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I messaged back that we were home and I’d be there for my afternoon shift at the gym because my aunt was coming to sit with Dad.
When I messaged back, he called me. “Hi, Aaron,” I said in a chirpy voice.
He offered to give me more time off and I just told him, I need to be at work. He had no idea what a touchstone, an anchor it was for me to know I had the gym to come back to, had him to come back to even if it was a stupid crush and I would just be stealing glances at him.
“You can take all the time you need. I hope you know that. Just like you covered for people who had to take off, they don’t mind covering for you when you need it. You’re part of the team here. We miss you, but we want you to have the time you need,” he said. I cleared my throat, tears threatening to fall.
“I need this. I need to be at work and go back to the gym and remember that real life still exists. That probably doesn’t make sense, but it’s what I need. So I’ll be there this afternoon unless you lock me out.”
“You have a security badge, Leanne. You can scan yourself in if we locked you out,” he said. I gave a tiny smile. I couldn’t manage a laugh, but I appreciated his effort. “Tell me that at least made you smile.”
“It did.”
“Don’t try to spare my feelings. If I’m not funny, just tell me. It’ll break my heart, but don’t worry about that,” he teased.
“I wouldn’t break your heart,” I said before I could stop myself. I literally put my hand over my mouth when I realized I’d said it. It was so inappropriate and so I-have-a-huge-crush obvious. When he didn’t say anything in response, when even his smooth charm failed him at that moment, I just gave a really weird nervous laugh and said, “Anyway, see you all later, bye.”
Then I hung up and realized I was sweating because of hearing his voice and because I’d made a fool of myself again. I was usually able to have a normal phone conversation without making a very out of place romantic statement to anyone. Maybe he’d assume I wasn’t getting enough sleep and he’d just mark it down to stress and not stop to think that I was maybe sexually harassing him when he called to see how my dad was doing. Like a kind boss would do. Not like a guy I fantasized about.
I took the sandwiches and salads into the living room and pulled a kitchen chair up by my dad’s favorite recliner and ate with him, making myself chew and swallow every small bite I took and drink water. I could do this. I could eat and cheer my dad up and take care of him and still work at the gym and go to class and act like a functioning adult and not some weak eating disorder-sufferer who couldn’t cope with a family illness without quitting everything and hiding out.
We watched some show he liked about teams who built stuff out of what looked like trash. Then they competed to see which one worked or held up the best or something and there was a prize. I had trouble following it because I was so busy freaking out about everything, but I must have done okay because my dad didn’t give me a ton of concerned looks or ask how I was. Either that or he was so sick that his hyper radar was down. It could be that he was feeling so weak or miserable himself that he didn’t even notice. That just made my throat tighten and I couldn’t force down any more of my sandwich after that, just gulped some water and cleared away my dishes and said I needed to clean up in the kitchen.
When my aunt arrived at the house, I headed out to the gym, hands shaking even as I drove. Walking into A+ Fitness with its natural light and open floor plan, the spa-like lemongrass scent in the diffuser and the smiling face of JT at the reception desk made me feel more like myself. I put my stuff in my locker and tried to act normal. My first client was a woman I’d worked with before who asked about my dad. I managed to be bright and cheerful without really saying much and changing the subject almost immediately to her son’s upcoming wedding. She talked about dress shopping while we worked on her upper body.
“You know I tried on a couple of dresses that were sleeveless. I never would’ve done that if you hadn’t told me that my shoulders are strong and my arms are perfect for holding babies and pushing them on swings…I just always thought I needed to cover them up because fat is embarrassing,” she admitted.
“I’m so proud of you for trying them on. Your body is healthy and strong and beautiful. You deserve to feel good in whatever you want to wear. If you want to wear sleeveless, go for it. If you don’t, well, that’s fine too,” I said sincerely.
“I haven’t decided yet, but I took a picture in the fitting room. Will you look at it after we’re finished?”
“I’d love to see it, but just because I want to see how your face looks, if your expression can tell me how the dress makes you feel. Because that’s what’s important.”
“I wanted you to tell me if my arms look too fat,” she admitted sheepishly.
“Your arms are perfect. Since you want them to be stronger, we’re working on that. But I’m not going to criticize parts of your body. Whatever makes you feel the best for that wedding is what I think you should wear.”
“I’m not sure, Leanne,” she said. “I love the color and it’s fun. I think with some heels and maybe a tan—my nephew’s girlfriend does spray tans and I always think they look so nice—that it would be great. But then I think, what if someone looks at me and says, ‘look at that old woman with her flabby arms hanging out?’”
“What if they do?” I asked. “Most people wouldn’t dream of saying something like that, but if someone did, doesn’t it say more about them than it does about you? That they’re just miserable and can’t stand to see anybody enjoying themselves? For me, the biggest fight is with my own judgment and how I talk to myself, more than what other people say. But everybody’s journey is different, and you can get that dress and take a shawl if you feel uncomfortable or you can get a different dress, or you can say, ‘fuck them all, I’ll do what I want.’ Sorry about the language. I get carried away sometimes.”
“Don’t be sorry. For one thing you’re right and for another, my oldest daughter is a prison guard. She does some of the most creative swearing you’ve ever heard,” she smiled.
“Do you mind if I hug you?” I asked. She nodded and hugged me. “Seeing you and doing this is just what I needed today, Kim.” I told her honestly. “I think one of the big risks for me with a family crisis or anything like that is getting stuck inside my own head and only thinking about myself. You may not know it, but you really helped me today.”
“You’ve helped me more than you can know. Even my husband says I walk sexier now, like I know I look good. I haven’t even lost more than two pounds! I know it’s not about weight, but still—I feel better. And that’s all you.”
“It’s allyou, Kim. It always was,” I said, and when we were done, I told her that her smile in that dress picture said it all. “Get it,” I said, “and if you hate it blame me. Say your personal trainer begged you to buy it because you look so hot in it.”
She laughed, “I’ll do that!”
After my session, I joined a yoga class as a student on my break and it was good for me to try to relax although I was still jumpy. Aaron was out of the gym teaching at Berkeley, and I kept looking for him, wishing he’d come in so I could see him or thank him or just look at him and hear his voice. It was probably better that he wasn’t at the gym, because there was always the chance I’d say something improper again and forget he was off limits for me.
CHAPTER20
AARON
Leanne was in her seat for my Monday morning lecture. Her energy was down, I could see by looking at her. I didn’t go ask about her dad, do anything to single her out. I just taught the class and led the discussion. She was engaged, taking notes, but she was off somehow. She didn’t participate as much as usual, and certainly with none of the passion and vigor I was used to seeing from her. At one point, I noticed her eyes drooping, her chin propped on her hand like her head was too heavy.
