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“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He wasn’t all that great when he was around. But I got my passion for training hard from them. I majored in Kinesiology because I wanted to learn how to work with athletes to help them reach their maximum performance.”
That explains the rigour of his program at F.!.T.. I taste a crispy leaf. I’ve had kale chips from a bag, but they’re better homemade. “These are delicious.”
“Thanks.” He picks up one too.
“So, were you ever a personal trainer or coach?”
“A trainer for athletes,” he replies, with something unreadable passing through his expression. “That was a long time ago. I don’t do that kind of training anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Hey, how did we get onto me?” He sticks another chip into his mouth, trying to act as if the subject hadn’t just corded his body with tension. “We were talking about why you’re not dancing professionally.”
“So we were,” I say, storing away his reaction. “How many fat professional ballet dancers have you seen?”
“Um…”
“Exactly. Teachers told me I was talented enough, but that I had to lose weight. My size was all that seemed to matter. I was healthy and happy with my body. I wasn’t going to lose weight just because they demanded it.”
“I don’t blame you.” His temper spikes on my behalf. “People should be judged and rewarded based on their merits, and you are fucking talented.”
Hearing him support my decision, means a lot. Not all the men I’ve been with have. “Merit and talent should matter,” I agree, “but life isn’t always fair. I experienced racism as a Black woman and as a Black child growing up in a mostly white area in North Bay. That’s how Isiah and I became friends—we were part of a small number of Black and Brown kids at school. Discrimination wasn’t new to me. Sizeism was just another battle that I had to fight.
“I went out for the roles I was suitable for. I knew my strengths and limitations. But even then, even when I’d give the best audition of my life, I’d still hear that demoralizing, ‘you’re too big’ as if that made me not good enough. I’d wear the hurt for a while then go back to it, facing rejection after rejection. My mom was my biggest advocate…” I choke up a little. “Her and Zay.”
He strokes a hand over my hair and down my cheek. Touched by his gentleness, I fight back the tears. “After I lost my mom, I was more determined than ever to make it, but less than a year later, I started experiencing dizziness and ringing in my ears.”
“From what?” he asks, concerned.
“An acoustic neuroma.” At his questioning gaze, I explain, “It’s a rare, slow-growing benign tumour that develops in the balance and hearing nerves of the inner ear. It’s not often seen in twenty-two year olds, but I pulled the short straw. Luckily, I had a great team of doctors at Toronto Western who specialized in targeted radiation.”
“Are you okay now?”
“I am. The tumour has stopped growing, and has even shrunk. But I lost all the hearing in my left ear, and that threw off my balance. I knew it would take some rebuilding of my skills to dance at the same level again. But as I was recuperating, I had one of those life-changing moments. I could continue trying to convince people I was worthy, or I could change direction and take control of my own destiny.”
“That’s how Fab Fitness came to be,” he surmises.
“Yes. I wanted to create an environment where regardless of their size, women could enjoy moving their bodies in a fun, empowering, and uplifting way. I didn’t want any rules or restrictions. I wanted Fab Fitness to be what I wish the dance world had been for me, a supportive and encouraging space. So, I put together a business plan, consulted with an advisor I respected, and moved with Zay to Toronto eight months ago. I used the money from my mom’s life insurance policy to start up Fab Fitness. I know you don’t think it’s a real gym because it isn’t as structured as yours, but I’m very proud of what I’m building. And my mother would be too.”
His face flushes, the colour spreading along his cheekbones. “I’m sorry, Jazz, for the things I’ve said and the way I’ve made you feel.”
“I don’t want your pity, Leo.”
“I’m not pitying you,” he baulks. “I think you’re amazing for turning pain and loss into strength. For giving up a career you wanted and deserved, but not giving up. I won’t lie and say I agree with your philosophy on exercise. But I also now understand it better. What you do is of value to your members, and that’s the measure of a successful business model. I admire your passion and drive. I admire you.”
There’s nothing but sincerity in his eyes. “Thanks, Leo.”
“You’re a fighter. And fighters turn me on.” His mouth skims my jawline. “You really can’t hear anything in your left ear?”
“Nothing at all. But my right one does double-duty.” I move my hair to reveal the tattoo. “I got this lightning bolt as a reminder.”
“Your superpower.”
I like that. And I like it even better when his tongue traces the sensitive spot behind my ear. From there, it’s a fast two-step over to the couch for some kissing and heavy petting.
He whips the hockey jersey over my head and retrieves a condom from the pocket of his sweats. I quirk up an eyebrow. “You’re quite the Boy Scout.”
