But I am seeing him and things are exactly the same as they were before. We connect in the bedroom but not outside of it. We get down and dirty but never open and real. This time I’m going to have to be okay with it. At least he’s going to get me a job. At least he looks good on paper. At least I know I won’t get close this time. I won’t get hurt. Things will continue to just be . . . fine.
I finish the coffee and put the empty mug in the sink. Chairman Meow hops up on the counter and slides himself along my arm, wanting attention or perhaps wanting to comfort me. That ache behind my ribs is still there, that longing for something that probably doesn’t exist.
I take a shower and get dressed in my gym clothes—black capri tights, sports bra, white singlet—thinking that I’ll go to Nick’s and see if I’m needed. I know I’m not. They’d call me if that were the case. But I’m feeling especially anxious today and staying around the house wouldn’t do me much good. There’s some gardening to be done in the back of the house, my favorite lazy day activity, and a few books I wanted to dive into, but I feel like I have to get out and interact with people, put myself out there. I’m an introvert through and through but sometimes it seems detrimental. Besides, maybe by showing my face at the gym I’ll manage to attract the interest of some of the men. I know they never really need my training but a job is a job and I’m not above working what I have.
Since it’s Sunday the drive to Mission Bay takes a bit longer than normal. The traffic downtown is all right but once you hit Tamaki Drive, everything starts backing up with people bound for fun in the sun. Though it’s technically still spring, the weather is hot and perfect, paving the way for what seems like a good December. I hope it holds up for our road trip.
It’s too bad Nick said he might go back to Sydney early for Christmas, otherwise he’d be joining me and Amber. I kind of want him there as a buffer, in case Amber and I don’t get along, and having him along for the experience would be nice. He often says he wishes he had the time to really explore New Zealand, and I want to be the person to show it to him. I want to make an impression, having something of mine be his first.
But when I asked him about it, his answer was guarded and cagey, saying stuff about going home earlier than he thought. I didn’t press it. The invitation still stood and besides, now that I’d already gone out for a beer with Amber, I had no worries about us hitting it off. She’s quiet, but I can be, too, and I don’t think any silence between us would be awkward. She also seems to just be happy breathing the air. To say she’s easy to please is an understatement.
By the time I reach Murphy’s Gym, I’m irritated and sweating up a storm. The AC in my car, a piece-of-shit Suzuki, is broken and even with the sea breeze and the windows down, it’s not enough to cool the sweat on my brow. All the parking on the side streets is taken by beachgoers or people jonesing for Mövenpick ice cream. They often parade past the gym with their dripping cones of Swiss gelato, like visitors taunting animals at the zoo.
When I finally walk into the gym, I know I look buggered, my hair coming loose from my ponytail and going haywire with the humidity. It shouldn’t bother me since most people there are sweaty and red-faced, but Nick has always drilled it in my head how important my looks are in this industry. The prettier I am, the less body fat, the sleeker my limbs, the more work and money I’ll get. It’s pretty fucking ridiculous, because really, none of that has any measure on my physical fitness—I can kickbox most men, let alone women, into the next hemisphere. But I’m not naïve. I know how the world works.
I take in a deep breath and wiggle my left hand around. Funny how I can lift weights, grip bike handles, and block a punch, but the things that really matter to me, I can’t do. In life we adjust. After the accident, I adjusted.
Once inside, I’m met with the blessed burst of air-conditioning. I smile into it, closing my eyes, finding my peace and make my way over to the front desk.
Nina, the receptionist, is glued to her phone and barely looks up at me. She doesn’t mean to be rude, but when she’s reading it’s hard to get her full attention and I know that she’s using a Kindle app on her phone.
“Busy today?” I ask her.
She still doesn’t look up but she shakes her head, her brown bangs skimming her eyes. “No. I think everyone is running outside.”
“It’s hot-as though,” I say, wiping my brow.
She nods absently. “Nick isn’t in yet.”
Well, that doesn’t surprise me.