Mothers and Wives

by Sarah Kovatch

I’m sitting at my desk with a stack of bills and wearing my serious, bill-paying-face, when my phone chimes with a text from Elisa, one of my oldest, dearest friends who knows me like a sister (even our looks are sisterly). Elisa and I were side-by-side through middle school, high school, and college, but we have lived our grown-up lives in different parts of the country. She’s a doctor now and recently closed on a new house.

I look away from my online banking, happy to be distracted, and click on her text. It reads: The moving crew. HOT. 

The way she writes it gets me and I giggle out loud. I text back three dancing-lady emojis and crack up more.

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by Sarah Kovatch

 I have two mom-friends who also happen to be dancers. My neighbor Cristen danced competitively all her life before becoming a physical therapist, and Jennifer is a retired principle ballerina from the New York City Ballet who now teaches at a performing arts college. These days, they steal away to a dance class a few nights a week after their kids go to bed.

Dance is my favorite art form to watch. The theater lights dim and I tear up. Performances move me. So much at stake! But I don’t dance. Even at family weddings my husband, Peter can barely pull me onto the dance floor. I get what I call, dance-anxiety.

And so, when Jennifer and Cristen invited me to a Tuesday night beginning tap class just for fun, I begged, “Can’t we please just go out for drinks instead?”

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