Page 46 of Legs

Gwen checked her watch. The thing was some minicomputer that calculated her heartrate and steps taken…and probably the number of times she blinked. “I’d like to do another round of cardio. I’ll meet you after.”

I put away my weights, then Ainsley and I ordered smoothies and sat in our usual spot—one of three tables facing the cardio room. Towels were strewn by the treadmills, the disinfectant spray bottles half empty. There would be lots of work tomorrow.

Good thing I had those college degrees!

“I read an article about your contest,” Ainsley said, “by some restaurant critic blasting the thing, saying it’s nothing more than a lame attempt to increase business.”

I sucked my straw, blueberry and banana swirling on my tongue. “I read it, and it totally is. I’m not even sure what I’m doing there. Actually”—I pressed my wrists to my cup, hoping to cool down—“I know exactly why I’m there. It’s a delay tactic.”

She adjusted her sports bra. “I don’t follow.”

Since Jimmy’s Master Sommelier revelation, I’d been stewing over the contest and my place in it. Realizing I wouldn’t win didn’t upset me as much as I’d imagined. Frustration weighed me down, but not the way it had on impact. I’d jumped on this opportunity because I’d quit yet another job and had no clue where to turn my focus. With the birthday wish taunting me, wine seemed like the right move.

But the thought of winning, as hopeless as it was, had me breaking out in hives. It wasn’t what I wanted, but that left me at ground zero, sifting through the internet for inspiration, again.

“I’m in a holding pattern,” I said. “My mother has pushed me forever to work for my uncle’s funeral home, and I’m running out of options. I’m not sure this sommelier position is for me, but if I hang on until the end, she’ll back off. That gives me a month to figure something out.”

“And to flirt with Jimmy?”

The heat flushing my chest had me placing my smoothie against my neck. “I’ve fallen hard for him. I still question things, thinking I’m nuts to pursue him, but my excuses are drying up.”

Ainsley pushed her straw around. “Is he a player?”

“I don’t think so.” A player wouldn’t own his discomfort when confronting an ex. He’d shared bits about his family, had admitted the contest was a way for him to ease back into the land of the living. As was dating me. He’d never been anything but honest.

“Are you attracted to him?” she asked.

“Is that a real question?”

She smirked. “Do you have fun with him? Does he make you laugh? Do you think about him when he’s not around?”

I bit my lip, and the truth spilled out. “Yes. Yes. And all the time.”

“Then stop worrying about the rest. Enjoy him. Open up. I bet your mother will surprise you. She might love him.”

I stared at her, wide eyed.

“You’re right,” she said. “She’ll hate him. But it doesn’t matter. The only one who has to live with him is you.”

That sent my mind to Jimmy and me sharing an apartment—something small and tasteful, warmer than his, with new quotes on the wall. Sayings about love conquering all and opposites attracting. I’d hang my pencil skirts next to his ripped jeans, and we’d cuddle on the couch, wine in hand, talking about our days. Days that hopefully wouldn’t include discussing the benefits of open versus closed caskets. I blinked the vignette away.

Unless I got over myself, that daydream would never happen.

Ainsley fiddled with her straw, a stirring motion that sloshed her kale smoothie. “Do you ever think about our birthday? About the blackout after our wish?”

More than I cared to admit. “Sometimes. It was pretty nuts.”

Her stirring sped up. “It’s just, I’ve thought about it lots. My wish was a big one, something that’s been on my mind. I don’t believe in ghosts or mind reading or fortune tellers, but I felt”—she sighed—“something when it happened. Was it just me?”

The air had swelled that night, all right. My arms had prickled, too. I’d dredged up the memory countless times but hadn’t voiced my whacky belief that bigger things were at play. The possibility that my father had somehow orchestrated the encounter. Just thinking it made my heart hammer faster than when on the stepmill. “No. It wasn’t just you. I don’t want to say my wish out loud, and I don’t want to hear yours, but part of me thinks if we fulfill our resolutions, the rest of our lives will fall into place. Like a domino effect.”

My pulse didn’t slow, but calm descended. Hearing I wasn’t alone reinforced my resolve. I had to find the right career. Had to move heaven and earth to make it happen. Fighting for something better could give me the confidence to figure out this Jimmy situation. It would help me escape my mother’s shadow. If I found The Job.

As I sipped the last of my smoothie, both of us lost in our thoughts, an old man stepped onto a treadmill and stood there, stabbing at the buttons. Even from behind, I could tell it was my favorite grumpy gym member, and I grinned. At least he hadn’t given up.

“I have to help a guest,” I told Ainsley. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

She barely acknowledged me, and I paused. Ainsley didn’t get down and moody; she got angry and sarcastic. I hesitated, but letting 911 drown in his frustrations could cause him to quit exercising. Next time we were out, I’d ask Ainsley what was up.