Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

HER — BEFORE

“Last thirty seconds, okay? Push!” From the front of the class, the instructor, Ellie, shouts out instructions, her frustratingly perky voice like nails on a chalkboard to my tired ears. “You’ve got it, guys! Almost there! That’s right, Norma! Keep it up! Look at her, out-pedaling all the rest of you at seventy-three years old. Keep going, keep going! Final push! Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one!” The music ends, and the lights come on as twenty stationary bikes all come to a stop at once, their noisy whirring slowly dying off.

My legs burn. They’re heavy and lifeless as I slip from my bike, gasping for breath.

Ellie dries her face with the towel from around her neck. “Great class today, everyone! Kicked some ass before sunrise, and now you can go out and slay the day. Don’t forget to hydrate and get your electrolytes in. I’ll see you next time.” She jumps off her bike, her legs apparently not made of jelly like the rest of ours, and chugs the water from her water bottle.

All around, cliques of women join up, lamenting about the hard workout and chatting about their plans for the day, their husbands, and their kids.

Like always, I keep to myself, though I can’t help scanning the faces in the room wistfully. I wish it were easier to make friends as an adult, but it’s really not. I don’t know how most people do it. I was certain coming to this class would help, that it would give me someone to talk to with Mom so sick, but even weeks in, I don’t have a single friend in this class.

I know there’s no one to blame but myself. I struggle to put myself out there. Even now, I’m only here because I was invited to try a month free after I received a flier in the mail.

“Hey, you’re doing great!”

I look up, already recognizing the voice. It’s not the first time the instructor has tried to speak to me. I know she’s just trying to get me to sign up for more classes since my trial is nearly up, but she’s nice enough, and since she’s the only one who has tried to speak to me here, I don’t mind chatting. “Thanks. I’m definitely feeling it.” I squat, bending my legs to stretch them out. I rub my thighs and calves, massaging the sore muscles.

“Yeah, it gets easier with each class, but those first few weeks are always rough. Are you thinking about sticking around for a while? A month or two in, and it’ll be a piece of…” She winces, squeezing one eye closed. “Um, celery?” We laugh. “Maybe not as fun as a piece of cake, but not the worst thing either. And it’s good for you.” She bobs her head, like she’s confirming it to herself. “Yep. Celery fits.”

I chuckle again. “Yeah, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be coming. Not because of you or the class—you make it as fun as it could possibly be, trust me. But I have school and work, and I’m not sure I have time for this, to be honest. I stay really busy.” I pause, then I admit, “Plus, mornings are not my thing at all.”

“Oh, really?” She studies me. “What made you sign up, then?”

I can’t admit that I was pathetic enough to hope I’d make friends here, so I go with the other part of the truth. “Eh, I got a free month, and I’ve been seeing this new guy, so I was hoping to kind of…” I trail off, feeling desperate and silly. Why the hell am I in an exercise class right now trying to look better for my professor when I could be getting sleep? Maybe it’s because in class we’re surrounded by a bunch of twenty-somethings, and I’m closer to his age than theirs. I just want him to think I’m hot.

“Got it,” she says with a chuckle. “It’s always a man, isn’t it?”

I smile at her. Somehow, despite being all too perky at this time of day, she’s surprisingly easy to talk to. “How does that manage to happen?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.” She scoffs.

I laugh. “Well, anyway, thanks for class! I’ll see you next time. Maybe.”

She holds up her hand to stop me. “Hey, wait. I know you said you’re super busy, but if you don’t have plans, I don’t have another class for a few hours and was planning to grab an acai bowl from next door. Want to join me?”

I waver.

“Come on. We can spend the whole time complaining about men.”

Now that is an offer I can’t refuse. “Sold.”

At the shop next door, we order our bowls and sit at a table by the window. “So how long have you been working at SpinSista?”

“Oh, a few years now, I guess.”

“It seems like it would be fun. I work from home, so it can be sort of…quiet.” I nearly say lonely , but I catch myself.

“Oh, wow. I get too in my head for that,” she says. “I need people around.” There’s a nervous giggle. “Probably the root of my trouble with men, actually. I get a little lonely and make bad decisions.”

I point to the tan line from a ring on her finger. “You’re married?”

Self-consciously, she looks down. “Sort of?”

“How can you be sort of married?” I ask with a dry laugh. The seriousness on her face tells me this is no laughing matter, though, so I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t really have girlfriends anymore, since I graduated, so it’s nice to talk to someone, honestly.”

“Me either,” I admit. “Actually, I’m in college now. A late bloomer. But even there, I tend to keep to myself. So feel free to dish. Or whatever the cool kids are calling it these days.” I wiggle my fingers at her, as if drawing the gossip out.

She’s quiet for a while, stirring her fruit around. “He’s controlling, I guess. Not abusive or anything, but he controls what I eat and what I wear. He has to have everything just so, you know? I’m the opposite, and maybe some of it is good, honestly.” She puffs out a breath of air, blowing hair from her eyes. “My mom always said I needed structure.”

“Are you close with your mom?”

“She died a few years ago,” she admits.

“Oh. Mine’s sick. Dementia. She hasn’t recognized me in a few months.” I hadn’t meant to be so honest, but somehow, it slipped out. I want to trust her. I desperately need to trust someone I can talk to about all of this, and Cal doesn’t exactly scream empathetic listener most days. He’s too focused on fixing things, making it better step by step, to provide emotional support.

Ellie surprises me by taking my hand. “I’m so sorry.”

I give her a small smile. “Me too.” Suddenly, our age difference is clear, and I want to help her out of this situation. I’m probably less than a decade older, but that experience has to account for something, right? “So why haven’t you left the controlling guy? Does he have a name?”

She hesitates. “It’s complicated. I love him. He’s also kind of…all I have.”

I swallow. “Well, not anymore.”

Her smile is sad.

“I just mean, if you need someone to talk to, I’m around.”

“Thanks, Sadie.”

“Anytime.”

“And same to you,” she says. “If you need a friend, I’m here.”