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Natasha pursed her bow mouth lips, “It’ll only take forty minutes.”
I stared at the ceiling. “For you. It’s cold outside,” I whined.
She held up a knit headband like the one she wore around her long ponytail and gloves. “You can borrow my other one,” she said.
When I didn’t respond, she continued, “Lily, you’re less fat now. If you want to keep looking better, you work at it.”
Her words stung, but worked as they often did with me. Natasha had the body I was bombarded with daily by magazines and on television. I found her body shape elusive, but a goal nevertheless. I shed the “finals fifteen” I gained in college. Fat, spoiled princess. The words echoed painfully in my mind.
I jumped out of bed into my jogging pants, sports bra, white T-shirt, and sneakers. I pulled my thick black hair into one big ponytail.
“I’m not talking an hour, just a short jog along the waterfront and back,” she said. “You can go to the gym tomorrow if you like.”
Natasha didn’t have to offer concessions, but I found they eased her ambush on me. I followed her onto the concrete sidewalk in front of our building and gazed across the water at the skyscrapers of New York City. I couldn’t help but think,there is beauty here too. Jersey City had become my home over the last two years, but my job in Manhattan was the reason I remained.
Puffing my way back to the apartment, my run had taken an hour and fifteen minutes to return to our loft on Grove Street. When I walked inside, I was pleased to find Natasha already out of the shower and immediately stripped off my clothing and climbed inside.
Once finished in the bathroom, I changed back into my tank and shorts and fell back into bed to sleep.
My phone went off sometime later. The sunshine burned on my eyes as I opened them. My body felt stiff as I lazily climbed out of the bed and down to the floor. I stared at the screen. It was my best friend from college, Mary. “Hello?”
“Do you remember the book on systematic economic dislocation and socioeconomic deprivation from Dr. Stamford’s course?”Typical Mary!I thought in admiration… manic about her academic research. I lived for these exercises.
An academic neuron in my left prefrontal cortex jolted. “American Apartheid, the book that discussed the creation and continuity of marginalization and segregation?”
“Thank you. I wanted to quote a few phrases for my paper. Just horrible,” she said and puffed. “So when are you coming back to Boston and back to academia where you belong?”
I grinned. “I will only return if they make a new Star Trek TV series.”
“You should be getting your Master’s Degree in Sociology with me at Boston College,” Mary said. She had been trying to talk me into going back for months, but after the difficult time I had finding a decent job with my bachelors in Anthropology, I had decided to pass due to the cost and Declan’s chiding on the ‘uselessness’ of the pursuit.
After experiencing such a difficult time trying to land a job in Anthropology, I would hardly disagree. But of course, I had thought I would be married and starting a family by now. “Declan is engaged,” I blurted out.
“Already? Good. I always feared you would go back to the bum. The universe has blessed us. Praise be to all gods and goddesses,” she said. “Oh wait, that means some other poor soul is with him. Give me her name so I can do a casting away ritual to send him away from her.”
I snickered. “Heather. He was denying the engagement in front of her, so I don’t know what will happen.”
“Good. I’ll just celebrate you’re not going back then,” Mary said.
I sighed. “Declan wasn’t always like that. He had a hard life. He had to take care of his family when his father left. He created his business from the ground up. And, he handled everything when I couldn’t manage after my parents’ death.”
“He was the only one you allowed to handle everything and he was a jerk about it all, too. He was no prince and he broke up with you. That’s enough for me to hate him,” Mary said. “And I truly loathed him.”
I clicked my tongue and turned on my side. Mary’s reaction was the reason I started censoring what I shared with her about my relationship with Declan when we were together. The few times I accidentally shared something negative that happened, she grabbed ahold of whatever I shared with her and tried to convince me to leave him. It became unbearable to speak with her. This was the reason I never shared with her the few physical fights we had and worked on them on my own. In truth, I wasn’t willing to let him go. Nevertheless, I couldn’t argue her assessment on our relationship. His offers to help educate me on life had started kindly. Following their deaths though, they became more severe. If I asked for help with my move, find a new place, stay with him until I found a job, he told me I needed to learn not to “be the spoiled princess” my parents had molded me into.
“Enough about Dec. I stalked a gorgeous businessman last night,” I blurted.
“Never a dull moment in New York City. So, what happened? Did you tear your clothes off and jump on his back?”
I laughed. “Hardly. I do love your active imagination, though I reckon the front would have been more satisfying.”
“Obscene words from a pristine girl,” Mary said.
The Breakfast Club movie quote made me giggle. “I’m not that pristine. I was with Declan.”
“Limiting yourself to Declan makes you one. So, please. Yes, you are,” she said briskly.
I laid back on the bed. “You keep talking like that, I won’t tell you.” She mewled and I laughed. “Fine,” I conceded. “Black hair, kind of GQ. Chiseled features, Rutger Hauer’s eyes or close to tropical, depending on the light. Perfect arch to his brow, tan and tailored, and takes good care of himself.”
