False Start

by Barbara Valentin

  Such a schmuck.

  "Breathe," Nick coaxed as he studied her face. "You're not breathing."

  Mattie winced. "Easy for you to say."

  "Just a couple of more seconds. You can do it. Just relax."

  "This isn't helping, Nick. It's making it worse."

  Frowning, he eased her back a bit.

  "All right. This ought to do the trick. Lay on your back."

  "Excuse me?"

  Nick put his hand on her shoulder and nudged her backwards. "You heard me. Lay down."

  When she was flat on her back, he knelt next to her and grabbed the heel of her right foot.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Making it all better. Straighten your leg."

  He slowly lifted her foot. By the time her leg was perpendicular to the ground, she was arching her back and digging her nails into the track's rubber surface.

  "Uncle!"

  "You're not breathing. Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

  Mattie gritted her teeth while Nick knelt idly by, holding her foot mid-air. "Come on Mattie. I don't have all day."

  No raise is worth this.

  Taking a deep breath in through her nose and exhaling through her mouth, she felt something happen. The tightness in her muscles actually started to dissipate. She did it again. Even better. Her eyes popped opened, and she flashed a smile at the vaulted ceiling of the field house.

  Nick eased her leg back to the ground and started raising the other one. After a quiet moment, he said, "This would all go much easier if you'd stop fighting me."

  Mattie considered her options. She could continue to be aloof, whiny, and uncooperative for weeks, just to be difficult, but what would that prove except perhaps that Nick was right to advise his brother against marrying her?

  She looked at him. "Do you promise never to make me this sore again?"

  Nick thought for a minute then shook his head. "No."

  He dropped her foot to the floor.

  Coach one, Mattie zip.

  Flinging an arm across her face, she mumbled, "Fine."

  "Excuse me?"

  She pulled herself into a sitting position and looked at Nick.

  "You heard me. I surrender."

  He reached down and extended his hand to her. "Good. Now let's get to work. We'll take it nice and easy today. Come on."

  While Mattie shuffled along, sweating and panting, Nick walked next to her, talking the entire time.

  "I want you to think about setting some goals for yourself..."

  I'd like to not jiggle when I jump up and down.

  "…For motivation…"

  I'd like to be light enough for the man of my dreams to sweep me off my feet.

  "…Like 5ks, 10ks, and a half marathon."

  Oh.

  "I checked around. There's a 5k in February. You should be ready for that by then."

  "A 5k?" Mattie huffed. "How far is that?"

  "Three point two miles. Piece of cake."

  To put her mind in a happier place, she pictured a large piece of three-layered red velvet cake with loads of frothy cream cheese frosting.

  "In April, there's a 10k along the lakefront. That's just over six miles."

  Mattie began to feel as if an elephant had parked on her chest. "Do you know CPR?"

  "Yep, I'm certified. Let's see. There's a half on the Fourth of July."

  "Half?" Mattie asked, hoping for the best.

  "A half marathon. Thirteen miles."

  "You're a sadist," she managed between gasps for air.

  Wiping her forehead with her sleeve, she announced, 'There's no way I'll be able to do all that."

  Nick started jogging backwards so he could face her. "You know, it's exactly that kind of thinking that will cause you to fail. This isn't about anything other than what you think you're capable of."

  No selling yourself short.

  She was doing it again. Defeating herself before she even started. And he saw right through her. To make matters worse, with him jogging backwards in front of her, it created the illusion in her caffeine-starved brain that she was chasing him. The thought made her stomach lurch.

  She gave her head a quick shake, but it didn't help. Nick was still talking. And she was still chasing him.

  "You've got to get over whatever it is that's holding you back. It'll trip you up every time."

  Mattie tried waving him off like he was a pesky mosquito. "You know so much, you tell me," she panted. "What's holding me back?"

  Nick resumed his position beside her, doing little more than jogging in place to keep up with her.

  "I've known you for a long time, Mattie, but I gotta tell ya, I could never understand why you always settled for less than you deserved."

  "What?" If she sounded annoyed by the accusation, she didn't care. His observation was spot on, and it unnerved her. She started running through the list of lies she had designed to keep herself from getting hurt again.

  I'm happily married. I love my job. I love my life. I couldn't be happier.

  But Nick wouldn't let up.

  "So tell me. What are you afraid of? What's holding you back from demanding the very best for yourself?"

  This is so much worse than a tape measure.

  "I'm not afraid of anything."

  "Sure you are. And the sooner we get it out of the way, the better."

  He not only touched a nerve, but he was dancing right on top of it. As she chugged along, images of her father storming out the door for the last time, her classmates faces as they teased her, and Claudia confirming that Eddie had indeed stood her up on their wedding day flashed before her. She pressed her sweat-soaked sleeve across her face hoping to catch the drops from her eyes and drips from her nose in one swipe.

  "I'm not…" She tried, but couldn't verbalize the rest: …ever gonna be loved.

  "You can't let fear cheat you out of being the best person you can be, Mattie. Don't you think you deserve better than that?"

  Nick was facing her again. He jogged backwards a few steps before stopping.

  "Look at you. Is this you not being afraid?"

  "Shut up," she panted.

  She never hated anyone as much as she hated Nick DeRosa at that very moment. Too worn out to slug him, she tried slogging right passed him, but he caught her by the shoulders and said matter-of-factly, "Congratulations. You just ran half a mile."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "I come from a family where gravy is considered a beverage."

  – Erma Bombeck

  Nick was sitting in Miss O'Dell's third grade class, minding his own business, when the girl sitting behind him yanked his shirt collar back and stuffed a folded up piece of paper in his hand.

  "Don't read it," Mathilde Ross, the new girl, hissed. "Give it to Eddie for me, OK?" Nick didn't know much about her. He had only heard a rumor about her not having a dad, but he didn't know why. The one thing he did know was that she only had eyes for his brother. It was as if he didn't even exist.

  When Nick gave Eddie the note, he read it, scribbled a reply, and handed it back. "Give it to her," Eddie ordered.

  Nick wouldn't take it. He held up his hands and said, "I ain't givin' it to her. You give it to her. She likes you, not me."

  But Eddie persisted. "Give it to her, or I'll tell Mom you were the one who spilled grape juice on the rug."

  "Go ahead. She knows I'd fess up if I did it."

  "Fine." Eddie sneered at his twin. "But don't blame me when you get arrested."

  "What?"

  Nick spun around and saw four uniformed police officers with guns drawn. "You have the right to remain silent," one began.

  Panicking, Nick, now an adult, laughed nervously. "Hey, wait. Don't I get a phone call?"

  "What for?" another officer asked. "She won't answer. She doesn't even know you exist."

  Nick awoke to a knock on his door and a harsh, "Everything ok in there?"

  It sounded like his neighbor Frank, a trombone
player who frequented many of Chicago's legendary blues clubs.

  Rubbing his hands over his face, Nick threw his blankets back and trudged barefoot across the cold hardwood floor of his oversized studio apartment. Wearing only pajama bottoms, he opened his door just a crack and squinted at the bright light streaming in from the hallway.

  He was right. It was Frank.

  "Sorry, man, but it sounded like you were in some kind of trouble in there."

  "Nah, just a bad dream." The memory of it was already evaporating like vapor.

  Opening the door a little wider, he noticed Frank was wearing his rumpled black suit and white shirt, no tie, and holding his horn case. That he reeked of cigarette smoke, tipped Nick off to the fact that the non-smoker had just spent a couple of hours in either a bar or a lounge. Since he didn't detect the smell of alcohol, he asked, "Did you have a gig tonight?"

  "Yeah, down at Kincaid's. Packed house." After a prolonged cough, he added, "Just two dozen seats, but they were full."

  Nick smiled. "Nice. All right, Frank. I'll see ya 'round."

  He started to close the door when Frank asked, "Hey, you got any plans for Thanksgiving? I'm going to my brother's down in Cicero. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I brought a friend."

  "Oh, thanks, but I'm going to my folks then volunteering down at the shelter. Maybe next year, huh?" With that, he tried closing the door again, when Frank used his foot as a stopper.

  "Hey, man. One more thing. "

  Nick rested the side of his face against the doorframe and lifted his eyebrows expectantly. "Shoot."

  "Who's Mattie?"

  * * *

  "Happy Thanksgiving," Mattie called out after letting herself in the front door of her home away from home. Like so many other houses in the Lincoln Square neighborhood, Claudia and Tom's had a narrow, but deep floor plan, and its décor was warm and inviting. The air was filled with the intoxicating aroma of sage dressing, roast turkey, and pumpkin pie. She closed her eyes, inhaled through her nose and groaned.

  As she made her way down the foyer hall toward the kitchen, Tom blocked her path and greeted her with a warm hug.

  "Hey Matt. How are ya? Let me take your coat. Claud's in the kitchen."

  "Thanks, bro. I'll go see if she needs help."

  "And I'll go watch the game," he replied as he snuck in the opposite direction toward the family room.

  The bag of salad Mattie had brought dangled haplessly at her side as she entered the kitchen. It was her only contribution to the otherwise starch-laden feast.

  She found Claudia standing in front of the kitchen counter that jutted between them. With one hand, she had a white-knuckle grip on the rim of an over-sized stainless steel bowl that, by the smell of it, was filled with the ingredients for their mother's traditional sage stuffing recipe. In her other hand, she held a large stainless steel spoon. Mattie watched in awe as her sister stirred with the intensity of a high-speed blender.

  Given the size of the bowl and the angle at which Claudia was gripping the spoon, she suspected her diminutive sister was standing on a step stool. It was likely the same one she used to reach items on the top shelves of her kitchen cabinets.

  Strands of Claudia's otherwise smooth blonde hair had fallen across her pink, sweat-beaded face. When her eyes darted from the contents of the bowl to her sister, she cried, "What's that?"

  Mattie jumped. She dropped the bag of salad on the counter and backed away slowly, out of Claudia's spoon-swinging radius.

  "What does it look like?"

  After dumping the ingredients from the bowl into a greased roasting pan, Claudia shoved it in the oven, slammed the door shut and responded, "I know what it is, but why did you bring it? We never have salad on Thanksgiving. The whole day is about indulging, not dieting. I made three different kinds of pie, for Pete's sake."

  She ripped a paper towel off a nearby roll and dabbed her forehead, waiting for a response.

  Mattie looked forward to this day of unbridled gluttony more than any other. Even Christmas. Gritting her teeth, she replied, "I know, I know, but I'm in training. Remember?"

  "All right," Claudia conceded. "But you got to have at least one piece of pumpkin pie. Pumpkin's a vegetable, right? Or is it a fruit?"

  After a week of following Nick's rules to the letter, Mattie had already managed to lose three pounds. Still, it took every ounce of will power she had to keep from lunging for the whipped cream canister she knew was in the refrigerator and spraying the entire contents of it into her open mouth.

  Something distract me, quick.

  "Where are the kids?"

  "Tommy's napping, but I think the twins are with Tom, watching the game."

  Watching a football game without the usual beer, chips and dip at her fingertips held little appeal. She decided to try a different tactic.

  "How about I set the table?"

  Claudia wiped her hands on her apron. "I did that first thing this morning."

  Mattie peeked into the dining room. The table, draped in a gold, lightly patterned tablecloth with matching napkins and candle tapers, looked exquisite.

  "Wow. All that's missing are little pinecone turkey napkin holders," Mattie teased, as she did in her column that ran the week before, off-handedly dissing stay-at-home moms who have too much time on their hands.

  "Look behind you," Claudia said dryly.

  There, on the kitchen table sat seven perfect little pinecone turkey napkin holders.

  Mattie picked one up and examined it. "How cute. Did the kids make these?"

  Claudia folded her arms and tried to look upset, but burst out laughing instead. "I don't want to talk about it. How about some wine before Aunt Viv gets here?"

  Before Mattie could reply, she poured them both a glass and asked, "So how's it going with you? Tell me about the training."

  "I have to admit it's going really well. I hardly get sore at all anymore and can almost run a mile without feeling like I'm going to die."

  "Almost a mile? Already?"

  "Without stopping," Mattie boasted.

  "I'm impressed. And jealous. I haven't been able to work out since I had Tommy."

  Setting her glass on the counter, Claudia snapped her fingers.

  "Oh, I almost forgot. I was going through clothes for Goodwill when I came across the workout stuff I wore when I was expecting the twins. Would you be interested in any of it?"

  "Ouch," Mattie exclaimed. "Do I look pregnant with twins to you?"

  "Of course not. I had to stop exercising when I was in my fourth month, so they're technically not even maternity clothes. Besides, I'm not using them. I put everything in a bag for you by the front closet. Just remember to grab it when you leave later."

  Mattie's spirit brightened. She was getting tired of having to wash the same sweats night after night.

  "So, what's your coach like?" Claudia asked. "Would you recommend him?"

  Mattie looked away and stammered, "He's uh, well, you know, he's OK. He's the first trainer I've ever had, so I don't really have anybody to compare him to."

  Her sister leaned forward and whispered, "Is he hot?"

  Taking another sip of wine, Mattie sank into a kitchen chair and examined one of the turkey napkin holders. "I don't want to talk about it."

  "What's the matter? Is he a jerk?"

  Mattie knew it was now or never. If she didn't tell Claudia the truth, she'd learn about it with the rest of her readers when the feature kicked off in January. And that would be bad. Very bad.

  She sat up. "No, Claud. It's just that, well—" She took a deep breath before blurting, "It's Nick."

  Her sister stared at her. "Nick who?"

  Taking another deep breath, Mattie clarified. "DeRosa. My coach is Nick DeRosa."

  Claudia covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes were as wide as saucers.

  "Oh. My. God," she shrieked. Lowering her voice, she asked, "When were you going to tell me?"

  Tom came bursting into the kitchen in full paramedic
mode. "What happened? Everything OK?"

  Claudia started fanning herself with an oven mitt, smiling at Mattie who was five shades of red and covering her face with both hands.

  "I knew I shouldn't have told you," her muffled voice moaned.

  Shooing her husband away, Claudia exclaimed, "I'm so excited for you."

  Truly concerned that her sister could be so clueless, Mattie scrunched her face in disbelief and asked, "Why?"

  Having successfully paired an old college buddy with her best friend's brother, a union that blossomed into marriage, Claudia fancied herself a matchmaker. Mattie did not. Still, it didn't keep Claudia from giving it her best shot.

  She beamed at her little sister. "Just wait. You'll see."

  Laughing, Mattie held up her hand and said, "Please, don't embarrass yourself on my account. The man despises me."

  "He does not."

  "He does. Claudia, he does. On so many different levels. I'm sure he's as eager to get this assignment over with as I am."

  Her sister smiled at her and sipped at her cabernet.

  Mattie continued, "Okay. Whatever. Listen, this leads me to my next question."

  "What's up?"

  Mattie took a long slog of wine this time. When she felt a wave of intoxication warm her face and melt her reserve, she asked, "Is the offer to move in with you guys still open?"

  Her sister seemed relieved. "Of course, hon, anytime. You know that. For how long?"

  "Ten months?" she ventured.

  "Oh. Wow. Sure. Absolutely."

  "And Tom would be okay with it?"

  "Are you kidding? You know he loves your cooking. Besides, having another adult around to watch the kids, take them to and from school, and help with the chores? He'd be ecstatic."

  Wait a minute…

  Claudia nodded. "So what's your game plan? Are you subletting your apartment?"

  "My apartment?"

  Claudia frowned. "Yeah. You just renewed your lease didn't you?"

  Mattie hadn't thought that far in advance. She hadn't thought much beyond what Dianne had said. Moving in with her sister and her family so she would remember that she's supposed to be a married working parent suddenly didn't seem like a very good idea, especially if it would mean losing her beloved Lincoln Park apartment.