A/N: Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays, everyone! :D
Yeah, I do have plenty more of these in store...
CHAPTER 10: DANCE
Michel Jackson's rhythm beat through Melody's chest. Yet she found no joy in it. She watched her mother move in ways a woman over fifty years shouldn't be able to. Such has always been the case, except recently Mel noticed something disconcerting. The slip-ups in Gray's dance numbers were becoming harder to recover from, more frequent.
The elderly woman laughed, having run into Carlos. Her legs buckled, but Carlos held her up, jesting that she had too much to drink. Nonsense. Gray never consumed alcohol; Carlos knew this.
'She's growing more confused,' thought Mel. Her grip on her medical textbook tightened. 'There must be some way I can help. If I could just—I don't know, become a surgeon, maybe I could…'
Save her? What a radical idea. Yet at the same time plausible. Surgeons in third-world countries tried. With the right knowledge, Mel could too. What other hope did her mother have?
"Melody, why aren't you dancing?"
Melody met Fry's energetic eyes. "Don't feel like it," she said.
"We've danced together almost every night since you were a baby. What do you mean you don't feel like it?"
Melody glanced at Gray—just for a second, but long enough that Fry understood. His cracked, puffy lips drew upwards as he leaned down. Then, he pried the textbook away from Melody and chucked it aside.
"Hey!" cried the redhead.
She stepped forward, intent on retrieving the book. Fry blocked her path, so she stepped the opposite way. Again, he blocked her. The preteen glared, jumping left and right like a basketball player in an attempt to pass the tall man. But he seemed intent on keeping her in one place.
"Melly," he started.
"Move, Fry!"
"Mel, will you—Baby, listen! Listen." Fry's grip found Melody's shoulders, gripping them until she stopped struggling and stared upwards. Still, their strong hold wasn't why her eyes felt wet. "I get it, alright?" he asked softly. "Believe me, I do. But if you waste time fretting over what isn't in your control, you'll miss what few good moments are left."
The preteen heaved. While Fry wasn't wrong, that didn't make her feel any better about the matter.
"Don't change this, okay?" The black man looked down with pleading eyes. They made Melody wonder if he was asking for Gray's sake, hers, or his. "Come on," he continued, "dance with us."
Fry lead Melody towards Carlos and Gray. The redhead held onto her mother's hand—so clammy and chapped, it made the redhead feel weighted on the inside. Gray sent a dumb smile while swaying to Jackson's beat, though—one which tempted her daughter into the Moon Walk.