Remake

by A. J. Sand

  Beginnings – Chapter 3

  Erica tugged her sweaty hair into a topknot bun and thanked the woman holding the door for her at Pinkberry, the fro-yo place a few stores down from her workout classes. This was her reward without the guilt of overindulgence for sticking with her exercise routine. She had always loved yoga, hell, it was an ingrained element of L.A. workout culture, but this particular class was geared toward survivors of trauma; it was a trauma-sensitive yoga class. She had seen flyers for the classes tacked up on a corkboard at school several weeks before. With silhouetted figures in yoga poses, the advertisement touted that the sessions were about regaining comfort, control and ease in one’s body again under the guidance of instructors specifically trained to work with people who had experienced physical and mental trauma from sexual assault to genetic disorders to combat injuries. It took three days of walking by the board to finally yank down the flyer and stick it in her pocket.

  At first, she had only gone with voyeuristic intentions, to actually witness that there were others like her. Knowing how common sexual assault was did not by itself fix how removed from other people she sometimes felt; seeing other survivors was a necessity. And it wasn’t like people were walking around eager to share their involuntary admission in this particular fraternity. Forty people had showed up to the informational meeting for the class, and it was then that Erica had easily turned over the fees. The class turned out to be fun; it was not a wake. The instructors were kind, comical and didn’t treat them like eggshells. And even with no more interaction than a polite greeting or actually knowing what anyone else’s specific reason was for being there, it was reassuring to be in a room with people determined to work through their pain.

  To Erica, the frustrating thing about a physical violation was that what was robbed from you was still always in your possession, so there was no escaping, only adjusting. For someone used to be being in control, adjusting required effort. So, kickboxing released the anger and yoga put something better in its place.

  She sighed in relief as the cool blast from the air conditioner in Pinkberry coated her scorching, flushed skin; L.A. felt like a lava pit today. As she scoped out a table from the customer line, her gaze landed on the dark-haired guy sitting alone in the corner reading on an electronic tablet device. It was Matt from her yoga class, and the guy was gorgeous, even in a shabby t-shirt and track pants, so she couldn’t really help letting her eyes hang on him a little while. He had been in there the past two Saturdays, too, clutching that e-reader, with a bottle of water on one side, a Pinkberry cup on the other…and she realized then that she was a creeper for knowing this.

  But she was hardly the only woman who had noticed him. Last week, she had watched a group of teen girls arrive with textbooks, and yet, they had spent nearly an hour whispering about him. One of them had gone so far as to ask him for the time even though she was surrounded by several electronic devices on her table. Matt always seemed oblivious to it all, so enthralled by whatever he was reading, except for the times he stopped to smile at her.

  And she suspected that they had been playing some sort of coy staring game over these weeks. In class, Erica always put her mat up front and he was usually in the back, but she could always sense his eyes on her—it was more gut feeling than ego—even though when she turned around to peek at him he was usually focused on his technique and not her. And every time she turned back to the front, taking a compulsive glance at him in the large mirror, she’d notice the slight raise at the corners of his mouth.

  As two playing children ran by Matt’s table, one of them collided with it, and as he helped her up, his gaze lifted, too. Defying the air conditioning, Erica’s body temperature rose when they locked eyes. He pushed his hand through his black hair and his blue eyes widened on her with a startled look. Crap. Erica played off her embarrassment with a casual wave before turning her attention to Tom, the server, when she reached the top of the line. “Medium pomegranate, all the fruits—”

  “Except blueberries, and two scoops of gummy bears,” Tom said, laughing. Well, it was what she ordered every time she was in here. A chuckle that she was certain belonged to Matt sounded off to the side, and when she turned to glare jokingly at him, he was engrossed in his e-reader, but wearing that familiar expression from yoga class. She found his quiet nature alluring, and it had been a long time since she’d engaged in harmless flirtation.

  “Can I just come in here and start calling it the ‘Erica’s Everything But the Blueberries’ then?” she asked with a smile when Tom handed over her order with the mountainous toppings sliding down the sides.

  “Definitely. And it’s good to have a name to go with the face I see so much,” Tom said with a suggestive edge to his voice. And then he winked. Winked! This kid was in the middle of his high school years. From the corner of her eye, she saw Matt’s head jerk up, and his attention sparked heat on the back of her neck. Damn, the guy could do wonders with just a look. She wondered what other body parts he’d mastered usage of. Yes, harmless flirtation and dirty thoughts about strangers were fine for their innocent game. It’s not like she was actually looking to take it anywhere. Right?

  “Uh, thanks. See ya.” Erica offered a gracious smile to Tom as his co-workers, two other teenage boys, snickered and elbowed each other behind him. Her ears caught the end of some whispered taunt at Tom about his inability “to close.” Ugh. Teenage boys. Why did their hormone-wracked brains turn every interaction into the possibility of the sexual kind? Another quiet laugh escaped Matt, and it made her blush.

  Without any vacant tables inside or outside, there was a temptation to go sit with him. She looked over at him for a second, and when his gaze moved to her, there was a welcoming look in his eyes. He confirmed it when the chair across from him slid away from the table, probably nudged by his knee, and he shifted his belongings closer to him. Erica slowed her steps to an unnatural pace, so it was probably obvious that she was debating whether to go to his table. She was used to male attention, especially when she mentioned the “M” word—model—and guys all but lifted the arm they wanted to display her on, but she hardly ever paid any attention to it once she had started dating Bryson. Admittedly, and she was intrigued by his curiosity.

  Stop it, Erica. She settled for a courteous parting wave at him before walking out. If she didn’t rein in whatever might be developing between them, it would simply end up as another complication in the growing pile in her life. Besides, the Pinkberry was situated in a pedestrian-friendly shopping town center with plenty of benches along the sidewalks that were perfect for people watching. Yeah, watching them the way she and Matt always seemed to be watching each other. Jesus. She couldn’t go two minutes without her mind wandering back to Matt. Kinda like she herself wanted to do right now. Just go back into Pinkberry and sit down at the table, and they could finally have whatever real conversation they had both probably been toying around mentally with having. But maybe it would ruin the fantasy of him: a guy, also touched by some traumatic experience, who she imagined spent hours reading the poetry of Robert Frost and Pablo Neruda. Maybe in actuality, he was just reading Wincest, the incest-oriented Supernatural fan fiction.

  “Hey! Hey, Erica!” Her shoulders tensed at the urgent sound of Matt’s voice at first, but a smile was fighting for command of her lips. He jogged up next to her, grinning but looking nervous, too. “Um, I meant to give this back to you. I’m sorry I kept it.” He retrieved a ballpoint pen from his pocket and aimed it in her direction.

  Erica’s eyebrows rocketed up as she took it and dropped it into her bag. “From when you first signed up? Three weeks ago? I’m kind of impressed. I’ve seen people do a lot of strange things with the pens I’ve loaned them—chew on them, stick them in their ears, break them—but this…this is a first. Normal people usually just keep them at this point.” She gripped his shoulder, finally flashing a kind smile, and tried to ignore the feel of the defined muscle structure beneath his t-shirt. “I’m kidding.” She
took a brief but careful study of his demeanor, like the way he wrung his hands and shifted his eyes away from her; returning the pen had not been his true motive.

  She was.

  But don’t focus on it. Don’t focus on it. Maybe he just wants to be friends. Erica scoffed lightly and tried not to roll her eyes at her own internal monologue. But thinking about dating again was scary enough; so actually engaging in it was not only terrifying beyond words but was also definitive action that she was giving Bryson up. And she wasn’t there yet.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Matt laughed through his discomfort until the traces of it faded from his expression. “I take it there were no candlelight vigils for its safe return?” At least he saw the humor in it, too.

  “Maybe a sleepless night here and there,” she teased with a wink. “In fact, I was just on my way to make copies of the MISSING poster I drew up.” Erica swung her thumb over her shoulder.

  “Well, I found it, so is there a reward? Another pen, perhaps?”

  “No, something better. The joy of knowing that this pen,”—she tapped her bag—, “indistinguishable from any others I might have in here, may someday be used again.”

  After a loud laugh, Matt’s shoulders rose with a deep inhale and fell on a harsh exhale. “Okay, it was just a lame way to come over here and talk to you. I figured if Tom could put himself out there, I had to man up, too.” He directed a strained smile at her that slowly wasted away. “You’re one of the few people I’ve talked to more than once since I moved here. Weird how I didn’t consider how lonely living alone can be in a city where you don’t know anybody.”

  Erica could relate to that with memories of her first few months in New York after taking the job at Razorwire. She wasn’t as close to her modeling friends who lived there anymore, so she had spent a lot of nights in her apartment with Ramen and Jimmy Kimmel. On his first day of yoga class, when Matt had borrowed the pen, he had also asked her how far Anaheim was from Los Angeles, and she had surmised that he was a recent transplant.

  “I tried to say something last week, but you went into the kickboxing place so fast, which, by the way, confused me, since you do it after yoga…” Matt paled after he trailed off and rocked on his heels as he shook his head. “Shit. I’m talking too much, and this is totally not how I pictured this going. At all.”

  It was incredibly flattering that he had been imagining what it would be like to talk to her. He was good-looking and adorable. Definitely not doing her any favors.

  Erica was really taking kickboxing because she realized she wanted to hit things. It taught her how to use her head, literally, but also her arms and legs, in a way that turned her body into something powerful. And she needed that. But instead, she explained, “I like to continue the rest of my day with the endorphin rush,” adding a big smile she hoped would lighten him up. “And I’ll need it today, trust me. And tons of patience.” She was vaguely referencing her lunch date and wedding errand-running with Naomi, who was letting the stress of wedding planning consume her. She and Hayden wanted a small event, but recently his mom had let loose a guilt-heavy plea that they expand the guest list for her guests. She wished Naomi would, at least, take some solace in the fact that the Van Der Bausches were footing the entire bill.

  At least she was getting her wedding.

  “I could’ve used some patience this week,” Matt said, sighing. “On top of finally getting around to unpacking everything from the move, I’ve had to figure out L.A., where everyone drives in an insane way and is in a car that’s worth as much as I owe Tufts. I’m starting to think I’m not cut out for this city.”

  Erica shook her head and flashed an encouraging smile. “You’ll get used to it. L.A.’s a great place!”

  “Yeah, maybe when you’re nice and gorgeous…” He made a slight gesture at her with his hand, and Erica’s eyebrows flew up at the compliment. Just a line or had this guy never been introduced to a mirror before? “…And men like me stumble and fall all over themselves to talk to you.”

  A halo of heat enclosed her face. “And give me pens.” If he noticed her reddening cheeks, she hoped he’d just blame exercise.

  “Geez, maybe I’m emulating Tom too much, but I’m being genuine. You’re beautiful. You are. Very. Do you get that a lot? Of course you get that a lot.” He flinched after he ended his rambling, and she couldn’t help smiling bigger. Bryson used to tease her about this, claiming that whenever she was around, men’s hearts would probably burst out like the projectile ones in cartoons did if not for the protection of the chest cavity. You’d be directly responsible for ninety percent of the heart failure in guys, baby, he’d say. And the other ten? she’d ask. Carl’s Junior. Bryson. As though out of instinct, Erica rotated her engagement ring in place.

  It was Saturday. Their date night. The evening that could overpower anything awful from the week. She wondered what he did now instead, and the possibilities only made her chest feel like it was folding on itself. Maybe it was still date night for him. “Matt, L.A. freaks everyone out when they first get here. It’s expected. But I’m willing to bet that you’ll be giving someone this exact same speech in a year,” she promised him, but he had diverted his attention to what she was doing with her hands.

  “Cue me walking into some guy’s fist when I turn around,” he joked, but looked uneasy. Erica laced her fingers behind her back.

  “It’s more memento than anything,” she said after a dry laugh, and she hoped that her response was enough to signal that she wasn’t interested in prolonging the topic.

  “And because we’re still on a first-name basis, I probably have no right to ask. But there is something I do need to ask you. My sister had her favorite necklace stolen from her dorm room at Brown this past school year…” Matt navigated his iPhone to photos and showed her one of a girl who resembled him slightly wearing a gorgeous single strand gold necklace with a peach-colored stone pendant. “Our mom gave it to her—it was hers before—and Michelle’s been really heartbroken over it. Mom had it for years, wore it a lot. I know I can’t actually replace it or the sentimental value, but I want to find something to cheer her up. Best place to go?”

  “Just off the top of my head, I think Pillar &. Co. might have something she’d like…and one of their stores is at The Grove…” For a split second, she thought about recommending that he just plug the address into his iPhone’s map app, but guilt raced through her. His isolation in a new city was driving this interaction; he wanted company and he was doing his best to ask without actually asking. L.A. had a glossy façade about it, made up of glamour, perennial sunshine and easy beach access, but it was no more pleasant than anywhere when you were alone.

  “I’m supposed to meet my sister there in a little while, so if you want, you can just follow me in your car,” she offered instead. It was sweet that he wanted to do that for his sister. She was a sucker for hers, which was why she had agreed to substitute for Hayden today in the first place while he and Fitz were at a political brunch with their parents.

  Relief flooded his face before his lips stretched into a wide grin. “That would be awesome. I haven’t had a girlfriend in ages…so I can’t tell you the last time I bought something like this.” The way he had paused, Erica suspected that he wanted her to latch on to the message of his singledom. “I could use a woman’s perspective. I’ve been wearing this shell and twine necklace since I was sixteen,” he continued, pulling at his collar.

  Erica raised her hands to her hips and chuckled. “That’s the thing about guys…you stick to whatever style you like, while we spend our entire lives changing our look almost every year.”

  “When you’re just fine the way you are…” He trailed off but his stare, with those dazzling blue eyes, held her until she was sure her skin would erupt into flames and melt her down to a puddle on the concrete with yoga pants on top. Like he could sense that he was now making her nervous, Matt squared his shoulders in the most confident stance she had seen him take since he firs
t approached her, and the edge of his mouth slanted up. He had really nice lips.

  Shit. Don’t stare at his mouth!

  Holy hell.

  With some bit of fluster, Erica dug into her bag for her car keys, grateful that the few seconds enabled her to look away. But she did like looking at him and she couldn’t deny that. Her expression was far more casual when she looked up, gesturing for him to follow her. “Where are you parked?”

  “In front of the yoga studio. I can meet you.”

  “I’m the Honda Accord amongst the millions of silver Priuses over there,” she said, pointing. “Right across from that gold, older model Toyota Camry.” Matt aimed narrowed eyes in the direction and nodded. “I’ll meet you by the exit.” Just a girl lending a hand to the new guy. The really cute new guy. Who seems to think you’re cute, too. Shit. With a parting smile, he walked away. And as she watched him go, Erica was intrigued, but she wondered if this was a genuine attraction or if she was just finding a way to delay having to deal with her unresolved situation with Bryson.

  “Where will you be teaching?” Erica asked Matt as she inspected a blouse hanging on a circular rack at Pillar & Co., but with its hundred-dollar price tag, it was out of affordable range for her these days. She needed to reserve every spare cent for launching her PR business. If she was going to approach Hayden and Naomi for a loan, even if she knew they would give it to her without a question on how she would re-pay it, she still wanted to present them with a sound financial plan.

  “Sherman Oaks Magnet Academy. Fourth graders. I was a jerk when I was nine, so I fully expect to be paid back in spades,” Matt called out as he followed a sales associate to a locked jewelry case. Erica was surprised that he was still interested in Pillar & Co. given the prices here, but nothing had wowed them in the more moderately priced stores she had also recommended they visit first.

  She had planned to desert him when they got to The Grove, but she had spotted the flicker of disappointment in his eyes when she started to say good-bye. Now she had been in Pillar & Co. for half an hour assisting in the selection of the necklace. And she had to admit to herself that it was fun. There was something exciting about meeting someone new. Matt would only know this version of her, and it was freeing; there was no expectation of who she was or who she had to be. She strolled to another circular rack with a sale sign on it. “Why teaching?”