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  Tomás sighed deeply and said, “I don’t understand why you won’t even tell your dad about me. We’re having a big party at my house. I told you both of you should come.”

  “And I told you that my daddy doesn’t approve of me going out with boys. He doesn’t like the very idea–”

  “You’re eighteen years old. I’m a good boyfriend. From a good family. It’s not like I’m some sort of…”

  I looked over at him, my eyes narrowed in fury. “Some sort of what? Someone like me? Like my dad? Is that what you’re not?” I shook my head and started to open the door, my robe in the back of his car. I didn’t care. He could have it.

  Tomás began to cry. “No, Olivia, no, I mean, what I meant was…please Olivia, just give me a few more minutes to explain myself,” he said, looking over at me imploringly, his hand on my arm.

  I shuddered violently. I would not cry. I would not let this person hold me back. I would get out of this car and I would move to New York and I would not look back. This would soon be my past, and it would be unimportant. I would joke about it in Paris, and people would laugh and we would drink champagne and I would dance and my life would be filled with magic, with crystal chandeliers and beautiful men, and expensive, all-white hotels in Rome. I felt like I was going to be sick.

  “Olivia, don’t you understand what I want from you?”

  “Yes. You want me to go to school in New York and come back. Not to go on. You want me to come back and settle into this place that I’ve dedicated my life to getting out of.”

  “Denver is a great city. I don’t know why you’re always talking about getting out.”

  “My Denver isn’t your Denver, Tomás.”

  “I know that. I do. But if you came back, you could dance here. What about David Taylor Dance Studio? That’s a professional studio–”

  “Yes, and most of the kids who go on from there, go on to New York. And the people who teach there, danced with companies based in New York.”

  “Olivia, I know we can figure this out. I love you. I want to have children with you.”

  I opened the door and stepped out. “I don’t want children,” I said, slamming the door.

  I walked across the parking lot, holding my insides as tightly as I could. The day was warm, but night was beginning to fall. I had only brought my robe. I looked up. I was walking towards the sun as it set, towards the west, and as I walked, I was bathed in the dying light, and it covered me like my daddy’s old Pendleton, and I didn’t look back, in fact I didn’t even think to.

  Fin.

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