Eleanor waved her hands. “You know what? We’re gonna respond to him. Do you trust me?”
“Do I . . . ,” Teddy faltered.
Eleanor leaned forward and grabbed her hand. “I said . . . do you trust me, Teddy?”
“Yes,” Teddy said with a nod.
“Okay.” Eleanor sat back, tapped out a quick text, then handed her phone back. “Done.”
Teddy looked at the screen and read the text out loud. “‘No.’ That’s . . . it?”
“You said you’d tell him no.”
Teddy felt her heart drop into her chest and then to her knees. What would Richard say? What would he think? What if he really did need her? She’d never, ever said no to him, or really anyone else, before. She’d even gone along with him asking her to move out, willingly removing her things from his place simply because he’d requested it. The thought that Richard was at his place right now sitting on his couch, staring at his phone, and feeling annoyed filled her with terror.
A small giggle escaped her throat. And then a bigger one. And then she was full-on laughing, the kind of laugh that sent tears rolling down her cheeks.
Eleanor and Kirsten exchanged a look. The dad at the next table stared at her. The little girl in the princess crown asked, “Is she okay, Daddy?”
“I’m fine,” Teddy said to the girl, attempting to find composure. “It’s just . . . Have you ever been so terrified to do something, and then you do it and it’s okay? It’s better than okay. It feels amazing. Do you know that feeling?”
The dad shot her a look. “Eat your sandwich, sweetie,” he said to his daughter.
“You’re scaring the children,” Eleanor said. “And us. What’s happening?”
Kirsten waved a hand at Teddy, her eyebrows knit in concern. “Is this . . . your pent-up emotions finally coming to the surface?”
Teddy nodded. “I think so.” She wiped a tear off her face. “I’ll be right back.”
She weaved through the tables, careful to avoid the children she might have traumatized, and found her way to the bathroom. She splashed some water on her face and took a good look at herself in the mirror. She knew the woman staring back at her—Theodora Phillips, hiding in the background.
But now there was something in her reflection that she didn’t recognize. A glint in her eyes, a smile on her lips, a flush in her cheeks—this woman in the mirror was a mysterious person, and Teddy wanted to get to know her.
“Let’s do this,” she said to her reflection.
Teddy went back to the table and focused on being a good friend. She asked Eleanor how work was going and heard a story all about a kid who wouldn’t stop eating Elmer’s Glue, which was nontoxic but was still not exactly designed to be eaten. She asked Kirsten about her latest artwork, a giant painting of lilies that Kirsten said was “turning out a bit more vaginal than I expected, but sometimes art surprises you.” And as the three of them talked and laughed, Teddy realized that there was no place else she’d rather be at that exact moment than at the teahouse, ordering another pot of oolong with her favorite people.
19
Dear Everett,
At this point, I’m no longer Jazzercise-curious. I’m not a casual attendee; no, I’ve been to Jazzercise two more times, and you know what? I’m a convert. If getting a cardio and strength workout while the Maroon 5 song “Moves like Jagger” plays is wrong, then . . . well, maybe I don’t want to be right. And I’m sorry for getting that certified earworm stuck in your head.
As much as I’d love to encourage your enthusiasm in the world of Jazzercise, I do think your presence would make things a bit awkward. Mostly for me. I don’t look my best while performing a chassé, and I don’t want to be judged.
Thank you for your kind words about my breakup (I know it’s odd to refer to “I hope you drop-kick your shitty ex in the face” as kind words, but in this context, I think they were). I’m sorry to hear about your breakup. How long ago was it?
And for the record, I don’t think you’re a robot or someone who doesn’t know how to love. I’ve seen your show, after all. A robot couldn’t talk to children about their feelings that way.
Well, maybe a really advanced robot could, but let’s assume the technology isn’t there yet.
An update on my project: while I may not have kicked my ex in the face (gotta get through a few more classes before I’m strong enough), I did take a big step. I told him no when he asked me for something. The truth is, as much as I wanted to believe I was in a real relationship, I might have been more of a housekeeper/personal chef/human calendar than a girlfriend. Which is likely why I’m faced with the whole “I have no idea what I’m doing with my life even though I’m almost thirty” problem. Aren’t thirty-year-olds supposed to know what they’re doing?
At this point, I’m halfway considering training to become a Jazzercise instructor. I promise in my next email I won’t talk about Jazzercise at all.
Too jazzy for my own good,
Theodora
Everett found himself whistling—whistling!—as he walked down the sidewalk toward his parents’ house. He raised a hand in greeting at an elderly woman walking her dog, smiled at an openmouthed child who clearly recognized him, dodged a group of teenagers who couldn’t have cared less that he was attempting to walk around them. Theodora was right—he wasn’t a robot! Could a robot make a show for children about their feelings? No. It could not!
All of the porches were decorated with mums, pumpkins, and the occasional skull and/or oversized spider. It was fall, and soon it would be Halloween, and Everett felt good.
He walked up the stairs of his parents’ porch, past their own mums and pumpkins. It wasn’t unusual for him to show up unannounced; their house had kind of an open-door policy.
Fortunately or unfortunately, that open-door policy also extended to their students, who occasionally came over for help with essays, answers to questions about their assignments, or a quiet place to read when the library was crowded. Everett had become so used to this as a child that it was somewhat comforting to walk into the foyer and see a random early-twentysomething sitting in a ratty armchair.
The man looked up at Everett expectantly, and Everett found himself in the position of introducing himself to a stranger in his parents’ house.
“Hi, I’m Everett,” he said, holding out a hand. “Miranda and Dave’s son.”
The man’s face broke into a huge smile and he stood up, dropping his book on the floor. “Everett! I’m Rob. Oh, our class has heard so much about you!”