“I’m sure your life has moved on,” she says graciously.
I’m grateful she said that—it makes me feel more confident that’s true.
“I just recently moved back from six years in LA,” I say, as if to prove that I’m not still the girl who grew up in Greenwood.
“I mean, I’m not the person I was a few years back, either,” she says. “I went to UMass for psych, but then I got pretty into yoga there, and that led to me getting my yoga teacher’s training certificate, and here we are. Just couldn’t stay away from this ex-ci-ting town.”
Her tone makes it clear she’s kidding.
“I teach at Mind & Body Yoga,” she explains, naming the yoga studio not far from Greenwood High. “Since I practiced there so often during summer breaks home from college, I couldn’t say no when they offered me a job. I gotta say, I’m jealous that you moved away. I wish I could’ve done something cool like that.”
“I mean, it’s kinda like you said, one thing turns into another, right? And then you wind up in a place you never thought you’d be? After my gymnastics career ended, I moved to LA for school, then stayed because of my boyfriend at the time,” I say, glossing over the manic years of partying. I’m not sure if she’d approve. “And then when that relationship ended, I didn’t have much keeping me there. So I moved back, and luckily, a coaching job opened up at Summit.”
“Okay, wait a sec,” she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially, even though we are the only people around. “Your boyfriend. You dated that football player, right?”
As soon as she mentions Tyler, it hits me that I haven’t dwelled on him in a week. I feel a little proud of myself for beginning to move on.
“Yeah, yeah, I did,” I say, trying to downplay it.
I turn toward the closet and hang up my parka so I don’t have to face her.
“That sounds totally major,” she says. “What was that like?”
Her tone sounds hungry for gossip, but I’m not in the mood to give it. I get why some people might be starstruck by the prospect of dating a pro football player, but having actually done it, the sheen is lost on me.
“Uh, lots of muscles, lots of sweat,” I say quickly. “But underneath all that, just the same old, same old.”
“Huh,” she says, chewing that over.
“We just grew apart,” I explain slowly, testing out her reaction. “We both changed. We wanted different things.”
She dramatically closes her eyes and places her hands together in prayer. “Preach, girl.”
I laugh.
“I used to date this guy who…” she begins before cutting herself off. She shakes her head. “You know what? No. He’s not even worth the breath it would take to explain it.”
“Fair enough,” I say.
I’m starting to like Sara.
I reach for the scissors on the nightstand to cut open my last box of things. We’re both quiet for a minute.
“Actually, I like this new guy,” I blurt, surprising myself, even.
“Yeah? Who?” she asks.
I run the odds in my head that Sara would have ever crossed paths with Ryan. Greenwood has just thirty thousand people, but he didn’t grow up here, and they seem to run in different social circles. I don’t think they know each other. I grab my mug of tea and sink down across from Sara on the bed.
“His name is Ryan. We work together.”
“Ooh… another coach?”
“Yeah. I actually sort of knew of him when we were younger, and I always thought he was cute. We work pretty closely together now—it’s just the two of us training this one incredible gymnast. We think she could have a pretty decent shot at making the next Olympics.”
“So has anything happened between you two?” Sara asks.
Right—she is not here to listen to my thoughts on Hallie’s athletic career. The question was about Ryan.
“We were work friends up until New Year’s Eve, when he invited me out to his friend’s party,” I say. “We kissed at midnight. And then… I don’t know, things sort of changed between us? I realized how much I liked being around him. It freaked me out. I don’t know.”
This is the first time I’ve ever told this story out loud, the first time I’ve had a person to tell it to. The events of that night have been playing on a jumbled loop in my brain ever since I left the party in Somerville, but that doesn’t make explaining what happened with Ryan any easier.
“Not a good kisser?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.
“No, not that. Not at all,” I rush to say.
God, how many times since New Year’s Eve have I imagined the electricity of our kiss? Sometimes, I catch myself daydreaming about it at Summit when I know I shouldn’t.
“You should go for him,” Sara says clearly.
“What?”
“You like him. So tell him that. Go out with him. Do something.”
I feel hot, like I’m under a spotlight.
“I can’t do that,” I protest.
“You can sit here in your discomfort, or you can step outside your comfort zone and try something new,” she continues, slipping into what I assume must be a platitude from her yoga classes.
“We work together. It’s complicated,” I explain. “I told him we probably shouldn’t do anything like that again.”
“Life is short,” she says.
She shrugs and scoots off the bed, then whirls around to face me. “We can be friends, can’t we?” she asks.
“Of course we can,” I rush to say.
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that,” she says, grinning. “I have to get going. The studio does candlelit yoga on Sunday nights. I’m teaching at six thirty and eight o’clock. Wanna join?”
I glance around the bedroom, which doesn’t quite feel homey yet, though it’s shaping into something that feels like mine. This apartment feels like a fresh start. I don’t want to leave it just yet.
“Maybe another day?” I suggest.
I don’t mean it. It’s the way I was raised—unless a workout involves a raised heartbeat and death-defying stunts, I’m not interested. Chanting mantras in downward dog doesn’t seem like it’d do it for me.
“Free classes on me anytime,” she says, heading around the corner into her own bedroom to get ready.
I sink onto the bed. First Summit, then whatever is going on with Ryan, and now this new place to live. For the first time in a long time, I feel the different elements of my life clicking together. I like this new life.
* * *
After Sara leaves, the apartment is quiet. I drive to the supermarket, pick up an armful of carrots, mushrooms, herbs, and rice, and make risotto for myself. Cooking dinner for one is an endeavor that requires a little too much time, energy, and money for what it’s worth, but I need to do something to keep my hands and mind busy. I have to focus on drizzling the pan with precisely the right amount of olive oil and dicing the vegetables the right way so I don’t have the bandwidth to think about Ryan. He’s been on my mind more than I’d like to admit lately.
I didn’t used to be like this—sappy, emotional, with a soft center. I used to pride myself on being able to block out distractions. It’s a necessary skill in gymnastics: when you’re four feet aboveground, balancing on a four-inch-wide beam, there’s no room to notice the trilling of another girl’s floor music or the flailing kid cartwheeling past you or the watchful gaze of your coach. There’s you and there’s the beam. That’s it. Tonight, there’s me and there’s this meal. I wish that could be it. My mind keeps circling back to thoughts I shouldn’t be having.