The attorney followed through with my request that Wednesday. By Thursday, he drafted the legal documents that required David's signed agreement to the terms that he was not to pick up, or drop off Michael at my house, nor show up unannounced. Instead, we would do the exchange at his mother's house in Hawthorne, which was the next city over.

I would have preferred a more neutral place like a park, or at the mall. But Lorena didn't drive and lately she had to use a walker because of her arthritis. She was also nice to me, even though she was often distant, especially if David was around. She usually surprised me with Christmas presents each year, too. The last one was an angel candle holder from Avon, complete with the current catalog.

During the meeting that involved David, myself and our attorneys, he worked his role quite well that day, appearing as the poor ex-husband unfairly denied adequate access to his son. It took all of my self-control to bite my tongue, to pretend that he hadn't been inside my house just a few days earlier, threatening to take Michael away from me. It was a game he played, almost to perfection.

It exhausted me to even think about how much I'd paid to hire a good divorce attorney to make sure that I got custody of Michael while having to adjust visitation arrangements based on David's travel schedule, which changed each week. These days, I could barely pay for an attorney but I had to, even if it meant that I'd have to sell a few things here and there, or withdraw money from the investment accounts that Eunice had left me.

But if there was anything that the recent events had taught me, beginning with my jogging, and then meeting Erik and Olivia, it was that I was stronger than I thought myself to be. I had to give myself more credit for how far I'd come with my life, even though without my own studio, it felt as if I was starting over.

Each step was a baby step, of course, whether it was looking David in the eye when I spoke to him, or not apologizing too much to the daycare director for having to cut down Michael's schedule again, because I simply didn't have the money to pay for it. If I had to work on my social networking accounts, I did so when Michael was occupied with his toys or he was asleep. The same went for my art, though this time, I sketched using the pastel crayons because they were more accessible than the acrylic paints.

Yet old habits die hard. Fear made me use a nail brush to clean traces of color from my fingers. Just as I still locked the doors almost obsessively, so afraid that David would show up on Wednesday afternoon to take out my trash that I dragged out the bins to the curb by noon on Tuesday.

I knew he'd been angry over the new visitation arrangement though I didn't know what he would do, or if he would actually do anything. David's threats in the past, some he'd followed through on, had made me paranoid.

Afraid that David might be following me, I even changed my jogging route, going south now towards Redondo Beach instead of north to Manhattan Beach where I was bound to run past Erik's house. I began running along the nature path as well, pushing Michael in the jogging stroller even on warm days. But running cleared my mind of my worries, and so three times a week, no matter the weather, I counted on each session to ease my mind. Fortunately, living in Southern California meant that there was only was climate really - sunny.

Erik didn't call me that week at all, nor send me any more flowers. I left a message on his voicemail thanking him for the roses, though I said nothing about his note.

Olivia did call, making sure I was still coming on Friday for Bella's party. She even dropped by with Bella on an impromptu play date that Wednesday, and we both let the children play in my backyard while she made nectarine green tea, straight from nectarines gathered from the tree.

"You haven't been by at Erik's house and honestly, he's been quite down. And when he gets down, he gets cranky," Olivia said as I took a sip from the tea, the ice cubes tinkling against the glass. "Is everything alright between you two?"

"We're not dating, you know," I said.

She raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You're not?"

I shook my head. "No, I mean, not really. I mean, is that what he told you, that we were?"

She smiled. "It's alright, Sam. You don't owe me any explanations at all. He may be my brother but he's quite private about his life. He didn't say anything to me about you two. I only put two and two together when he spent the night here last week."

"I just sketched him really," I said. "And he fell asleep."

I told her that I had been catching up with some social networking accounts, lying that I'd be back to Erik's house to paint even though I wondered if she already knew that I'd given back the keys to the studio. Surely Erik must have told her, I thought, and if he had, then Olivia did a great job in making it appear that she really didn't know.

Part of me dreaded Friday, but another part of me, a big part of me, looked forward to it. Much like Rosie and Chuck, Olivia was my connection to having a family. I'd even grown attached to her in-laws, no matter how boisterous they seemed with their Italian ways and unabashed exhibits of affection, and their never-ending trays of food that they often snuck into my studio.

By the time Friday came, I was a nervous wreck, though I couldn't understand why since Erik was not going to be there till after six. I almost cancelled when Michael had a tantrum over a specific Thomas tank engine train that I couldn't find at first. It took me half an hour but I found it, tucked between his bed and the wall, and as soon as I gave it to him, he calmed down.

I had knitted Bella a simple sweater from an Elizabeth Zimmerman pattern, wrapping it in previously used tissue paper and gift bag, hoping Olivia wouldn't mind. Dressed in a simple A-line blue dress with light yellow flowers along the hem, it wasn't too dressy. Nor was it too casual either. With ballet flats, it was perfect for a girl's first birthday party.

Olivia had invited a few mothers and their children from the library where she often took Bella for story time. Julie was there, too, and she brought her son. With the in-laws, who went simply by Zia or Zio, Italian for aunt and uncle, it was literally a madhouse. I knew their names but they amused themselves by switching them, especially to the new guests. There was Alfredo, Francesca's husband, and then her sisters, Marcella, Sofia, and her husband, Giuseppe, or Gio.

With the children to one side, either in playpens because they were now tired from all the playing out on the beach at first, then on the perfectly trimmed grass in the garden between the houses, the celebration spilled over into Erik's patio, though he wasn't home. His house, however, remained locked though Olivia said she could have opened the doors if she wanted to.

Yet it was difficult for me not to keep an eye on the door leading to Erik's house. I didn't know how I'd react if I'd see him again. I had imagined so many scenarios of seeing him again since Sunday. Since reading his note that the mere thought of him now made my stomach do somersaults.

But after three hours of eating, laughing, and talking about children, food and in the absence of significant others, I soon forgot about Erik. We played a competitive game of bocce ball, with the in-laws versus all of us. We played miserably against the Italians, of course, but we didn't care. We were simply enjoying ourselves.

When I needed to use the bathroom, I saw Erik's pastel sketch, framed, hanging from the hallway of Olivia's house. I recognized the frame immediately - it was one of Reggie's.

At 4:15, I tried to leave after Michael began to get cranky and difficult to handle. But Olivia and the in-laws wouldn't hear of it. We had all retreated into the living room - at least whoever was left - for some of the women had gone home when their children started getting irritable. Other than Julie and her son, I was the only guest left. Alfredo offered to hold Michael, singing an Italian lullaby till Michael, Bella and Julie's son, James, were soon fast asleep on the carpet. One by one, we moved the playpens into the nursery and let the children sleep while we returned to the living room.

With the monitors set to keep watch on the sleeping toddlers, the in-laws began playing music, and serving more dessert, this time fresh the oven. They also began dancing, teaching Julie and I, who knew nothing about waltzes, how to dance, beginning with the simple steps. Or so they said for there was nothing simple about having to make sure one's foot went one way while the arm went the other way.

I was in the midst of a lesson with Alfredo when Erik walked in. I was just staring a slow spin, my arm getting tangled with Alfredo's arm as he spun me, Sinatra crooning on the speakers. For a few minutes I let Alfredo teach me, though it was difficult to pay attention to him as the aunts corralled Erik and forced him to dance with them. I could hear him laughing, begging their forgiveness for being clumsy. Olivia had gone to the nursery with Julie, sneaking glasses a bottle of wine with them.

Suddenly realizing that other than the in-laws, only Erik and I were left in the room, I grew even more anxious, my steps becoming more clumsy. My nerves were on fire, my face red from laughing, and all I could think of was how silly I must look.

"Il colpo di fulmine é la cosa che fa guadagnare piu tempo," Alfredo said, smiling as he led me through the waltz, my attention then on my feet trying to match his.

"I'm sorry. It's hard enough to focus on my feet and now you're speaking in Italian, Zio," I laughed. "Non capisco!" I only hoped it meant that I didn't understand what he had just said.

"He says love at first sight is something that won't let you waste time," Erik said behind me, asking Alfredo if he could step in. "Or something like that. My Italian is very rusty."

Before I could say anything, Erik was in front of me as Alfredo stepped away and was immediately led away by his wife, Zia Francesca. I watched them move effortlessly across the floor to the music of some Italian singer, neither of us speaking though Erik was going through the same steps, holding me.

There was so much between us that was unsaid, yet I knew that now was not the time to catch up with words. Erik brought one arm around me and the another hand held my hand out to the side, just the way Alfredo had done.

"They make it seem so easy," I said.

"They've been dancing for thirty years," he said, guiding me through one of the beginning steps I'd just been taught minutes earlier. Right foot forward, then back to starting position, left foot backwards, then back to starting position. "They don't need to look where they're going - at least Zia Francesca doesn't."

"How come?"

"Because he leads," Erik said. "Stop looking at your feet, Sam. Look at me."

"I need to see where we're going," I mumbled, afraid to look up.

"Just look at my eyes and let me lead," Erik said softly. "I won't let you fall - at least not by yourself."

"That's a relief," I said.

"If we do fall, we do it together."

Erik led me across the floor so that I was breathless, yet always following his lead, my gaze locked in his. Just like he said, all I had to do was look into his eyes. He led me across the room and it felt strange to allow myself to let go in his arms - literally, following his lead.

Whenever his left leg stepped back, I stepped forward with my right, and whenever his right leg stepped forward, I stepped back with my left leg. Soon it felt so natural, and I found myself grinning from ear to ear, my cheeks aching from smiling. Everyone else faded in the background and for that moment, it was just Erik and I.

Each song that followed blended with the next, old crooners and new ones. Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Michael Buble, Al Martino, and Harry Connick, Jr. It was music I hardly listened to yet I knew all their names because they were all Eunice listened to. I'd inherited all her vinyl records.

When Erik spun me around, I no longer fought him, allowing him to lead me with only a touch of his hand against my back if he wanted me to move left, right, or back, or a gentle nudge on my waist so that I'd step towards him.

"Where did you learn how to dance?" I asked, as the last song reached its finale and I could finally catch my breath. "You look like you've been dancing forever."

"My parents taught us," Erik grinned.

The music finally stopped and we all applauded one another just as the children began to wake up. It was late for them to have taken their naps but as I gathered Michael in my arms, dressed him and cleaned the remnants of cake and chocolate milk from his face, no one else seemed to mind at all.

"I was wondering if I could unveil my portrait now, Sam, now that everyone is here," Olivia said sheepishly.

I couldn't say no with everyone looking at me with expectant faces. Olivia was holding Bella in her arms, watching me with a hopeful expression. She knew I didn't want to be around when the painting was unveiled, yet I couldn't blame her.

"Of course," I said. "But I have to leave right after to drop off Michael with David."

Together, we all walked through the garden and into Erik's house, finally ending up at the studio. I noticed that the keys and the remote control were still where I'd last left them.

Erik picked up the painting, still wrapped in brown paper, and set it upon an empty easel as Olivia stood behind him. I envied the twins for their trust in each other, something I never got to experience growing up. But it was not something I held against them at all. Some people were simply luckier than others, I thought. And some, like me, had to play with whatever hand life dealt them.

I could feel the anticipation in the air as Olivia untied the string and Erik helped remove the wrapper. At first, all everyone could see was Erik's back, for he stood before the painting now uncovered before him. I took a few steps towards the back of the room, still holding Michael in my arms for he was sleepy and preoccupied with eating a tube of fruit yogurt.

I heard Olivia's gasp first, followed by a sob. For a few moments, silence filled the room as they all stared at the painting. This was the reason why I hated being in the same room with an audience seeing my painting for the first time, especially if it was a portrait of someone in the room. I didn't know what anyone was thinking, though it was something I didn't want to know either.

"Sam, it's so beautiful," Olivia exclaimed as she handed Bella to Erik and ran towards me, enveloping me in a hug that would have lasted forever were it not for Michael pushing her away after he felt he needed space. "Thank you so much! I don't know how to thank you!"

We laughed nervously and soon I was surrounded by Julie and the in-laws, each one embracing me and kissing me on each cheek as they said something in Italian though the most I understood were grazie and bellisima. Only Erik didn't come over to thank me.

"I have to drop Michael off, Olivia," I said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I really need to go."

"Will you be back?" she asked, wiping the tears streaming down her face.

"No," I said, shaking my head sadly. "But thank you for such a great party. Michael and I had so much fun. Even though he got jealous of you hugging his mommy."

We both laughed, and this time, Michael reached out to touch her hair. He seemed to be enthralled by the color, so blonde. She embraced me again. "Thank you, Sam," she whispered. "I hope you change your mind."

"You guys have given me so much I can't even think of how I can repay you," I said. "Anyway, I have to leave. I had so much fun, Olivia."

"It's none of my business, but I just wish you'd let Erik past your walls."

I thanked her again for a wonderful party. I didn't wait for anyone else to say anything for they were all surrounding the painting. I glanced at Erik and nodded, smiling as the memory of us dancing together returned.

I took a deep breath and waved good-bye, but Erik didn't wave back. He only smiled, though this time his smile did not reach his eyes.