Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

River

I DON’T HEAR FROM Clark for days. At first, I can rationalize it as him getting back from the retreat and settling into his normal routine. I’m sure he has emails to go through or something like that.

But as the days stretch on, my doubts grow. I check my phone far more often than usual. As I teach yoga classes, my focus drifts back to the device, and every time I send my students away hope wells up in my chest. It always deflates the moment I look at my phone and find no messages or missed calls.

Clark may be settling back into his routine, but I’m struggling to do likewise. Every time I start a class, I find myself scanning the room for him, hoping he might slip in at the last moment and take up that spot in the back corner. I do the same today, watching too keenly as people filter through the cat café to join my class. The cats jump up to their places in the giant cat tree while students lay out their yoga mats and find spots on the floor.

None of them are Clark. I even look for his friend, Megan, but she isn’t here either. Strangely, that’s the one bit of comfort I can find in this. If Megan isn’t coming to classes either, maybe they really are busy getting back into the swing of things at work.

I comfort myself with that thought as I attempt to start my class, but my energy is all sorts of messed up today. I can’t settle into the flow and guide my students the way I’m supposed to, but I do my best to give them something of what they came here for. At the very least, I can get them through the motions.

Guilt gnaws at me. I may technically be giving my students what I promised them, but they aren’t getting my best. Usually, I would provide individual attention. I would manage the energy in the room. I would ensure they left feeling like they got more than a mere workout. I like to help people. I enjoy enriching their spirits and not just helping them move their bodies around. But with my own energy so messed up because of this thing with Clark, I’m not up to the task today.

“Let’s try lying on our backs now, everyone.”

I join my class in the final pose of the session, a savasana. Normally, the pose would promote lasting relaxation, a feeling that should hopefully linger long after class ends and my students go back out into the world and to their lives. Today, however, I struggle to settle my own mind, and leave my students in awkward silence for a bit too long. Finally, I simply end the class, giving up on my horrible attempts at doing my job.

I roll up my yoga mat so I don’t have to look at anyone as they filter out of class. Many of them head for the coffee bar, however, meaning they’ll linger in the café for a while yet. Normally this doesn’t bother me, but today I can’t bear to face the disappointment I might find on their faces. I’ve never hidden from my own desires, but I’m supposed to help people, to guide them, and I’ve failed them because I’m too caught up in my body’s selfish needs.

Seeking a refuge, I head to the back room. It’s where we keep the litter boxes and cat medication. It’s not really my job to scoop litter, but I do it anyway, trying to keep myself busy, trying to be helpful to the cats around here, if I can’t be helpful to the humans.

Orange pokes his little orange head into the back room while I’m scooping. He stumbles over on stubby kitten legs, curious to watch me disturb the litter boxes. I finish up the one I’m scooping, set the scooper and trash bag aside, then sweep the little kitten into my hands. I stand with him nestled against my chest, nuzzling my nose into his soft fur. The purrs begin immediately, a quiet rumble that will deepen as he ages. I’m lucky no one has adopted him yet. I feel like I need this little guy today. The warmth of his tiny body comforts me in a way yoga and meditation have failed to lately.

After a few minutes, I sigh and set Orange back on the floor. He doesn’t go far, settling himself on top of my bare foot. Trapped, I have little choice but to do what I’ve been avoiding: Check my phone.

Nothing.

My heart sinks, and I crouch carefully on the floor to scoop up Orange and hold him against my chest. His slight weight over my heart provides a balm for the ache digging deeper and deeper into me. I shouldn’t be so wound up over text messages, but I can’t help it. I thought Clark and I shared something real during that retreat. He came to me that last time at my cabin, and he stayed for the entire night. I don’t want to believe that returning to the real world could make him turn away from me like this.

The café has grown quieter while I’ve moped, so I extract myself from the smelly back room, Orange in one hand and the trash in the other. I leave Orange on a platform jutting from the cat tree as I slip on sandals and take out the trash. When I return, Cameron raises a dark eyebrow at me from where he stands behind the coffee bar.

“That’s not your job,” he says.

“You could try ‘thank you,’” I say.

He shrugs, unconcerned. “What’s wrong?”

Ouch. Leave it to Cameron to cut straight to the heart of things without leaving me anywhere to hide. Normally I enjoy his bold, direct personality, but today I could go for some of Henry’s gentler nature.

“Nothing,” I say, knowing it won’t save me even as the word leaves my lips.

He scoffs, and it could sound cruel if you didn’t know Cameron as well as I’ve come to know him thanks to the café. When he sighs and folds his arms on the coffee bar, leaning toward me, it’s not exasperation, but an invitation.

“It’s not nothing,” he says.

My turn to sigh. My shoulders sag as I give in to the urge to unload some of the burden that’s been weighing me down since the retreat.

“It’s not nothing,” I agree.

“Do you want some tea?”

I nearly smile at this show of care and concern. He remembered I don’t like coffee.

“No, I’m okay,” I say. “I have my fruit and veggie shake.”

“Of course. Okay, so what is it? Something from the retreat?”

I scratch at the back of my head. “Yeah, it started at the retreat. It’s just…”

Cameron’s interest sharpens. “Wait, is this about a guy? I’ve never seen you worried over a guy.”

“I don’t usually worry.”

Cameron waves dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I know, you balance your energy or whatever, but it is a guy that has you all messed up, isn’t it?”

I nod. I don’t know where to begin explaining this. Besides, Clark would hate knowing I’m exposing us to the outside world, even if the “outside world” in this case is just my co-worker Cameron. Still, I don’t want to have to lie if Clark ever asks me if I told anyone about what happened at the retreat, so I dance through the explanation.

“I met someone at the retreat,” I say, “but I’m not sure what he thinks we had. I’m not sure what I think we had. More than nothing, I guess. The energy between us was way more than nothing, but now we’re home and he hasn’t contacted me in days.”

“Have you contacted him?”

I blink. “What?”

“It’s a two-way street, River. Have you reached out? Or have you moped around waiting for him to call you?”

“It’s … complicated. I thought he’d be afraid to hear from me so I held back.”

Cameron rubs his forehead like an exasperated parent. “So both of you are very politely not talking to each other while wanting to talk to each other, am I getting that right?”

“I don’t actually know if he wants to talk to me,” I say.

“Well you aren’t going to find out by asking me.”

Cameron straightens and starts washing dirty mugs, apparently considering the matter settled. I wish it felt as simple for me as it apparently does for him. I’ve never been someone overly concerned with rules and lines, but when it comes to Clark, I could really use some help figuring out where his boundaries are.

Cameron is right, though. If I want to know where Clark’s at, I’m going to have to ask him. I’ve led most of this. I’ve been the one pushing. Clark has responded in some surprising and delightful ways to me taking control. Why should I hesitate now?

I step away, heading around the giant cat tree to get whatever privacy I can in the café. Then I pull out my phone and send the message I’ve been avoiding for days.

Hey, how have you been?

It’s simple and open-ended, perhaps too open-ended, but I’m hoping that as an opening bid, it can at least give me a shot with Clark.

I wait, anxiously watching my phone, but get no response. I can’t keep looking at the screen and wishing, so I give Orange a pat, collect my things and wave a farewell to Cameron as I leave the café and start my walk home.

It’s a beautiful day, but I can barely take it in as my mind whirls. What if he responds? What do I say? I should have a plan. Clark likes plans. I start Googling, but nothing comes to me until I pass a sign on one of the bars on Main Street. There’s a live music show in a few days, and I’ve vaguely heard of the band before. It’s far from Seattle, but that might actually work in my favor. No one here will know Clark. Would he say yes to something like this? I stare at the poster with longing, imagining an impossible future where I walk into this bar on Friday night with Clark as my handsome date.

The buzz of my phone startles me from my daydreaming. I almost drop the device when I see that it’s Clark. He’s actually responded.

Fine , is all he wrote, but it’s an opening. It’s a chance. I leap to take it.

I snap a picture of the poster and send it to him with the caption, Come with me to this on Friday night. It’ll be fun. I promise.

I send the message before I can question whether that was too forceful or not forceful enough. Then I stand there on the sidewalk, unable to uproot my feet from the concrete as three dots flash on the screen to indicate Clark is typing a response. I brace myself for a no. Of course he’s going to say no. We’re back to our lives. He’s back to the Clark I met several weeks ago, the guy who couldn’t unknot his shoulders. Yet even that Clark relaxed when I set my hand on him and gave him a small push, so maybe this Clark will too.

The message appears. My heart jumps. I can’t make sense of it at first, my head too scrambled with longing.

Fine. Should we meet at 8?

I have to read the message several times before I truly believe it. Eight. Eight on Friday. I’ll see him again at eight on Friday. I can barely get my hands to type out a simple “yes” without adding a dozen exclamation marks.