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I don’t realize I’m reacting until Drew stops his workout and follows my gaze to Izzy and Elliot. In the same situation, maybe I would be doing the same thing he is now. Would I? Would I hold my client’s hand and move through the punches that way?
My fists ball at my sides. When Elliot is satisfied, he moves back to his position behind the bag. Before she starts up again, Izzy shoots me a glance, her eyes connecting with mine for a second that feels like an hour. Then she’s punching through the bag, her back to me.
I wonder if she’s imagining my face.
‘I should have told her about Cady,’ I mutter.
‘You should have. But her reaction was out of order,’ Drew says in my defense.
Oddly, I feel an irrational need to justify her insane actions. ‘She was hurt.’
‘She could have spoken to you in private.’
‘I know. I think she knows that too. She’s mad at me about Cady. And maybe she’s right. I mean, she wouldn’t have got wasted and posted anything if she had known I have a daughter.’
‘How is Cady?’ Drew asks.
‘I’d love to answer that question, but she won’t answer my calls. Neither of them are speaking to me. How in God’s name did I get here? You know what the really messed up thing is? I don’t wish I hadn’t met her.’
It strikes me as I say that, just how similar that reaction is to how I feel about Cady and Alice. My life went to crap because I got my girlfriend pregnant. I spend all my waking hours in this gym to avoid being home, alone with my thoughts. Yet I don’t wish I had never met Alice. I don’t wish we had never had Cady. And, even though she drives me crazy, there’s not even a small part of me that wishes I’d never met Izzy.
I watch her drop her arms to her sides before Elliot hands her a bottle of water. Ah, I can still enjoy watching her suffer through her hangover, though.
‘Hey, Iz!’ I shout. ‘Are you wishing you didn’t drink a bottle of wine yesterday?’
She glowers at me across her shoulder. ‘Don’t you have somewhere to be? Someone to lie to?’
‘Not right now. Hey, maybe you could take a picture of Drew, Kit, and me and put it on your little blog thing. Tell the world we had a threesome.’
She flips me the bird, then gets back to the bag, punching and kicking harder than she had been just moments ago.
‘I take it back,’ Drew says. ‘She’snot childish. Youbothare.’
He’s right. But those are the first words Izzy has spoken to me in twenty-four hours. I’ve had my fix. Now I can go back to being pissed at her.
I try calling Cady one more time before I leave the gym for the day. This time, I know she sends me to voice mail.
After making myself a quinoa salad – don’t eat that stuff unless someone pays you to do so – I slump down on the sofa. I reach for my guitar. When my hand grips nothing but air, I remember Izzy has it.
No guitar. No Izzy. No Cady. No Alice. No plans with friends. Have I mentioned it’s blasted Friday night?
Opening my fridge, I see at least I have beer to keep me company. I reach for a bottle but stop and take the can of club soda next to it. Not because Izzy would tell me not to have a Bud. Not because I would break another rule by having a beer. But because I don’t want to turn to drink when I’m alone. I choose the can of club soda for me, no one else.
I pop the ring and take it to the window, where I stare out at the red bricks of the building opposite. I have lived with this view for six years, knowing I could afford something better but not wanting to waste money. Not wanting to spend money I could put into Cady’s college fund. Not wanting to admit that I came from nothing but now I do have money. That I have made my own wealth. But I’ve saved for Cady’s college fund now. So what am I trying to prove by staying here? That I’m not like Alice?
Through the window of an apartment in the building opposite mine, I see a woman answer a door and welcome friends into her place. I think of my friends. I think of Drew and Sarah. How they try to push me to be better. How Drew wants me to franchise the gym. He’s offering to help me and I haven’t even looked into it seriously.
Is it because I’m done trying to make something better of myself to prove that I deserve Alice? What about what I want?
I’m thirty-five years old. I can’t work myself to the bone training forever. At some point, I need to let younger guys come in. At some point, I should take my own advice and decide what the hell I want to do, for me.
My cell chimes and I rush to it. I wonder whether it will be Izzy, alone and wanting to call a truce. Do I want to call a truce?
The reason I don’t want to is the very face that is flashing on the screen.
‘Cady.’
‘I’m still pissed at you. But I’ve been talking with Mom and, since I’m on house arrest otherwise, do you want to have breakfast tomorrow?’
