"Dress comfortable," were Matthew’s mother's instructions. So Matt put on a pair of Wrangler jeans with a t-shirt that read ‘Out of Coffee – Life is Crap’. 

When she saw how her son dressed, she gave him the full Italian lecture of how he will never meet a nice young girl dressed like that. 

 “Mama,” Matt said, “I’m only going to a dance studio, it’s no big deal”

  “No bigga deal,” she responded angrily. “You sister she giv-a you dat certificato (certificate) so you can-a meet-a people.”

  Oh Madona mia, here comes her broken English!  “Mama, I love Isabella’s gift and I know she wants me to meet people. But these classes are usually for couples. What am I going to do there by myself?”

 “È necessario spostare, due anni è stato dato morì sua bella Angelina" (you have to move on, it’s been two years since Angelina died).

 “I know, Mama,” Matthew said, kissing her forehead before leaving.

With the certificate in hand, Matthew slowly pushed the door open. Why am I here? Standing inside, he took a deep breath and looked around. 

Humph, The Time of My Life, from Dirty Dancing, Angelina’s favorite. Where’s that music coming from? 

“Hello,” he called out. With no answer he walked through the door directly into the dance studio. There, holding onto the ballerina bar, dancing in front of wall of mirrors was this captivating figure, dressed in black leotards, ankle warmers and ballet slippers. Matthew was instantly mesmerized by her smoothness and grace while she danced rhythmically to the music. Her curly blonde hair bounced as she swayed. He stood there awestruck by her presence.

“Hello,” he called out again, this time louder. Startled, she grabbed her towel and began wiping the perspiration from her face and neck. Wrapping a silk skirt around her slim waist, this Athena-like goddess walked towards him. I should have changed my shirt.

“May I help you?" she asked.

“Absolutely,” Matt said, sounding like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky. “I have this certificate for dance lessons with you. Well, maybe not with you, I don’t know with whom, I hope with you but I don’t know. I mean…. Ahh, let me start over.” 

Taking a breath he tried starting again while she looked at him. Matthew was tongue tied by her beauty.

“Wait,” she said holding up the palm of her hand. “You must be Matthew?”

“That’s, right,” he said. “How did you know?”

“Your sister told me you would be here, you look like her,” she said while changing CD’s.

“She looks like ME, I’m older. Wait, how do you know my sister?”

“I know Isabella very well. I knew Angelina too, but not as well as your sister.”

“You knew Angelina, my wife?" Matthew was puzzled. “Why don’t I know you?”

“My name is Anna. Anna Petchuski,” she said. “This is my studio.”

“Okay, you know my name and now I know your name,” he said. “But how do you know my sister and my wife?”

“I do volunteer work with Isabella at a Family Wellness Center. That’s where I met Angelina. She began to volunteer there before she got sick and died.” Anna stopped. “I’m so sorry.”

“Anna,” Matt replied, “it’s okay. I’m glad you knew Angelina.”

“She was a beautiful person. Cared so much for those families.”

“Yes, she did. Thank you, but I should go.”

“Matthew,” she said. “Isabella gave you that certificate you're wrinkling for dance lessons, yes?”

“Yes," he said, trying to straighten out the certificate. 

“I teach you, come!” she said, holding out her hand.

Anna’s infectious smile and blue eyes made his heart tango. He took her hand.

“Good. But first,” Anna started, “we go change that shirt.”