chapter 43

Izzy shoved herfeet into a pair of flip-flops someone discarded, hurried down the windowless halls, and ran to the trailer where various assistants kept the dancers’ phones, and pounded on the door.

A man she vaguely recognized opened it, looking worried, maybe because Izzy was wearing only dancewear and flip-flops.

“Whatcha need?”

If Lillian had followed her and tried to convince her to stay together, she’d crack. She couldn’t say no again. Her mind wouldn’t let her cause herself so much pain, but it would hurt more when Lillian realized Izzy was right. And if Lillian wasn’t running after her, if Lillian accepted what she’d said and went back to Reed-Whitmer’s greenroom to freshen up before catching a van to the airport… If Izzy had to face that, she would lie down on the sidewalk and never get up again. There was no good option.

“I just need my phone for an Uber.”

By the time Izzy got home, Sarah had called her a dozen times. With speed that beat Amazon Prime, the show returned her luggage to her a few minutes after she arrived home. Izzy left her suitcases by the door. The living room was still a wreckage of Shape of You Dancewear. She didn’t turn on the lights. She just stood in the center of the room. What had she done? The hurt in Lillian’s face killed her. How could she hurt the woman she loved? How could she ruin everything?

Izzy was still wearing a leotard. It was ridiculously cold. She pulled out her phone to text Lillian. I didn’t mean it. I did it for you. I want you to be happy. I love you. She opened her texts. She had to be strong. She texted Sarah instead.

Izzy: I’m home. I’m okay.

Sarah’s call beeped through.

Izzy: I’m so sorry we lost. I know it means a lot to you and everyone.

Sarah: Fuck the show. What happened? You ran off with Lillian. Imani texted that Lillian’s crying and she never cries.

Izzy: I don’t want to talk about it

Sarah’s call beeped insistently.

Sarah: Pick up

Sarah: You don’t have to hold this in

Sarah: Whatever you’re feeling is valid.

Her call went to voicemail, and she called again.

Izzy scanned the row of unread self-help books on the shelf by the window.

Izzy: I’m really upset, and I’m not ready to talk about it.

Sarah: Don’t go into yourself like that. You need people to get through this

Izzy: I need to be alone. I don’t know how to talk. It’s too hard. I’ve made so many mistakes, I can’t look at them with someone else.

She should stop. That much feeling would have Sarah on her doorstep in seconds.

Izzy: I need you to respect my boundaries.

She waited for Sarah to text that wanting to be alone wasn’t a valid feeling. When Sarah’s text came back, it was a paragraph.

Sarah: I’m so sorry Izzy. You’ve tried to tell me before, and I never listen. I’m just sad that I can’t be there for you, that none of us ever really can. You don’t have to open up if you don’t want to. But I’m here for you! Okay?! We all are. Always.

Izzy: Thanks.

Izzy silenced her phone and walked into her office. She pushed aside the stack of bills, woke her computer, and cruised the internet for reviews of animation software. She chose one with a hundred-dollar-a-month subscription fee. Price didn’t matter. She’d only use it once.

She didn’t have Lillian’s drawings, but she sketched out some rough estimates of the human form. The software was intuitive. She got one of the figures to raise an arm. She created another clip of a figure doing one pirouette. Slowly the force of her concentration muted the pain in her heart, not by taking it away but by taking her away, leaving nothing but lines and code and commands and the lightning-fast work of her computers. She started with classic moves and poses, building up a library of little clips. None of them were good, and she’d have to build an app to hold them, menus to allow the user to arrange the clips and alter the movements, ways for the choreographer to share the sequences, for other people to edit and comment, because art was always a collaboration. She’d build enough of it so that Lillian could hire another programmer to refine it and make it exactly what she wanted. The prototype would show Lillian it was possible, that Izzy had paid attention to everything Lillian had shared with her, that Izzy wanted Lillian to fulfill every one of her dreams.