The Shape of You

by Georgia Beers

  “I just think she…could treat you better,” her father had said, when Spencer had questioned his lack of input. “And I don’t think you’re happy. I don’t think you’ve been happy since you and Chelsea broke up.”

  Spencer wanted to argue. She wanted to explain to her father just how wrong he was, how mistaken. Except that he wasn’t.

  “Anyway, I didn’t like the instructor, so I ended up quitting the class.” Spencer talked now to take the focus off how she’d gotten into the class. “As it turns out, she lives next door to the open house I ran for Jennifer today, and she saw me and came over to apologize.”

  “Well, that earns her points,” her mother said.

  “I guess it does. She asked me to give her another chance, and people were starting to show up for the open house, so I said yes just to move things along.”

  “And now?” asked her father.

  Spencer sighed, wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I wish I hadn’t said I’d go back, but…I gave her my word, so I will.”

  Greg Thompson gave one nod of satisfaction. “Good girl. Why were you running an open house for Jennifer?”

  With a shrug, Spencer said, “She asked me to. She double-booked herself today.”

  “I don’t understand why you don’t finish up getting your license. You could sell houses easily. You know that business inside and out.”

  “I know.” They’d had this discussion more than once, and Spencer was in no mood to do it again. To prevent it, she turned to her brother. “Hey, buddy, do they have cats at adoption day, too?”

  “Uh-huh,” Travis said excitedly, and the discussion about cats went on for a long time, just as Spencer had hoped.

  * * *

  “That is a crazy weird coincidence.” Nick’s eyes never left the TV over the bar as he spoke, then took a swig of his Heineken.

  “Right?” Rebecca’s gaze was on the same thing, and she sipped her club soda with lime. This was how she and Nick did golf. And football. And baseball. And hockey. And occasionally soccer. Well. How Nick did sports and how Rebecca got to spend time with him. They carried on entire conversations barely looking at each other. “I glanced out the window and thought the woman looked familiar, but then she turned around and bam! It was totally her. So weird.”

  “It’s good that you apologized.” Nick did look at her then, his brown eyes saying more than his words.

  “I just didn’t want her giving the gym a bad review someplace.”

  Nick arched one eyebrow at her, something Rebecca thought only women did.

  “Fine,” Rebecca said on a sigh. “I may have owed her an apology.”

  “Damn right you did.” Nick turned back to the TV.

  “Shut up.”

  They fell silent for a bit. Nick, because he was watching the TV. Rebecca, because she knew Nick was right and she was embarrassed. She had owed Spencer an apology. She’d been unnecessarily hard on her simply because she didn’t understand why somebody as wonderful-seeming as Spencer wouldn’t put her foot down. Who lets their partner sign them up for a fitness class without talking to them about it? To Rebecca, that was the epitome of “you’re not good enough, let me help you improve.” And Spencer was going to marry this woman? This person who obviously didn’t see what she had. And why did it bother Rebecca so much? She’d never seen Spencer before. Probably wouldn’t see her again once class was over and she ran off to marry somebody who thought she needed to be in better shape. Ah, well. It was none of her business. Seemed like she had to keep reminding herself of that, which she wasn’t thrilled about.

  With a quiet sigh, she tried to focus on the TV. Which was hard because: golf.

  “How do you watch this?” she asked Nick.

  “You ask me that every time you meet me here” was his response, his eyes never leaving the screen.

  “I know, but I don’t get it.”

  “Well, see that guy?” Nick pointed at the TV. “And see that little ball? He’s trying to hit that little ball into the hole with the stick he has—ow!”

  “You’re such a dick,” Rebecca said, with a laugh, after punching him in the arm.

  An enormous plate of chicken wings was set in front of him then, steaming and slathered in reddish-brown barbecue sauce, three little pods of blue cheese tucked neatly next to them (Nick had ordered extra).

  “Aw, yeah,” he said, drawing out the words, using the same voice he’d use if he was in the front row at a strip joint.

  “I think you’ve got some drool on your chin.”

  “You’re just jealous.” Nick picked up a wing, dipped it into the first pod of blue cheese, stuck the entire wing into his mouth except the end where his fingers were, and pulled out a nearly clean bone. Pointing the bone at the dish, he said, “Eat.”

  Rebecca liked chicken wings, just not three dozen of them. She grabbed one, avoided the blue cheese and nibbled at it, wiping her mouth after every other bite. “You gonna eat that?” she asked, pointing at the celery.

  Nick snorted, as she knew he would. “Have at it.”

  Rebecca chewed and glanced around. The bar was busier than she’d expected. She assumed that, in August, people were most likely poolside or at the beach or in the movie theater. But Turtle’s had air-conditioning, food, booze, and sports on TV. Rebecca decided that made for a pretty tempting hangout on a day that was blazingly hot. She’d felt sorry for Spencer earlier, who was wearing a very pretty suit in the August afternoon humidity. It was light blue and seemed to be made of fairly substantial material, maybe cotton or a cotton/poly blend of some kind…

  Rebecca literally shook her head, like she was trying to loosen something inside. The fact of the matter was, she was annoyed that she’d paid attention to so many details about Spencer Thompson.

  Yeah, I think she’s pretty. So what?

  While it felt good to admit that to herself, it didn’t help her feel any less irritated. Because being attracted to somebody like Spencer—who was also off-limits—was never a good thing.

  Wait. Am I attracted to her?

  She bumped Nick with her shoulder. “Hey. Do you think there’s a difference between finding somebody attractive and actually being attracted to them?”

  Nick did turn and look at her then, thick, dark eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

  Rebecca shifted on her stool to face him. “Like, if you see a girl and you think she’s pretty, does that mean you want to sleep with her? That you’re attracted to her? Or can you think a girl’s pretty, but it stops there because she’s not your type or whatever?”

  Nick looked at her like she’d grown a third eye in the middle of her forehead. “Beckster. Come on. I’m a guy. Every pretty girl is my type.”

  Rebecca chuckled. “Yeah, that was a stupid question, huh?”

  “Ridiculous.”

  Nick turned back to the TV. Rebecca wrinkled her nose and picked up a celery stick to munch on. Enough of this silliness. She forced thoughts of Spencer Thompson out of her head.

  Because she would see her tomorrow, and she intended to have her shit together by then.

  She needed to.

  Chapter Six

  Mondays were busy. Always. Rebecca had come in at 5:30 that morning for a private session with a client who preferred to get his workout in before he hit the office. Rebecca liked that way of thinking, understood it, didn’t even mind that she had to get up that early. The only time it was hard for her was when she also had a late appointment. Like today. The brides class was at six, so she’d be here until after seven. Nearly fourteen hours to her workday.

  The good news was this: because Mondays were so busy, they flew by, and that helped her not to dwell on any sense of fatigue. She didn’t have a chance to. She’d slept well, gotten in a full eight hours, so she was doing all right. A glance at the clock told her it was 5:45. Almost time for her brides.

  And Spencer.

  She’d done her best to keep her thoughts on other subjects all day, but Spencer had a strange talent for worm
ing her way into Rebecca’s brain, to the point where Rebecca felt like Spencer was shadowing her all day, hanging out in the background, watching every move she made. She knew it all boiled down to nervous anticipation. Spencer had said she’d come back, but would she really? Did she simply say she would to get Rebecca off her back, when she actually had zero intention of showing up? Rebecca knew it was a definite possibility. In fact, that was exactly something she herself might have done if the roles were reversed.

  Doing her best to shove her nerves into dark corners in her brain, Rebecca popped the last section of a tangerine into her mouth just as she noticed Mr. Shanahan settling himself into the seat of one of the recumbent bikes. He sat there and stared at the screen as if unsure what to do next.

  “Hey there, Mr. S. How are you today?” Rebecca moved in front of the bike so he could see her. He was an elderly man of eighty-four and had suffered a minor stroke several weeks ago. That meant that there were times when he got confused, wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

  He looked up at her, his rheumy blue eyes soft, the left side of his face just a bit slack. “Hello, Ms. McCall. I’m okay. You?”

  “Rebecca,” she said, with a smile. “Ms. McCall is my mother.”

  That earned her a grin from him and a playfully dismissive wave of his hand.

  “Can I help you with the settings on this?”

  He inhaled, then blew it out in obvious frustration. “I always think I’ve got it and then I sit down and I’m completely lost.” He frowned.

  “It’s okay. These things can be more complicated than necessary. First, let’s get your feet onto the pedals.” She bent down and helped him slide each foot onto the large, black pedals and then she tightened the straps so they wouldn’t slide off. Standing beside him, she pointed to things on the screen. “Okay. You’re supposed to take it easy, if I remember correctly. Right?”

  Mr. Shanahan grunted in apparent irritation. “I guess so.”

  “Well, we don’t want you keeling over from pushing harder than you should. That would be bad for all of us.”

  That got her a chuckle.

  “So we’re just going to go at a nice, easy pace.” She set the bike at a reasonably low level of resistance, then pointed to a number at the bottom of the screen. “This is your time, so you can see how long you’ve been riding.”

  With a nod, Mr. Shanahan started to pedal.

  “Good?” Rebecca asked.

  He nodded again. “Feels fine.”

  “Terrific. Pedal away. And don’t overdo it.” She rested a hand on his shoulder and watched as he rode.

  “Thank you for helping a decrepit old man, Ms. McCall. Much appreciated.”

  “Please. You are far from decrepit.” She stepped away and back behind him so he couldn’t see her, but she stayed and watched for several moments, making sure he had the hang of it, that he wasn’t off balance or pushing harder than he should. In her many years in the fitness industry, one thing Rebecca had discovered was that clients—overwhelmingly male clients—often pretended to be fine with a move or a weight or a stretch because they didn’t want to seem weak in front of a woman. So they’d strain too hard or push too far to keep from failing in front of her. She’d had several clients with whom she’d had gentle discussions on the subject. The last thing she wanted was somebody to get hurt on her watch, so she stood where she could observe Mr. Shanahan for a bit, make sure he was safe. It was her job. More than that, it was her passion. She couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

  * * *

  Spencer was surprised. She could admit it. She was also unexpectedly touched—that one was harder to accept. In her mind, Rebecca McCall was a sort of ice queen. A hardass. Little bit of a bitch. But none of those things applied to the scene Spencer watched from the drinking fountain as she filled her water bottle.

  No, what she saw was Rebecca being gentle. Patient and kind. She helped the old man get his sneakered feet onto the bike pedals, then strapped them in for him. Then she calmly helped him set the bike to the right resistance, pointed out different things he might want to keep track of. But most surprising was how she stepped away. The old man evidently thought she was gone, as he focused hard on what he was doing. But Rebecca wasn’t gone. She hovered a few feet behind him, arms folded across her chest, and watched. Just watched. Made sure he was doing okay.

  Yeah, Spencer was surprised.

  “Are you…done?” came a voice from behind her.

  Spencer flinched and then looked down at her overflowing water bottle. “Darn it!” She let go of the button and dumped out some of the excess. Glancing at the person behind her, a man who was obviously waiting to get some water for himself, she grimaced in apology. “Sorry.”

  He smiled. “No problem. I was worried you might drown.”

  Spencer grinned back and indicated the fountain with a dramatic flourish of her arm. “All yours, my man.”

  Heading down to the designated area where the brides always met, Spencer found Lucy where she stood with the other three women, but also a bit apart. Apparently, cliques didn’t end with high school.

  “Hey there,” Lucy said with her usual perkiness, bouncing to the beat of the Matchbox Twenty song that played over the speakers; apparently it was a day for the ’90s channel on the gym’s Sirius radio.

  They talked for a minute or two before Rebecca arrived and laid out the plan for the session. When her eyes met Spencer’s, she gave a hesitant smile. Spencer returned it; she couldn’t seem to help herself. Seeing Rebecca smile was a nice change, not to mention getting actual eye contact.

  Maybe things would be different now.

  Half an hour later, all five women were lined up on the floor, not for planks this time, but for push-ups. An exercise Spencer despised, as she’d never been able to do more than two.

  “Keep your back straight,” Rebecca said, her voice alarmingly close. Spencer realized she was kneeling next to her. “Lower this.” Spencer felt a warm hand on the small of her back, gentle pressure telling her what exactly to bring down.

  Spencer obeyed. Did a push-up. Grunted.

  “Elbows closer to your sides.”

  Spencer obeyed again, grunted louder. “That makes it harder,” she complained.

  “Yes, it does,” Rebecca replied, but her tone was light, friendly. Almost playful. It confused Spencer, who did one more push-up. “Good!”

  Spencer dropped her body to the floor, lungs heaving. “Sugar and spice,” she said, in lieu of a curse. “That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.”

  “Sugar and spice?” Rebecca repeated, amused. “Don’t you mean ‘holy shit,’ or something?”

  “Yes.”

  Rebecca grinned. “I’m sensing a challenge.” Then she moved on down the line.

  “We’ll get this,” Bella said, and it took a moment for Spencer to realize she was looking right at her, had directed the comment her way. Spencer smiled at her, gave her a thumbs-up from where she lay sprawled flat on the floor like a stingray out of water. Spencer watched as Rebecca helped each woman with her form. At one point, she glanced back at Spencer and gave her another smile.

  What is happening?

  Rebecca had evaluated each of them, noted the strengths and weaknesses of each individual woman, and made a plan for her. “For our last circuit, we’re working upper body. Arms, shoulders, back.” Pointing, she directed each bride to a specific place in the gym. Some were at equipment. Brittany was at the straps fastened to the wall that Spencer had noticed the previous week. Spencer was sent to the free weights with the instruction to grab a seven-and-a-half-pound dumbbell and Rebecca would be right over.

  As she sat with her dumbbell and waited, Spencer watched the men around her. They were lifting what were, to Spencer, extraordinary amounts of weight, barbells loaded with two and three plates, dumbbells three times the size of the one Spencer had set by her feet. One muscle-bound man to her left had his earbuds in and a barbell at his feet, each end with two heavy-looking plate
s. He grabbed the bar and stood, bringing the weight with him, then set it back down loudly. Up. Down-crash. Up. Down-crash. He repeated this eight times. At the fifth time, Spencer covered her ears.

  Not hearing Rebecca’s approach, she was startled to find her standing close, watching the man with a disapproving expression on her face.

  “That’s really loud,” Spencer said quietly.

  “I hate when he does that. It’s so obnoxious and totally unnecessary.” Rebecca shook her head as if shaking herself back to the task at hand. “Okay. Kickbacks. These are for your triceps.”

  “Oh, good,” Spencer said, with a laugh. “Mine could use some help. I call these my Nana Arms.” She lifted an arm as if to flex her bicep, but wiggled her whole arm instead, the loose muscle and skin underneath flapping in the breeze.

  “Most women could use help in this area.” Rebecca picked up the dumbbell from near Spencer’s feet and took it to one of the several benches in that area. She put her left knee and left hand onto the bench. The dumbbell in her right hand, she let her arm hang down toward the floor. “Okay. You’re going to start like this. Then bring the weight up.” She bent her elbow until her upper arm was parallel to her back. “Then extend out.” Straightening her arm, she lifted the weight back toward her rear end. “Then back.” She repeated the process. “Slow, controlled movements. That’s the key here. None of this.” She whipped the weight back, using her whole body to do so.

  Spencer grinned.

  “Slow and controlled.” Rebecca stood and handed the weight to Spencer. “We’ll start with eight on each side.”

  Spencer mimicked the movement, the first couple reps easy, then becoming harder rather quickly.

  “You should feel that here.” Rebecca touched a finger to Spencer’s triceps.