“Excuse me,” he said. “Do I have to make an appointment to learn how to use the free weights?”
She set down her magazine. “Usually,” she said, looking around the empty room. “But not today.”
Her name was Becca, and she was a nutrition major. Lincoln didn’t know you could major in nutrition. She was a little too muscular and a little too tan. But she was extremely patient. And she kept assuring Lincoln that he didn’t look like an idiot.
She helped him set up a lifting program, and she wrote everything down in a special folder. “Once you get the hang of this, you should totally try to add some mass,” Becca said. “You could get really big. You can tell by the size of your elbows.”
“My elbows?”
“There’s no fat on the elbow,” she said, “so it’s a good way to assess bone structure, how big your body can get. I’ve got small-to-medium elbows, so I’m really limited. I’ll never be competitive.”
Lincoln thanked Becca sincerely when they were done, and she told him to track her down if he got bored with his program.
He felt sore all over when he walked to his car. He kept trying to look at his elbows, but it was kind of hopeless without a mirror.
THAT NIGHT, WHEN he got to Dave and Christine’s house, Christine met him at the door. He could hear people arguing in the living room.
“Has the game started already?”
“No, we’re waiting for Teddy to get off work. Dave and Larry are playing Star Wars CCG while we wait. Do you play?”
“No, is it fun?’ “Yeah, if you want to spend your kids’ college money on a collectible card game.”
“Our kids will get scholarships!” Dave shouted from the living room. “Lincoln, come watch. I’m crushing the Rebellion under my heel.”
“No,” Christine said, smiling, “come keep me company. I’m making pizza.”
“Sure,” Lincoln said, following her into the kitchen.
“You can cut the onions,” she said. “I hate cutting onions. They make me cry, and once I’m crying, I start thinking about sad things, and then I can’t stop. Here, give me your jacket.”
The kitchen already smelled like garlic. Christine had the dinner ingredients—and everything else —spread out on the counter. She handed him a sharp knife and an onion. “Just clear a space.”
He pushed aside two sacks of potatoes, a jug of red wine, and an electric yogurt maker. This is the girl my mother wanted me to bring home, he thought as he washed his hands. Or this is the girl she’d want me to bring home if she actually wanted me to bring home a girl. A girl like this, who makes her own yogurt and breast-feeds while she’s telling you about something she read in a medicinal herbs book.
He watched Christine make her toddler a plate of raisins and banana slices. What could his mother find wrong with Christine? he wondered. Something. Eve would say that Christine smiled too much and that she should wear a more supportive bra.
He chopped the onion into clean, regular squares and started on the tomatoes. His arms still felt strange from all the lifting, and his face still felt strange from all the smiling.
“You’re different, Lincoln,” Christine said, clearing more space on the counter to roll out dough.
She looked at him like she was doing math in her head. “What is it?”
He laughed. “I don’t know. What is it?”
“You’re different,” she said. “I think you’ve lost weight. Have you lost weight?”
“Probably,” he said. “I’m trying to exercise.”
“Hmmm,” she said, studying him, kneading the dough, “that’s something. But that’s not it …Your eyes are clearer. You’re standing taller. You look like you’re in flower.”
“Isn’t that something you’d say to a sixteen-year-old girl?”
“Does this have something to do with a sixteen-year-old girl?”
“Of course not,” he said, laughing again. “Where would I even meet a sixteen-year-old girl?”
“But it is a girl,” Christine said enthusiastically. “It’s a girl!’ “Who’s a girl?” Dave asked as he walked in. He went to the refrigerator and grabbed two beers. “Is Lincoln pregnant?”
Lincoln shook his head at Christine, which, he could tell, made her even more curious.
“Have you finished crushing the Rebellion?” she asked.
Dave frowned. “No,” he said peevishly, walking back to the living room, “but I shall.”
“It’s a girl!” Christine whispered as soon as Dave had gone. “Our prayers are answered! Tell me all about her.”