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The next dayshe lay in Savasana, palms up, and focused on the in and out of her breath. She’d never imagined herself as someone who would become a yoga fanatic — she’d taken a few classes in Larchmont and had been ambivalent — but since finding Prana Yoga, she’d become addicted. After months of compulsive worry, her thoughts circling each other like hungry wolves, her first yoga class at Prana had made her feel like a strong wind had blown through her mind, clearing out all the clutter andnoise.
She’d left the studio feeling ten pounds lighter and a whole lot more sane. She still went to the gym four mornings a week, but that felt necessary, like grocery shopping or cleaning her apartment; she didn’t necessarily love the process, but the results were worthit.
Yoga was all for her, and sometimes she even dropped in on a gym day, just to tap into the peace of mind it gaveher.
Amy and Robin had been onboard with joining her from the beginning. Karen had taken more convincing, mostly because of the detested trip to Brooklyn on Saturday mornings. But after a couple classes, she’d agreed that it was worth it for Lucy, the owner and one of the instructors atPrana.
Moni had a love-hate relationship with it, mostly because of the diversity issue, but her enjoyment of the practice coupled with their customary post-yoga brunch eventually won her over. She was right: the class was filled with skinny-ass white girls, their own group of friendsincluded.
“Let’s take five easy breaths to close.” Lucy’s voice was low and soothing. “Breathe in light… and breathe out noise… breathe in light… breathe out anything that might be weighing youdown…”
Nina saw it: all the negativity leaving her body, her embarrassing fear, her guilt and shame, light entering, clean and bright, along with herbreath.
She sighed with regret when Lucy told them to sit. They closed the class by repeating “Om” three times and bowing to each other while saying “Namaste.”
Nina was aware that she would once have made fun of these women. Outwardly it looked like a bunch of bullshit, like a bunch of privileged women pretending they could find enlightenment in a bourgeois yoga studio in Brooklyn, but after months of practice, Nina couldn’t help feeling there was something toit.
“Is it time to eat yet?” Moni asked as they rolled up theirmats.
“It is most definitely time to eat,” Karen said, freeing her long red hair from its hair tie. “And time to drinktoo.”
Nina laughed. “It’snoon.”
“On a Saturday,” Amy pointed out. “Which means mimosas and Bloody Marys are fairgame.”
“Point taken,” Ninasaid.
“Has anyone heard from Robin?" Karenasked.
Robin had had to bow out of yoga because of work. A coordinator for an NGO that worked to supply clean water to villages in remote places, she was conducting volunteer training for the organization’s next trip toIndia.
Nina checked her phone. Robin had texted while they were in the middle ofclass.
“She left ten minutes ago. She’ll meet us at thediner.”
“Volunteer training my ass.” Moni removed the brightly covered scarf from her head and her black curls bounced to life in all their glory. “She’s just smarter than the rest ofus.”
They laughed, said goodbye to Lucy as they slipped on their coats, and headed for thedoor.
Winter had reasserted itself with a biting wind and frigid temperatures. They tucked their chins into their scarves and hurried the three blocks to Tom’s Diner, their post-yoga brunchspot.
“Jesus christ,” Karen said when they finally stepped inside the packed restaurant. “This cold is inhumane. I’d move to Florida if I thought there were any good men there underseventy.”
“You hate Florida,” Nina said, unwinding herscarf.
“Exactly.”
They hung their coats on a rack by the door and waited for Marcy, Tom’s acerbic Saturday morning hostess, to lead them to a table. The place was a cross between a diner and a bistro, the black and white linoleum crowded with booths and tables, the walls strung with white lights and cluttered with memorabilia without any unifyingtheme.
After they got settled around the table, they ordered a round of coffee and water, except for Amy who was attempting a caffeinedetox.
“I give you credit,” Nina said when Amy ordered herbal tea from Sarah, their usual waitress. “I might actually die withoutcoffee.”
“If we were talking about anyone else, I might call you melodramatic,” Moni said to her, “but I’ve seen how much coffee you drink at thegallery.”
“You’ll have to pry my coffee from my cold dead hands.” Karen aimed her green eyes at Amy. “But I respect yourchoice.”
