But a paycheck is a paycheck, so I dragged my butt here several days each week to tone women who didn’t have to work so they could fit into their designer clothes and sip wine at lunch without guilt. Making the emotional-spiritual connection would be up to them.
“See you tomorrow, Lex!” I waved goodbye before trotting across the street to Sugar Momma’s, the only truly awesome new shop on this side of town. I shouldn’t splurge, but Hannah’s chai was the best, and her love for color exceeded my own. If I ever got fired from the gym, maybe I could work here part-time.
“Good morning, Hannah.” I planted my hands on the counter and smiled.
“Woo-hoo, those pants say happy hour to me!” Hannah joked.
“Maybe we should wait until after lunch,” I teased. More people should be like us, laughing at the absurdity of life instead of freaking out like my mom and sister had when I’d recently shorn the left side of my head and cropped the hair on the other side in short, uneven chunks.
“I guess it is still early.” Hannah raised her index finger. “Hey, you just missed your sister. She left about ten minutes ago.”
“Really? That’s too bad.” I forced my facial expression to match those words. Amanda and my mom were already pissed at me for bailing on this afternoon’s baby shower shopping spree. If I’d run into my sister here, I’d be leaving with the chai and a major guilt trip.
Who needed that? I already felt bad about choosing Max’s dad’s birthday lunch instead. But the truth is, Amanda and my mom have similar tastes, and they don’t particularly like mine. At least Charlie laughs at my jokes and likes to play cards. Given the choice between hangin’ with people who want to change me versus those who don’t, why wouldn’t I choose the latter?
I didn’t even need to be with them to know everything they’d pick today would be white and pink, with lots of lace, ribbon, and ruffles. Sure, that stuff’s sweet, but not at all as unique as the little onesie I found on Etsy right after learning about the baby. It had a picture of a gaming remote and read “Player 3 has entered the game.” I’d been all grins until Amanda offered up the same awkward smile she’d worn after she’d unwrapped any birthday or Christmas gift I’d ever given her. There was no doubt in my mind that my niece would never wear that onesie except in case of a dire emergency.
Lyle was even pickier than my sister, and twice as certain. Mr. and Mrs. Do the Right This and Be the Right That, as if anything in life was ever actually wrong. Scratch that. Some things were definitely wrong, like murder and disloyalty. But not hairstyles, career choices, and a little experimentation with whatever the world had to offer. Lyle and I hadn’t liked each other from the start, so for the past three years I’d seen even less of my sister than before.
“Her belly’s getting big now,” Hannah said.
That made me smile. Amanda had always been a pretty woman, but now she glowed. I’d marked my niece’s due date on my calendar with a red heart. Not that Lyle would let me spend much time with her on my own, if any. That guy’s only positive trait was that he gave Amanda a lot of nice things. But if those two ever did let me babysit, I’d be given a list of instructions as long as my arm. Rules, rules, rules. I should’ve bought a sign like that as a housewarming gift. Then again, it’d be at the bottom of some drawer with that onesie, and I’d be that much closer to being homeless. “Only a few more months to go.”
Hannah nodded. “So you want your usual?”
“You know it.” I tossed three bucks on the counter and waited for the to-go cup of deliciousness. Totally worth it.
I raised the tea in salutation. “Have an awesome day, my friend.”
After running back across the street, I crouched to unlock my bike and then poured the chai into my insulated water bottle to take with me.
Nothing beats biking on spring mornings like this, when the cool breeze whips along the bay and rustles the budding leaves of the oak trees, although they also make me miss my dad even more. I remembered the day we’d transferred the American sycamore seedling from the nursery pot to our backyard. Early April . . . typical overcast skies threatening rain. A chilly breeze whipped across the yard, but I hadn’t minded because my dad was smiling at me and we were listening to Coldplay. I’d been ten years old, and it was the first time I’d introduced him to new music. We’d spent a lot of time outdoors, from snelling hooks on the water to tending to the vegetable garden in the yard, talking about life and laughing at most of it.
A massive heart attack that no one saw coming took him from us almost a year ago. His one vice—those damn cigarettes—had literally killed him. I’m the last person to criticize anyone for a vice, ’cause I’ve got plenty. But moderation, people. Moderation.
I’d spent the last year grasping at anything—including Max—to fill the void my dad left behind, but the fact that nothing was working was another sign that I needed to change the direction of my life.
As the gentrified part of town faded behind me, the familiar streets of my youth prompted a grin. I’d been biking these old roads since getting Kevin’s hand-me-down red trike twenty-odd years ago. My first kiss—Todd Brewer—had lived there on Orchard Drive. Haley Scott, a friend who’d moved to California in tenth grade, had lived there on Aspen Lane. And after I left home, my dad and I had met regularly at Lou’s Diner, our favorite spot for coffee and pie despite its broken tableside jukeboxes and desperate need of a new coat of paint. This side of town held its history and its generations-old families. Not the Audi-driving dandies.
I turned the bend onto Oak Court to reach my apartment building, locking my bike in the beat-up rack out front. I’ve toured interesting cities all over Europe, but nothing quite beats home.
Home sweet home.
Or not, as I was reminded when I passed by Mrs. Wagner’s apartment door on my way up to the third floor. I’d lost count of how many cats she kept in there, but the odor that leaked through the gap beneath her door gagged me worse than anything Max let rip after a big meal at Olé Mole.
When I reached into my backpack for my keys, my yoga bag fell off my shoulder. It’d been that kind of morning. Mo barked at the door from inside. My sister’s fancy security system had nothing on my fifteen-pound Zuchon.
When I opened the door, I knelt so he could lick me.
“Fluffy McFlufferson. So many kisses!” I squealed, rolling onto my back to play with him for a few seconds. He might be overdue for a grooming appointment, but the retreat registration fee meant I’d need to teach a few more classes to pay for a grooming and my phone bill. On the upside, when Mo’s hair got this long, he looked like a puffball, thus the nickname.
“Hey,” Max called from his spot on the sofa.
He was still sprawled there in his boxer briefs, remote in hand, exactly like when I’d left two hours earlier. Coming home to the sight of those carved abs and thighs and then dive-bombing the couch with him in a tangle of arms and legs used to excite me. Now I wanted to throw my yoga mat at his head and bellow, “Get a job!”
I gave Mo one last hug before I stood. “I thought you’d be showered by now. We should hit the road if you want to get to Philly in time to take your dad to lunch and not have to dine and dash.”