“Um…” I fidgeted with my napkin for a moment, trying to think of a cover. I’d been about to say ‘the kind of guy who only sleeps with really hot chicks.’ But given my sister’s reaction, I could see that this thin ice needed careful navigation, lest I crack through it and drown. She was always a bit touchy about the guys she hooked up with, but even more so about how her looks influenced them to reciprocate an interest.
When I didn’t answer, she just folded her arms across her chest. I noticed she wasn’t touching her coffee, that one solitary sip having been enough caffeine to fire up her adrenaline—or so it seemed. It was cooling off, forgotten on the end of the red Formica table top, right next to my empty mug.
“I was going to say,” I stalled, making my peace offering with a pleasant smile. “That he seems like a really nice guy, when you get to know him.”
“Oh?”
“Come on, Claire. Cut me some slack here. I’m on Team Claire & Tom, okay?” As I spoke the words, her arms lowered, coming to rest on the table. They were still crossed in front of her, more loosely so, but it was not as defensive a posture this way. “I just want the juicy details.”
One corner of Claire’s mouth twitched upward and I knew I’d hit pay dirt. Story time!
“If you really must know,” she began in a raised whisper, leaning over her crossed arms toward me. My eyes were riveted to hers, my lips snapped tightly shut so as not to interrupt what would no doubt be the best story I’d heard in a long, long time. I’d been vicariously living through Claire’s social life since the end of my undergraduate years and thus, my social life. Unfortunately, she’d been claiming to be in a dry spell for the past few months, so neither one of us was having any fun.
According to Claire, she met Tom through work, where his gym had signed with her marketing agency to do a few TV spots, billboards, and print advertisements in the local newspapers. She’d pitched him a web campaign as well, which he’d loved right from the start, and the two of them hit it off. He invited her down to the gym for some free training sessions as a thank you when the web campaign doubled his business in just six months.
“So it seemed pretty harmless,” she continued, reclaiming the cooled mug from the table’s edge. The waitress warmed hers up and topped me off with some fresh brew, and we went right back into the story. “I went to work out with him, like, twice a week at the beginning. Eventually, I realized it was such an effective workout, and he was so tuned into what my body needed, that I didn’t need to do anything else to maintain my weight and tone. So, I upped my visits to three times. I guess all that time together—alone—it just gave us ideas.”
Claire stopped talking, stirred some creamer into her coffee, and just stared at me. I blinked at her a couple of times, and still, her mouth stayed shut.
“I’m sorry… I think I fell asleep back there in the middle of your totally lame story.”
“You said you wanted details…”
“Claire,” I laid my hand on top of her forearm. “That was the version you tell Grandma. I want to know how it happened.”
“You’re not gonna shut up until I tell you something, are you?”
I shook my head.
She sighed. “Okay, fine.”
I shifted in my chair, eyes glued to my sister’s face, and restrained myself from clapping with glee.
“So, one day, about a month ago, I had to work really late so I pushed back my training session to the last time slot of the day. Tom had me working on the elliptical machine for eight miles or so—”
I groaned, earning a glare from my sister, and waved her on with the story.
“And we ended up working way past when everyone else had already gone home. He’s standing there in front of me, watching me work out on the machine, and all of a sudden, our eyes just lock. Like that.” She snaps her fingers in front of her face, pulling my focus right to her eyes. “And everything just slows down. I realize I’m not really pushing down on the pedals anymore, just kind of coasting along in slow motion. He leans over the top of the machine…” Claire leaned towards me to demonstrate. “And just plants one on me!”
“No!”
“Yes! Just like that,” she smacks the table, spilling more coffee over the rim of her mug. “It’s really awkward, by the way, to start passionately kissing someone around a piece of exercise equipment.”
Mentally, I try to place myself on that treadmill with Noah in front of it. The logistics of trying to make that work—although hot to imagine in great detail—don’t make very much sense at all. How would I get my arms around the machine and into that sexy hair? And how on earth would he lift me up and carry me over to the mats? These are the things you have to consider if you’re going to start daydreaming about hooking up with your trainer.
“So then what happened?” I have to get more details, overwhelmed by the hypothetical awkwardness that had begun playing itself out in my mind.
“Well, Tom sort of stopped kissing me for a second, made some stupid apology about being so unprofessional. We laughed it off, tried to pull ourselves together…you know, that kind of stuff. But then when he went to hand me my bottle of water, his hand brushed against mine…”
“Uh oh!” I said, maybe a bit too boisterously for the quiet diner. I put a hand over my mouth and tried to shrink lower in my seat. The trucker waitress glowered over at us, looking around for whatever accident she expected I had just caused. Unable to see anything amiss, she turned back to her work.
“And that’s how it happened.” Claire said abruptly.
“Oh, no! Nuh-uh!”
She shrugged. “What else do you want? Next thing I know, we’re on the mats all tangled up, arms and legs, sweaty… And that’s that.”
I considered the drive-by account of what I usually call ‘the fun part’ and decided I would need a clearer mental image, when I recast Noah and me in the starring roles. “Were there any oranges close by?”
“What?”
Oh, right. That wasn’t supposed to be said out loud. “Never mind.”
“Well, there’s nothing more to tell, Jen. We did it that one time, then basically, after every workout until three weeks ago.”
“When you started bringing me in with you,” I finished the thought, my voice deflated. What a terrible sister I was, sabotaging Claire’s love life like that. But what a wonderful sister she was, sacrificing her precious booty-call times to help me get in shape. I felt a tear coming on; I was so touched by her at that moment.
“Yeah, but that’s not why,” she offered, trying to sound as committed to her statement as possible. “You, we could work around but… I think there’s something going on with him. Something at home, or with his family, or… I don’t know. He’s been acting weird, Jen, and it can’t possibly just be because I started working out with you too.”
“Are you sure? If I’m in the way, I can try to figure out something else for myself…”
She reached across the table and lightly slapped my arm. “Stop it right now. I’m here to help you, not get laid routinely by some hot trainer. While that’s nice too, I’m your sister first. If I’m supposed to be with Tom, we’ll work it out somehow. And you won’t be involved, okay?”
****
“You girls don’t tell your mother anything anymore, do you?” says my mom, sighing as she slides back into the couch cushions. “I had no idea about half of these things you’re telling me. How have I not heard of any of these guys?”
“Aww, mom…” I answer, feeling a little bit guilty. “You’re right. We probably should talk to you more. Maybe we could have avoided half of this mess that way.”
“Here I am, sitting around, waiting for you girls to bring your problems to me…” Her voice trails off for a moment, and then she straightens up. “Should I just get better at eavesdropping?”
I want to laugh, but I also don’t want to accidentally encourage her. “Why don’t we just say that I’ll make more of an effort to keep you up to speed, okay?”
“All right,” she resigns, skeptically. “But if I you don’t…”
“Eavesdrop away, Mom.”
She grins, reaching one arm around my shoulders to pull me in for a hug. I give myself a moment to catch my breath and collect my thoughts.
“I do remember Sean, though,” she says suddenly, stroking my hair gently. “Why didn’t you tell me he was back?”
Against my will, a lump forms in my throat. How is it that moms can make this happen so easily? I struggle to swallow it or just talk around it. “I don’t know… I didn’t want to relive all of that.”
“I know, sweetheart,” she says, still smoothing my hair down my back. “I know he really hurt your feelings, but if you were thinking of reconnecting with him…”
“I did reconnect with him…” I blurt out, feeling that lump tighten. “I didn’t think it could happen again, okay? I wanted it to be different this time. I hoped he forgot about that.”
“So what happened this time?” she says, not impatiently. I can tell she wants to know everything, to protect me from what she can, to maybe help me see things differently. But at the end of the day, history has repeated itself all over again… “Tell me the rest of the story, Jennifer, and we’ll figure this out together.”
Taking a deep breath, I decided to keep going. At this point, what else did I have left to lose?
CHAPTER NINE
I didn’t want to talk about Sean anymore, now that all of these emotions were springing back to the surface, but I couldn’t move the story forward for Mom without revisiting those back-and-forth messages.
Just by clicking that simple Like button on one of his photos, I had indeed reignited his interest. I may not have had a clue about what I was doing, but my powers of sociological observation had been treating me well, even out of my depth here on the internet. Within another day or two, he’d Liked a few of Olivia’s status updates and posted a “Hey, how’s it going?” note on my wall. I could tell he was trying to keep me at arm’s length, just in case I was toying with him.
Me toying with him? The idea was absurd, of course. But then again, looking at Olivia’s smoking’ hot profile picture, she just might be the type. I could see Sean wanting to take it easy and not seem too eager. I wasn’t the hunter here, I was the prey. But in a completely different way than I usually thought of myself as being prey.
Weird.
Anyway, I welcomed his subtle and slow advances, posting replies when he commented, and taking a few moments here and there to visit his profile. In reality, I was all but virtually stalking him, but I didn’t leave much evidence of this on his Wall. Instead, I just monitored where he was, what he was up to, who was popping up in his photos, and things like that. Totally normal internet behavior, from what I’ve learned by watching others interact on Facebook.
Then one day, an amazing thing happened. I was just sitting there, cruising through my usual clicking routine on my profile, then Olivia’s, when a new message from Sean appeared in my inbox. My fingers twitched with excitement as I moved the mouse to click it open.
Dear Olivia,
I’m really glad we’ve had a chance to get back in touch. I remember how much I enjoyed your company back in school, something I didn’t know how much I’d missed until now. I hope we can stay friends and maybe even meet up in person sometime.
I’m hosting a party in a couple of weeks, if you’d like to come. There will be lots of people there from school, too, so it might be a nice sort of reunion for you. And we could maybe talk somewhere together, if you like.
Let me know and I’ll send you the info.
Sean
I had to fight to stay seated on my chair as I read his note a second and third time. This could be it, my chance to meet him in person and wow him once and for all. Sean O’Dwyer, the Sean O’Dwyer who I’d first fallen in love with at the ripe old age of 12. My dream guy, inviting me to a party. To talk somewhere together maybe, if I played my cards right.
Immediately, I bolted up from my seat and into the bathroom, where I took a long, hard look at myself in the mirror. Jennifer Smith, staring back at me, did not look as much like Olivia Saunders as I’d been hoping. But there was potential here, I figured, pinning my hair back on top of my head into a bun and sucking in my cheeks. I studied myself from the right and left angles, turned sideways to see the full impact of the 18 pounds I still had left to lose. I was getting closer, but I wasn’t there yet. I watched my face fall as the realization sunk in.
There was no way Sean would buy it if I said I was Olivia Saunders, exotic world traveler and successful model/actress. Not like this. Not without seriously kicking some butt in the gym…
I looked down at the rest of my body. And maybe a mani/pedi treatment might be in order too.
On impulse, I ran back to my laptop and typed a quick response to Sean: “Sounds great! I’m in town that weekend, so send me the details and I’ll see you there!”
Before I could change my mind, I clicked send and watched it post, becoming a permanent record of the internet. I couldn’t take it back now. There was nothing left to do but get to work. I had about fifteen days to get as close as possible to some insane, imaginary personal standard. But I am Jennifer Smith and I have done amazing things before. The only person in my way was me.
****
So my new mantra became “look like Olivia.” I didn’t even allow myself to think about what would happen if I couldn’t accomplish my goal. Instead, I burned every calorie and ran every mile with this one thought in mind. And with Tom still away on his ‘family business,’ whatever that meant, I had Noah to help me get there.
By mid-week, I assumed Claire still hadn’t heard from Tom, judging by the ugly scowl on her face most days, but she wouldn’t admit that she was worried. I didn’t push the issue with her. I found her one afternoon standing in the lounge area of Tom’s Workout World with her arms crossed tightly over her hot pink running tank top, almost like she was fighting off a chill.
I didn’t want to admit it to her, but I wasn’t the least bit disappointed to see Noah, instead of Tom, greeting us once again at the front desk that day. Claire was convinced the screaming made us work harder and, thus, we burned more calories. I, however, was not totally convinced that the extra 10 or so calories were really worth all the mental anguish... even if her theory was true. I’m sorry, but I’ll always choose a happy workout over one that makes me want to cry myself to sleep at night.
In any case, that day, it wouldn’t have mattered what we thought. Noah was training us, and that was that.
“Come on, grumps,” I nudged her with my elbow as we followed Noah to the mats. “Is it really so bad?”
“I guess not,” she sighed, unwinding her arms. “I’m just… concerned.”
“You haven’t heard from him?”
Wordlessly, Claire shook her head.
“Claire…” I let her name linger on the air until she turned to me. If Noah could hear us talking, he didn’t let on—which I thought was rather polite of him. “Are you guys—”
“I don’t know what we are,” she said, her voice strained. She heaved a deep sigh and took a moment to gain control of her vocal chords. “It’s the same story every time, Jen. Why do I always attract these kinds of guys?”
I gave her a sympathetic look and squeezed her hand. There wasn’t time to get into things right now, since we had arrived at the mats. Noah couldn’t as easily pretend not to hear, and it would have been really awkward to just keep talking with him staring at us. I knew that he knew about Claire and Tom, but she didn’t. Now was not the time to get into it.
Noah started us out with strength training first and I was surprised how well my body was starting to adapt to our workouts. It was still tough, no doubt about it, but my muscles were responding better. I was getting stronger and I could actually tell it was happening. Maybe Claire or Noah wouldn’t see it yet, but I could feel it. I wanted to keep going, to see how far I could go.
Sweating, aching, and exhausted, when it was time for our break, I started to notice a new annoyance. All this activity was making my ears sweaty and, thus, my hearing aids were slipping around. There’s nothing worse than perspiring underneath your hearing aids. From what I’ve been told, it’s a lot like wearing ear bud headphones on a super-hot day or during a long work out—just gross and slimy. Claire looked over just as I started to fidget with the right one.
“I thought that might happen eventually,” she said, offering me a clean towel. “Why not take them out? You can hear well enough to know what’s going on, right? I think you’ll be okay.”
I stared at her for a moment, struck by the idea. Part of me was horrified. Being in public without my hearing aids, while I looked more ‘normal’ that way, made me extremely vulnerable. I hated them, but not having them was even worse for me. I found myself staring at people’s mouths to lip read—well, more than usual—and I had to ask for repetitions a lot. I really, really hated it. But the rest of me knew I would be so much more comfortable without them sliding around in my ears.
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