I was so rude to you."
   "It's whatever... But, thanks."
   "I know I piss you off a lot and I don't mean to, usually."
   "You're my little sister. You're suppose to be a pain."
   "I'm not like, little, anymore. I'm in seventh grade."

   "Doesn't matter, what grade you're in, you're always gonna be my little sister, Marlo."
   "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" She said, jokingly. 
   "Depends on how annoying you are, because trust me, high schools taught me how to really up the bitch mode." And with that, all was well; we may push each other's buttons at time, but our anger and grudges never lasted too long. As tragic as it sounds, we've actually gotten closer since our parents called it quits.

Author's Note: Heeeey, long time no see... Sorry about that. School and all that stuff's been *rambles on about personal life*. So, yeah. Anyways, I'm going to be releasing several chapters centered around Marlo's ballet recital from multiple character's POVs and all the chapter will be titled 8.14 Part ___: Recital Night and ___.  Also, on a random note, how many of you use Tumblr? Also, the bigger pictures yay or nay?