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Twenty-Three
After a long night of Jeremiah’s fantastic cooking, and Uno, and bad teen TV shows, I fell asleep in a haze of good feelings. When I woke up the next morning with Catalina and Jeremiah’s couch imprint on my face, though, I knew I had to get up and get out.
My first stop was the gym. Even though Yasmine wasn’t there to guide me through the workout, I could still remember the general idea behind it. I started my warm-up on the bike, feeling the slow burn that comes with missing a few weeks’ workouts, loving the power I felt in my legs anyway. Of course, by the time I dismounted, I was slick with sweat.
I shrugged off my impending self-consciousness and moved toward the weight racks. Yasmine always started us there, with either squats or deadlifts. You wanna be fresh for these, she had warned. Doing deadlifts at the end of a workout is a recipe for disaster.
Well, I guess my body is calling me to the weight rack first.I grabbed my warm-up set of weights. Just as I was readjusting a stack of 5 lb weights, I heard behind me, “Well, I’m glad I made it to the gym this morning.”
I turned to see a broad-shouldered, mountain of a man just barely holding back a leer in his dimpled cheeks. His light brown eyes flashed in a way that was all too familiar but none too welcome. In the past, I might have been flattered, maybe even scared to say what was on my mind. But after all I had experienced in the last twenty-four hours, I was in no mood to entertain the likes of another Cro-Magnon.
I squared my shoulders, looking him dead in his eyes. “Can I help you?”
“I sure hope so.” He grinned as I barely contained my eye roll. “Care to share the bar? I can do my sets between yours.”
“I bet.” I looked around at the three empty Olympic bar stations. “But lucky for you, you don’t have to. There are plenty of bars available.”
Caveman scratched the back of his neck in a clear and transparently fake show of getting caught. “I’ll admit, it was a lame, not thought-out excuse to talk to you. A girl as pretty as you is hard to approach in a place like this. I’m sure you get that a lot.”
“I don’t.” I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting.
A moment passed, then another, before I spoke again. “Look, I don’t even know your name—”
“Alan.”
“Alan, then. I’m sure you’re a great guy, but I’m just getting out of a relationship and not looking to get into another one, of any kind, anytime soon. So as much as I’m flattered, I’m gonna get back to my workout, and I hope you have a great day.”
Alan nodded his appreciation and stepped back. “No worries, I hope you have a great day too,” he said. He turned to walk away and turned back. “And the guy who left you had no idea what he was leaving behind.”
I smiled. “Probably not,” I said.
* * *
Despite the feel-good feelings from my workout, I knew I had to visit my parents and come to terms with their reaction to my impending divorce. As I stepped up to knock on the door, a flurry of nerves unleashed their wrath. I knew that I couldn’t count on their love to be unconditional. While that stung more than a little bit, this reality was one that I was used to, instead of the alternate universe I had been inhabiting where my parents actually loved me.
By the time my father made his way to the door, I had composed myself. As if he sensed this, he ushered me in stiffly and quickly. “Your mother’s not home,” he said, by way of explanation. “But if she sees that I’m walking around, she’ll have a heart attack herself.”
My laugh sounded shriller than I liked, so I coughed to make up for it. “Sounds about right,” I said. He rewarded me with a half-smile, wariness and curiosity blazing in his gaze. As we sat in the sitting room, I braced myself for the obvious question.
But my father surprised me. He watched me for a few moments before he cleared his throat. “So you and Michael broke up. Can’t say I’m surprised.”
I turned to him, startled out of the dialogue happening in my head. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Yes, but I don’t understand.”
Amusement warmed his eyes as he regarded me. “Anyone could see that you didn’t love the boy. That it would be a marriage of convenience more than passion or warmth. And frankly, watching and listening to you interact was painful. What’d you talk about with him anyway, the weather?”
I snorted before I could stop it. “Catalina asked the same thing.”
“Well.”
We sat in silence as I processed this. Hearing my father’s acceptance wasn’t just startling; it was downright counterintuitive. This was the man that went on and on about practical matters, which was completely at odds with current society’s thoughts on marrying for love. If anyone should understand what it means to marry for pragmatic reasons, it should be him. Yet, here he was, approving of the end of my very practical marriage.
Finally, I said, “Well, this is a surprise. Of all people, I thought you’d understand why I married Michael.”
“Oh sure, I understand it.” He watched me, not afraid to meet my eyes. “Doesn’t mean I agree with it. Like I said, watching the two of you together was painful, borderline masochistic. You two didn’t even have mutual respect for each other.”
