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While waiting for thecoffee to brew, I power on my cell phone since turning it off Saturday afternoon. Quickly scrolling through a half-dozen texts from my friends in our group chat, the final one from Jordyn, sent ten minutes ago, has me laughing out loud.
Holy shit! doesn’t the man let u up for air?
Me:Occasionally ;)
She responds in seconds.I need details. Dinner 2nite?
Lexie:Count me in.
Jordyn:We’ll live vicariously…I didn’t get any either.
Lexie:Who says I didn’t get any?
Jordyn:You’re dating doctor snooze…zzz
Lexie:Bitch :P
I’d missed their banter. I’d missed seeing and talking to them. I needed this time to reconnect with Mick and my family, but these women are my sisters-of-the-heart.
As part of my therapy, Dr. Roland had suggested I try something physical to help me deal with stress and anxiety; triggers to a life-long pattern of binge eating. I knew from their advertising that the Brockville Women’s Fitness Center, located near me, offered an array of classes, and on the plus side, was for women only.
Still, I was apprehensive. I feared I would feel the same way I did all those times in high school when I entered gym class. As if every critical eye would be on the fat girl whose heavy thighs rubbed together. But with Dr. Roland’s encouragement, I finally agreed to give Pilates a try.
That Sunday morning in June nearly two years ago, I walked into the studio, hesitantly, wearing black leggings and a men’s XL T-shirt that covered my hips. Several women turned toward me. My knee-jerk reaction was to escape the sea of trim, fit bodies and stares. I might have bolted if a petite auburn-haired woman hadn’t smiled up at me, probably smelling my fear.
“Your first time?”
“Yes.” I nodded envying her tidy, athletic frame.
“It’s a little awkward initially, but…” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “like sex, the more you do it, the better you get.”
“Jordyn!” chastised a tall brunette rolling out a mat beside her. She looked the way I always wished I did. Straight dark hair that doesn’t require taming, and a long, svelte body with high, perky boobs, flat stomach, and slim hips—all shown to their excellent advantage in a snug peach tank top and matching yoga pants.
“I’m sorry…” Her manicured nails tucked several strands of her shiny bob behind one ear. “You’ll have to excuse my friend, she doesn’t have a filter.”
“It’s okay.” I tugged at the front of my shirt. “I wasn’t offended.” But I was nervous. I didn’t make friends easily, wary of being judged and rejected. I settled for work acquaintances, people who knew me professionally and respected my knowledge and skills.
The class began then and I couldn’t leave without calling attention to myself. Being the good student I’ve always been, I listened attentively to the directions and watched the instructor demonstrate the moves. Despite my self-consciousness, I managed to keep up with the basics and actually enjoyed it. Stretching my body was grueling, but discovering strength in muscles I didn’t realize I had felt good, empowering even.
At the end of the sixty minutes, Jordyn and the brunette, who I learned was Alexandra or Lexie for short, commented on how well I had done. It was the first time I had ever been praised for accomplishing anything physical.
The next Sunday, I returned carrying a little more confidence. I was surprised when they invited me to join them in the health club bar for smoothies. As smart, professional women, I related to them on an intellectual level. What I didn’t expect was the emotional draw. While Lexie was like an elegant flute of champagne and Jordyn, a fiery shot of sambuca, there was this deep and genuine friendship between them that made me long to be a part of it.
That’s why I accepted their standing invitation for Sunday after-class smoothies and why I barely hesitated when they extended the invitation beyond the health club. I think they saw the loneliness in me; a deep-seated desire to belong. Although I wasn’t nearly as open or giving of myself as they were—my trust was slow in coming—they never gave up on me. And I’ll forever love them for that.
I return to our thread of messages and send:Dinner sounds great!
Jordyn:the village spoon @ 7:00?
Lexie:Works for me.
Me:Me 2. See u then. xo
I drop my phone back into my purse and turn to see Mick enter the kitchen looking sleep-rumpled—his chest bare, the waist of his sweatpants slung below thathappy trail, telling me he’s commando beneath them.
“Morning,” I say, aware of how badly I want him even as my body is still pleasantly sore from the night before. “Sleep well?”
“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, stepping closer to hug my waist and tug my earlobe between his teeth. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
