“The Thursday night art group and I were wondering if you had plans this week? And if you might be interested in helping us?”
I looked from woman to woman, a group of about five ladies that I knew well from around town.
“I’m always happy to help.” And it was true. This was what I did. “What can I do you for, you lovely ladies?” I asked, turning to give them my full attention.
The group of women tittered. Claire scoffed, and I could feel Levi roll his eyes.
“We were hoping you’d say that.” The leader grinned, and I felt my first tinge of foreboding.
I really needed to get all the details before I said yes to things.
16
Sophie
The thingwith putting off a simple task was that the longer I went without completing it, the more it loomed, gaining power in my mind, until what was in reality a two-minute task that the average person wouldn’t even think twice about became this tangible, giant boulder that sat on my shoulders, pressing me down, making it impossible to move.
That was why I hadn’t checked back in with Pace yet. It was the boulder’s fault.
I thought about calling him so many times in the week since our nail appointment, to see if I had ruined everything. At one point, I debated tracking him down on his morning run and pretending to bump into him. The whole town had the firefighter’s run schedule memorized. It was all but pinned to the city council bulletin board at this point.
Instead, I was stuck in that terrible liminal space of indecision. I sat frozen on my bed, staring at the wall, seeing nothing, foot bouncing.
I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to see Pace. It was true that he had way too high expectations of me. On the other hand, he’d been so great at the nail salon, and Grandma had been right that it was progress. Every time I looked down at my pretty toes, I thought about how much Pace made me laugh. Or how sometimes, just his touch combined with eye contact grounded me in my body more than years of therapy.
I was moving forward in ways I wouldn’t have been able to without him. But would it ever be enough for him, or was I destined to be a constant disappointment?
“Okay, I get it!” I whisper-yelled at the floor. “You are all having the time of your lives.”
The group downstairs was especially raucous tonight. Every burst of muffled laughter added to my growing disappointment in myself. It was so easy for some people to congregate and be comfortable with each other.
I could go down there. I could join the group of gathered people and sit with them. No pressure to even make conversation; just sitting and observing would totally count toward marking an item off the list. A glance at the class roster told me tonight was ... Wait, figure drawing? That’s not normally such a rambunctious class. Usually, the group sat around with their canvases, quietly sketching a bowl of fruit as classical music streamed from the speakers, with the occasional direction from the local artist Luanne Billings.
After a particularly loud outburst, I stood up without thinking, feet propelling me to the door. I needed to prove that I was moving forward on my own.
Why did it sound like a wild bachelorette party? Now, I was less motivated to check off an item on the list than I was to see what was causing all the commotion.
I quickly made sure I was presentable—I had at least finally convinced myself to shower today. I wasn’t disgusting, I actuallyloved the feeling of being clean, but the effort of showering, the whole routine of washing my hair, felt like too much this last week. But I felt better now. Dressed in some comfortable sweats and a cute top sporting “Netherfield Walking Club,” I made my way silently down the back staircase. At least I wouldn’t be accused of stomping like an elephant with the music and laughter overpowering everything else. I tiptoed like the Grinch stealing Christmas until the sounds were more discernible.
Wait ... that wasn’t Bach or Beethoven blasting over the sound system ... Was that “Pony” by Ginuwine?
Eyes wide and straining on tiptoes, I leaned forward to see around to the craft corner where the classes were held.
Never in a million years could I have been prepared for what I saw.
Like an actual Roman statue, a male form was presented, backside to me.
Entirely.
Nude.
I understood the girlish outbursts now. This was a true marvel of masculinity that should be forever preserved in marble. Every perfect muscle in his powerful back was flexed as he had one arm curled to hold fake grapes in his right hand, his entire flank engaged in the effort of balancing. His muscles rippled with the occasional burst of laughter.
I should have seen right away, should have known the universe was here to punish me for dragging my feet. His reddish-brown hair—I should have recognized from his legs—was a little unkept and curling without his usual baseball cap. It really was like the hair on those old Roman statues. He was on full display, and I was staring.
I tried to stop, I really did.
A little.
