The Girl He Loves

by Carmen, Roya

  “Well, we all have something to complain about, don’t we,” I say. “I don’t particularly love my A cups and tiny rear. I have the body of a thirteen year old boy.”

  She laughs out loud. “Brian doesn’t seem to mind,” she points out. “You’re lucky. Petite women like you can wear the cutest clothes. I’d just look silly.”

  “Do you know her well?” I ask, not letting the subject go.

  Claudia studies me curiously. “No… not really.”

  “Have you met her husband? Her kids?” I ask.

  She sits up straight and studies me with a dubious expression. “Uh… no. Have you?”

  I’ve gone too far. Just as I’m about to change the subject, there’s a playful knock at the door. I breathe a sigh of relief when Claudia stands to answer it. “Finally, they’re here.”

  I’m still flipping through the fashion images, mesmerized by the colors and styles, when Gretchen and Abigail make their way in. We exchange quick hugs and Claudia fetches cookies from the kitchen and makes them tea; red velvet cupcake for Gretchen and peppermint for Abigail.

  “Sorry, we were at the bookstore down the street,” Gretchen explains. “I wanted to buy the new E.L. James.”

  Claudia smiles widely. “Look at our little Gretchen. She looks so prim and proper, but secretly, she’s a naughty little girl.”

  Gretchen blushes, still holding the book store bag in her hand as she settles on the sofa, next to me.

  “Can I see it?” I ask.

  She shyly slips it out of the bag and hands it to me. I study it for a long time. I love the cover — very esthetically pleasing. A whisper of a smile traces my lips when I hand it back.

  “You can borrow it when I’m done,” she says.

  I smile at the thought. The last thing I need to read right now is erotic romance. It would only fuel my obsession with Joel. Definitely a big no-no. “Thanks, but I’m pretty busy these days… no time to read.”

  Abigail joins us on Claudia’s cozy sofa. “Guess who we ran into in the lobby…” she says. “Mr. Dark & Mysterious.”

  “What was he wearing today?” I ask, full of excitement. Mr. Dark & Mysterious is the gorgeous quiet man who lives in the penthouse upstairs.

  “Dark jeans and a sleek long sleeve grey top,” Gretchen says.

  Abigail bites her bottom lip. “I think he likes the looks of little Miss Gretchen here. Never looks at me twice, but his eyes always linger on Gretchen for a little longer than necessary.”

  “They do not,” Gretchen protests. “You’re imagining things.”

  “I think he digs that sweet demure thing you’ve got going on, Gretchen,” Abby teases. “He must like your little polka-dot skirts.”

  Gretchen shakes her head. “Stop it.”

  I smile. “So, Claudia. How is Colton?” I ask in an attempt to come to Gretchen’s rescue and change the subject. Colton is Claudia’s eleven year old boy, just two years younger than Tristan. That’s one thing we have in common — our boys.

  “Oh, he’s okay,” she says. “A little sullen. This separation has not been easy for him.”

  My heart sinks for Colton. I can’t imagine what a separation would be like for my boys, a complete upheaval of their lives. That’s the main reason I’ve been in complete denial, why I’ve been avoiding speaking to Brian about Ava, why I’ve been trying to forgive Brian. After all, I’m not perfect either.

  “And he plays way too much Fortnite,” she adds.

  “Yes,” I say. “Trevor too. Tristan doesn't seem too interested, but Trevor…” my words trail off. Trevor is the most like me. He has OCD tendencies, and Brian and I have had to really put our foot down with the video games.

  Claudia asks Gretchen how she’s doing. We’re always checking up on her. None of us can imagine what she must be going through. She tells us the babysitter is with Ethan, and that she’s learning to let go, to gain more independence. The conversation moves on, into Abigail’s unemployment and annoying neighbor, a small elderly woman who plays her TV too loudly and is always knocking on her door to borrow stuff.

  I’m still absentmindedly flipping through the fashion images when my heart jerks to a stop. In the flash of a second, I’m taken back to nineteen years ago, summer of 2000. The young model in the photo has long blond hair, blue eyes, daisy duke shorts and very long legs. Her gaze is sad, and it makes you wonder what she’s thinking about. My eyes are drawn to the colorful embroidery across the front of her white peasant blouse. She looks exactly like Renee did at Ryan’s party.

  I remember her now.

  18

  Renee was there, at Brian’s cousin’s fourth of July party. It’s all coming back to me now. She looked as beautiful and as sad as this model, and I remember wondering who this gorgeous, melancholic girl was. Especially when she began to pay a little too much attention to Brian, laughing at his jokes, swaying as he sang and strummed the guitar. I could see lust and desire in her eyes, and I hated it. I was used to it since Brian had quite a few groupies, but she was different — she was stunning, exotic and despite the fact that she was wearing ripped short shorts and a peasant top, there was something sophisticated about her. She was something else.

  If I could have glued myself to Brian, I would have, but he wasn’t speaking to me that night. We’d just had a really big fight before the party, and he didn’t even want me there. When Renee ended up on his lap, I was livid. It was cruel of him to do that… he was trying to make me jealous. He was also drunk. He wasn’t quite himself, and I hated seeing him like that.

  We were both broken hearted. Me, because I’d been let go from a job I loved. And him, because he’d lost his dad. I suppose his grief was much more justifiable than mine, but that didn't make mine any less significant. This is what we’d been arguing about.

  I stormed out of the party, and absolutely no one seemed to care. I called a cab, and cried the whole way home.

  My fingers are shaking as I set the image of the beautiful young girl back with the others.

  “I don’t really see you in those shorts, Mischa,” Abigail teases. “Not the top either.”

  I’m speechless, still looking at the picture.

  “You’ve been staring at that photo forever.”

  I shake my head, look up at her, and feign a smile. “Oh, she just reminds me of someone. Spitting image…” I grab another torn magazine page and set it on top of the blonde. Now, I’m staring at a brunette in a sparkly short skirt, long black turtleneck, and Doc Martens boots. Much better.

  I pick up my tea and take a sip, but I don’t taste it. I listen to the conversation around me but I don’t hear it. All I can think about is Renee and Brian.

  The sudden recollection lights a fiery fire in me. I’d been doing so well, but the emotions that this memory brings are more than I can handle. Jealousy consumes me; visions of the two of them together are crystal clear — she’s wearing those slutty daisy duke shorts and cheap peasant top. “It’s from Forever 21,” she says when a tall skinny redheaded girl compliments it. He’s wearing faded jean and a plain V neck tee. I remember the scuffed knees. One of the jeans knees is ripped wide open, revealing the mole on his right leg. At one point in the evening, her hand is on his knee, her sparkly tipped fingers grazing it. His green eyes are gazing at hers, a playful smile tracing his lips. The emotions of that night all come flooding back and I’m already in a vulnerable place.

  I’ve already checked out the studio schedule a few days ago — it had been a weak moment. I’d slapped shut my laptop in a huff, berating myself. But not before memorizing the schedule. Having an excellent memory has its upsides, but it also has its drawbacks.

  Like right now, I remember there’s a class in exactly an hour. I have no idea if Joel will be there. All I know is that I must be there. It’s a compulsion stronger than logic, stronger than Dr. Russell’s advice, than any common sense I might have left. It’s the need for revenge. Taking this step is a slap in Brian’s face. A slap in hers too.


  Following tea at Claudia’s, I head to the gym. I’m wearing my best workout wear; my favorite Lululemon yoga pants paired with the expensive dusty rose top with the intricate detailing at the back. I’ve got my runners on and a yoga bag on one shoulder. It’s a beautiful day and if it weren’t for my not-so-good intentions, I could say this was a great idea. The day’s schedule is fucked up but I don’t care. All I can see is Joel, and my need to get close to him.

  As it turns out, Joel’s sister’s studio is just about a fifteen minute walk or so from Orchard Heights. My heart is practically sprinting out of my chest as I near the studio. What will I say if I see him? How will I act? Will he be able to see right through me, to see how psychotic I am? Will he run the other way?

  When I spot the storefront, the playful pink letters spelling out SERENITY YOGA, my whole body starts to shake, and this takes me by surprise. I draw in a long breath and tell myself to settle down. No one knows, I remind myself.

  No one knows you’re not quite right, Mischa.

  It’s a lovely afternoon, and I’m just getting a nice workout in. When I’m done, I’ll be rejuvenated and full of energy. I’ll head back home, do a bit of work, and cook cashew chicken stir-fry for my family. I’ll cut up some asian pear for the salad. I’m completely normal.

  The woman at the front desk is young and perky. Her dark ponytail dances as she hops off her stool and welcomes me. She doesn’t know that my heart is beating a mile a minute, that my limbs are shaking. She’s not aware that I don’t trust my own legs to hold me up.

  “Hi,” she says. “How are you?” Her voice is shrill and does not calm me in the least. Her name tag reads, KENDRA. My gaze darts around the space, my mind desperately searching for a distraction, and also looking for Joel.

  Joel is nowhere in sight. The space is soothing, muted shades of grey and blue. “I’m good. Thank you.”

  As I approach the front desk, my step falters but not enough to be embarrassing. “I’m interested in taking the yoga class at two,” I explain. “I’ve never been here before, but I’ve heard good things from a friend.” Surprisingly, my voice is steady and my words coherent.

  “Fantastic,” she cheers, as if I’ve just told her I won the lottery. “Have you tried yoga before?”

  “Yes,” I tell her. “I’m not super flexible but I enjoy it quite a lot. It soothes my mind.”

  Yes, it soothes my crazy, messed up mind. Perhaps it will help me today.

  “Yeah, isn’t it great?” She digs into the desk drawers and pulls out a form. “Before I tried it, I totally didn’t get what the hype was all about. But now I’m a devotee. It really is great for the body and soul.”

  “Yes, for sure.”

  She hands me the form, and my fingers are still shaking as I take it. “I’ll need you to fill this out. Basic info, address, health history. We accept credit card, debit and cash. A single session is twenty dollars, but if you buy a package, you can save a lot. But I imagine you want to stake out the place first before you commit, see if it’s a good fit.”

  “Yes… exactly.” I nod as I head toward the rounded plastic chairs in the waiting area.

  My brain is numb as I fill out the form. I’m on edge, and my gaze keeps darting toward the door, hoping to see him, and also hoping not to. Once I’m done, I hand Kendra the form and we settle payment. She then gives me a quick tour. The place is small — a studio, a two-piece washroom, and two change rooms. The women’s change room has about ten lockers, two shower stalls, and a small vanity station. There’s a cozy pink arm chair in the corner. This place is much smaller than my gym.

  “Juliette is teaching a pilates class right now,” Kendra tells me as we stand on the other side of the glass. There are about ten women stretching their limbs and mimicking Juliette’s every move. Kendra checks her pink watch. “Yoga starts in about ten. You’re free to go wait in the change room… there’s a comfy chair in there. As soon as the ladies come in, that’s your cue to come out.”

  I absentmindedly check my email and social media accounts — nothing of interest. I resist the urge to check out Joel or Renee’s profiles. I haven’t done so in a while, and I’m quite proud of myself on that end. This, right now, though… is not so great.

  The women look spent as they trail back into the small change room, one by one. They’re loud too, chatting away. I’m glad I get to leave because they’re already getting on my nerves. I shoot them a smile as I walk toward the studio.

  I’m early and there’s no one in the studio, save for Juliette and I. She’s fiddling with her stereo system. I had settled down, but now that I’m actually here, that I’m really doing this, my nerves are acting up again. Thankfully, this routine is very familiar to me — I roll out my mat, take off my socks and tuck them in the corner with my yoga bag. I set my water bottle not too far away.

  She finally notices me, and she bounces off her platform to greet me. “Hi, I’m the instructor, Juliette.”

  She looks so much like her brother. The resemblance is uncanny; same eyes, same infectious smile.

  “Hello,” I offer as we shake hands. “I’m Mischa.”

  “Welcome,” she says. “First time here, right?”

  I nod shyly.

  “How did you hear about us?”

  “Uh… from a friend,” I tell her. I don’t know why I don’t mention Joel.

  The studio glass doors swing open, and two middle-aged women swoop in, all smiles. They exchange pleasantries with Juliette and I take the opportunity to retreat back to anonymity. My gaze nervously scans the doors, hoping to not see Joel.

  I realize this was a huge mistake. Thank god he’s not here. What was I thinking? What I need to do is act logically. I need to initiate a conversation with Brian about Renee and Ava. Yes, he possibly may have cheated on me years ago and fathered a child. That’s no small thing, but it was years ago. Is it worth breaking up a family over it? Possibly two families? I can’t do that to Trevor and Tristan.

  I know we can get through this, whatever the situation might be. I’m not going to find the answers I’m looking for by acting like a crazy, obsessive woman. I’ll only get them by speaking to Brian.

  The thing is… I’m afraid to know, because once I do, it will all be real.

  I stretch into downward dog as the room fills. It’s decided — I will do this class, step out refreshed, and never come here again. And I’ll speak to Brian as soon as possible.

  His feet are the first thing I see. He’s wearing white ankle sports socks. I crane my neck around to see the rest of him, to confirm his identity.

  He hugs a small woman, and the whole room seems to brighten up at his presence. He shoots his sister a wave, and doesn’t spot me yet.

  Meanwhile, I fear I might faint. I come down to child’s pose, close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I look up, he’s not standing far. He’s smiling widely. “You made it,” he says, and he seems so happy to see me, it breaks me a little. He has no clue who he’s dealing with. The nicest thing I could do right now is dash out of there and never come back.

  “Yes,” I say, the word so small, I’m not quite sure I’ve actually uttered it.

  “Well, I’m happy to see you. You’ll enjoy the class, I promise. My sister is amazing.”

  I nod politely, and to my dismay, he settles himself right next to me. I smile at the sight of his yoga mat; a very feminine flower design stretches across it.

  He turns to me with a playful grin. “My daughter, Ava, got me the mat for my birthday… she thinks it’s funny.”

  I smile up at him. The both of us barefoot, he towers over me. When I last saw him, I was wearing three inch heels. “It is.”

  Juliette’s voice booms over the speakers. “Hi everyone,” she says. “Beautiful day out, isn’t it. We’re doing session twenty-four today. I know that’s a favorite of yours. We’ll be doing lots of intense poses so I hope your legs are in shape today.”

  The lights are lowered, the soft music starts, and we all foll
ow along as Juliette performs introductory stretches. Her soothing voices guides us along as she gives us instruction. I catch a glance of Joel every now and then, and he shoots me a sweet smile. He truly is a beautiful man.

  It’s just a yoga class, I tell myself. No big deal.

  Joel and I are in perfect unison, our movements matched perfectly, like synchronized swimmers. Butterflies whirl around at the pit of my stomach. It’s thrilling to be standing next to him like this. This might be all I need. I don’t need to get to know him better — I already know too much.

  Joel was right — his sister’s class was fantastic. I swipe a small workout towel across my brow, and down a big gulp of my iced water.

  “So, what did you think?” Joel asks, all smiles.

  “It was great,” I say truthfully.

  Curiosity and expectation cross his features when he asks, “So, you’ll be back?”

  God, I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. “For sure.”

  Wrong answer. I mentally scold myself.

  He rolls up his mat with a delicate touch. “That’s great. I’m glad to hear that.”

  He seems to really care and it warms my heart.

  When he looks up, my gaze is glued to those beautiful brown eyes of his. We stare at each other for a beat without a word. “So… I always have a smoothie after class. There’s a place down the street,” he tells me. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me.”

  The invitation takes me by surprise, and it seems innocent enough. I know I shouldn’t but I know I will. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.

  “That sounds nice,” I reply as I tuck away my mat in my bag. I force myself to look up at him, to make eye contact. I fear that if he looks me in the eye, he’ll see all my secrets, he’ll know what a minefield he’s walking into.

  “Fantastic,” he says. “Let’s meet at the front desk… in fifteen? Time for a quick shower?”

  I nod a little too eagerly. “Sure. I’ll wait for you. I’m showering at home later,” I tell him. There’s no way he’s seeing me with wet hair. Although he has before.