Lead & Follow

Pas de Chat

Part 2: Follow

Second Movement, Pas de Chat

Pas de Chat

pas de chat

/ˌpä də ˈSHä/

noun (BALLET)

a jump in which each foot in turn is raised to the opposite knee.

🤍 🖤

You're thrown across the Eckert-Adam abode's guest bed, stretching out like a cat who found a sunbeam. You're trying to decompress from the shock of the day, aka running into the last person in the world you want to see, and then your phone chimes thrice. 

You're expecting the text to come from a loved one checking in, but when you peep your notifications tab you find you've been placed in a group chat. Your jaw clenches as you digest the listed contacts–Terry Rules 🥇; Randy 🐼; hey Jude 🎸; Great Scott 🤓; and, unfortunately, Mr. Male Leave 💩

Though you're far from stoked to be roped into the same chat as your ex, the altered contact name in your phone makes you snort. The correction, in your opinion, is some of your cousin's best handiwork.

Mr. Male Leave 💩

___________

Hello. Welcome to the planning chat, all. This is Baxter. Thank you again for assisting with the wedding prep. 

Our first meeting is tomorrow at 9am.

You can call or text if anything comes up or if that appointment isn't possible. See you soon.

_____________

Your phone pings again, and you're fairly surprised to see a copy+paste address for his office building. Perhaps because you're still under the false presumption that you'd ever really known him at all, you assume he would have signed off like a paper letter–like he used to. 

His text style might have taken a slightly more casual turn, but his number is still the same as it had been five years ago. This tidbit stings because it means there was absolutely no way that he didn't get all the pleading, embarrassing messages you'd sent him the night of your break up. Even worse, he'd never once been tempted enough to open them.

You queue up the old conversation in your messenger app, and the last text he'd ever sent you haunts your inbox like a ghost–' I'm downstairs.'

It's a dangerous game you're playing, allowing yourself to think about what used to be. You know that no good can come of conjuring up memories of the person you once knew–the way he'd smiled at you, the tenderness of his touch, the way it used to feel like you were the only two people in the universe when you were spending time together. Still, you're a hopeless case when it comes to him, and maybe you always will be.