Violet came home in a white T-shirt and sweatpants covered in stage makeup, evidence that her last show had ended. She always left her costumes at the studio to avoid liability.

As she rode the elevator to her family's apartment, she heard screaming from the penthouse. "What on earth?!"

Rushing upstairs, she saw Nathan spinning her mother, Keeley, around and lifting her in the air. Keeley was shrieking; her husband simply laughed.

"Uh what's going on?"

"Mom got nominated for a Nobel Prize!" Nathan exclaimed excitedly, continuing to swing Keeley. "Isn't that awesome?!"

Violet was stunned. A Nobel Prize nomination was incredibly prestigious. No wonder her mother was screaming. Two decades of relentless work had finally paid off.

"That's great, Mom. Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Keeley said weakly, dizzy from the spinning. "And Nate, next time you want to congratulate me, make me dinner. Don't spin me around. I'm not as young as I used to be."

Nathan smiled sheepishly and put her down. "Sorry, Mom. I can do that, but it's a bit late how about dessert instead? I'm sure you've already eaten."

"I can never turn down a professionally made dessert."

"I still like your brownies best," Aaron whispered to his wife, but Violet heard him.

Those two were so mushy. If her mother actually won the prize, her father would never shut up about it. He had bragged incessantly for months after she received FDA approval for her gene therapy—a first in the field.

Keeley had been interviewed by numerous science journals afterward, and she was overwhelmed by the attention. It was funny how much she hated the spotlight, considering her career. If you don't want people to notice you, don't be amazing. But Violet wasn't one to talk. She didn't mind the spotlight, as long as she didn't have to speak.

She performed in front of hundreds every night during a show's run, but she could never do what her parents did: interviews. Even Kaleb, making a name for himself as a major league rookie, didn't mind them.

Oliver and Nathan had chosen less public careers, but Nathan had appeared on a children's cooking competition show at fourteen, placing second out of a dozen teen chefs—quite impressive.

The show was taped in New York, so Violet accompanied her mother to cheer him on from backstage. Nathan was surprisingly composed under pressure, considering his usually meek demeanor.

He headed into the kitchen to make apple rose puffs—thinly sliced apples shaped like roses, embedded in puffy pastry—and Violet sighed as she watched her parents. Her dad smiled at her mom with adoration; she looked equally happy as they held hands and swung them, gazing at each other. Violet felt like a third wheel, a common feeling.

Usually, it didn't bother her. She was happy to come from such a loving family; many weren't so lucky. Her parents loved her as much as they loved each other.

But occasionally, watching them made her feel very single. Like right now.

Tonight's show had been rough. Every ballerina received flowers from their boyfriends except her. It was closing night, but none of Violet's local friends or family attended; they'd already seen the show. Nobody wanted to watch the same ballet multiple nights. She couldn't blame them. And when they did come, they always brought flowers. Tonight, the lack of romance was keenly felt.

Dating in college had been easy, though none of her boyfriends lasted; they weren't what she was looking for. Things were different now, with her unconventional schedule.

Meeting people was nearly impossible. Outside of her family and Noah, her only regular social contacts were her fellow dancers.

Male dancers didn't make good boyfriends—a lesson learned in college. Besides, most of the men in her company were gay or already dating other ballerinas.

It was hard to see them romantically, given the platonic nature of their physical contact. Lifting ballerinas was part of the job; there was no spark, even after work.

Noah had once asked how she could stand being touched by so many men. Violet told him the truth: she didn't think of them as men; they were simply part of the dance.

Her phone buzzed. Noah always seemed to text when she was thinking of him.

"How did your last show go? Sorry I couldn't be there."

He was upstate chaperoning kids at a three-day karate competition. Having worked diligently at the dojo since high school, he was now the owner's second-in-command, a position with a significant salary increase but also administrative responsibilities. He just wanted to teach karate.

Violet shook her head at his message. Why apologize? He'd already seen her show twice.

Years ago, Noah had started attending her opening and closing nights, claiming he wanted to see the evolution of the performance, but Violet knew better. He felt sorry for her lack of flowers. Even though she never voiced her desire for romance—she felt it would be insensitive, given his single status—he somehow knew.

Noah was always acutely aware of her feelings. That's why they were still best friends after over two decades.

Kaleb, the social butterfly, never kept the same friends for more than five years. His friendships were fun but shallow. Violet had learned this over time.

Violet didn't operate that way. She'd formed a deep connection with Noah long ago, and though other friends came and went, he remained constant. They were each other's primary support system. The final sentence ("Sёarch* The Nôvel(F)ire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.") was removed as it appears to be an advertisement.