Re: Wandering: Hannah/Fiach
She knew how to waltz. The dance made her think of ballrooms and dresses to the floor. It made her think of open windows with curtains wafting. It made her think of some of the houses of her childhood, the ones where her mom told her fairy princesses had once lived, and the little girl she'd been, that Hannah had been, had believed. She'd thought the winding staircases of her youth surely lead to towers where pretty girls lived. Those girls had canopies in pretty pink, and their mothers told them bedtime stories, and their fathers looked on and smiled fond and warm, and that was what princesses had.
And there wasn't music tonight, but he wasn't wrong that she could hear it in her head. Again, a childhood memory, and Mom and Dad had danced around those empty ballrooms of her youth, and she and Si and Molly, they'd sat and watched and daydreamed. Well, she and Molly had daydreamed, and Si had squirmed. He was a boy, and sitting still and watching dancing wasn't really his thing, but he'd sat with them, and they'd watched, and Dad had looked at Mom with love glisten-bright, and Hannah remembered.
But here, now, and as present as she was for anything since the memories, she took his hand. "I like the waltz," she told him, and she lowered her voice in conspiratorial secret. "I don't mind if you don't make other promises. It's okay. I don't believe in promises," she told him, and she nodded when he said he was going to put his hand on her back. And she wasn't at all concerned about her galoshes and jeans and coat, and her bag was against her chest, there and leaving enough room for him to move close. And then the dance began, and he counted, and she mouthed the numbers as they moved. And one, and two, and three..., and then she smiled up at him. "I would give you my name," she told him, "but I'm not really very sure of it tonight, so maybe you should just give me yours instead?" she suggested.