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 Three years later, in the Ballet Theater Gala fund-raiser

“Still a picky eater?” Becca smirked as Jo shook her head at the waiter who’d come by to offer them some crudites.

They were a mere five minutes into a conversation that they’d each been bracing for, and things still felt awkward, despite the promising start downstairs when Jo dropped in on Becca.  They were trying to relax in one of the comfy couches that had been randomly scattered around a make-shift stage in the second floor.  The booming dance music in the first floor barely registered in the heavily carpeted glass-enclosed area, and apparently, there were others seeking refuge like they were.

Becca managed to snag the remaining couch, and though it looked big, it was a comfy loveseat.  Jo was inwardly pleased that the two-seater meant they would be sitting closer to each other than she thought they would be.  Given the circumstances.

Becca looked like she was chomping at the bit to say something, but was holding things back, eyeing Jo sharply over the rim of the champagne flute that Jo had handed to her, instead.

“Well, I’ve had to be a picky eater Becca.  Don’t wanna cause my illness to flare up again…” Jo shot back, then bit her tongue before she said anything else.  Shit!  The last thing I wanted was to remind her, right off the bat, that I had cancer.

Instantly, Becca’s face softened, and she automatically reached out to brush Jo’s arm.  She opened her mouth to say something, but Jo gently laid a finger on her lips, and mouthed, “I know you meant it in another way.  Let’s not dwell on it, ok?”

They exchanged tentative smiles as Jo removed her finger from Becca’s lips.  “Becca, you look like you just …. Um … why don’t you just let me have it?  Do what you want.  Bite my head off; slap me; throw that glass at me, scream …”

“Shut up,” Becca answered harshly, her eyes sharpening to pinpricks as she again paused in mid-sentence, apparently wrestling with herself about something.  She took a deep breath before calmly continuing, “Don’t you dare, Jo.  What you did was way worse than any of those reactions; reactions that would seem normal under other circumstances.   I didn’t deal with a normal kind of hurt, Jo.  And we are not going to hash out what went down between us three years ago while surrounded by hundreds of people making merry and getting drunk….”