- Alex -
“So how’s it going?” Jimmy asked after the waitress took our breakfast order.
“How’s what going?” I asked, sliding my steaming mug of black coffee closer.
He groaned. “You are going to the gym every day, right? If the board finds out you’ve been playing hooky—”
“I’m going, okay. I agreed to do it, didn’t I?”
He put his hands up like he was sorry to offend my delicate sensibilities.
I looked out the window and watched an elderly woman park diagonally across the handicapped space.
“So?” he asked eventually.
“So what?”
“How are you finding it?”
I turned my attention back to him. I knew he was desperate for some feedback—any feedback—but I hadn’t made sense of my own thoughts enough to share them yet. “What is it you want me to say?”
“Truthfully?”
I raised my eyebrows with my mug before taking a sip.
“I want you to say that you’ve fallen back in love with the business, that you have a million ideas for how to turn the flagging branches around, and that I can go back to the board and tell them their jobs are safe and they have nothing to worry about.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Well?”
“I wish I could lie to you, but I’m not there yet.”
He sighed.
I hated to see the look of disappointment on his face, especially when I knew he was coming from a good place, but no matter how much he wished otherwise, I wasn’t the same person I was when I started the gym. Back then I was full of purpose, full of faith, and full of ambition. But when my mom got sick, my focus changed overnight. It was like not only had I taken my foot off the gas, but I’d turned the car in an entirely different direction.
“Are you pissed at me or something?”
“No. I’m not pissed at you.” I leaned back in the booth. The truth was, I was pissed at God. Not that I was about to tell him that. “I’m just frustrated.”
He stared out the window.
I decided I had to throw him a bone. “For everything good I’ve noticed at the gym, there are as many things that need to be changed.”
“Like what?”
“The manager, for example.”
“What about her?”
“She’s phoning it in,” I said. “She leaves early every day, treats the employees like shit, and couldn’t care less about the members.”
“What do you want to do about it?”
“I haven’t decided,” I said. “I want to wait and see how she handles a serious issue that’s come up.”
“What’s that?”
I looked around and dropped my voice to a whisper. “Two girls have accused one of the older male members of harassment.”
“Shit.”
“My understanding is that he’s been saying inappropriate things to them during water aerobics.”
“What kind of man takes water aerobics?”
I shrugged. “Only two kinds as far as I can tell.”
He leaned his neck forward.
“Men with delicate joints and pervs.”
“Has anyone witnessed the behavior?”
“It doesn’t fucking matter,” I said. “The girls felt uncomfortable enough to complain. That’s more than enough proof for me.”
He chewed the inside of his cheek.
“The next class is on Monday, anyway, and I want to see how Mary handles it.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Though I’d be lying if I told you I was optimistic.”
“Well, she must be doing something right. Her location has the highest satisfaction ratings of all the gyms and the highest membership retention.”
“I know it’s only been a few days, but I’m pretty sure that’s down to the other employees. They’re all fantastic. The woman who teaches most of the group classes is so enthusiastic she makes me want to join in, and the in-house trainer, André, seems totally overqualified but absolutely loves the place. You’d think he built every machine himself for the care he takes keeping them in good condition.”
“That’s positive.”
“Mostly, though, I think it’s down to the floor manager, Gemma. She’s the one that keeps the staff motivated, and not only does she know every single member by name, but she knows what kind of workouts they do and how often they come in. Seems she’s the backbone of the whole place. If we could replicate her, Pump could go nationwide no problem.”
He squinted at me.
“What?”
“Is she the one we saw walking in the first day before you got out of the car?”
I pretended to think about it. “Yeah. That was her.”
A smirk lit up his face.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m less worried about you is all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Here I thought you were having these long days folding towels and hosing down locker rooms, but you’re actually in there scoping for chicks.”
“It’s not like that,” I said. “She’s a professional. Besides, I already know her.”
“What?”
“We went to camp together as kids. I just didn’t realize it in the parking lot that morning because she’s changed as much as I have since I last saw her.”
“Too bad. I thought you actually made a new friend.”
“Shut up.”
“Why so defensive? Do you have a thing for her?”
“No.”
“Oh, that’s right. You don’t like anyone.”
“That’s not true.”
“Have you called Libby since you went out that night?”
“You know I haven’t called her.”
“You’re right. I do. It’s why you haven’t called her that I don’t get.”
“I already told you why.”
He scoffed. “I can’t exactly tell Kim you haven’t called her best friend back because you don’t like her talon nails. Which are fake, by the way.”
“Don’t you get it? That’s the problem. Everything about that girl is fake.”
“So she enjoys a nice spray tan. Is that really a deal breaker for you?”
I smiled at the waitress when she set our breakfasts down before turning my attention to the whipped butter melting on the center of my Belgian waffle.
“That wasn’t a hypothetical question,” he said, freeing his cutlery from the paper napkin on his side of the table.
“I’m sick of women batting their eyelashes at me over dinner only to have them come off in my bed later. Is that so crazy? Is it so dysfunctional to want someone who’s not desperately ashamed of how she looks? Or even someone who hasn’t blatantly forgotten that what’s on the inside actually matters, too?”
“Libby’s nice.”
“Nice doesn’t call the waitress ‘excuse me’ all night.”
He cringed. “Did she really?”
I nodded. “How’s that for a deal breaker?”
“Fine. So Libby’s not the one. The point is, you can’t keep dating your mom.”
I laughed. “I’m not dating my mom.”
“She’s the only person you make plans with anymore.”
“Not true,” I said, deciding to withhold the fact that Gemma and I were going out Saturday. “She just has a long bucket list, and I don’t know how much time we have to get through it.”
“You’ve been at it for over two years.”
“Next week we’re going ballroom dancing,” I said, ignoring him as I cut into the seams of my waffle. “I can’t remember if we’re starting with the foxtrot or the cha-cha.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Don’t make that face. I’ll be able to dance circles around you when I’m done.”
“I’m not making a face. I just wish you could muster up the same enthusiasm for the gym. Or women your own age.”
“I’ll have you know, my mom is an excellent conversationalist.”
“You sound gay.”
“You sound jealous.”
“Not to be morbid,” he said, “but what are you going to do when you reach the end of her bucket list?”
My expression fell. “You mean when she dies?”
“I don’t want to think about it any more than you do, but—”
“That’s enough,” I said, giving him a look.
He clenched his jaw.
“Eat your breakfast,” I said, pointing my fork at his plate. “I don’t want to be late for work.”