The gym smells like sweat and feet and chalk and air freshener. And it brings back wonderful memories of my childhood.
I spent ages ten through seventeen in this same gym, either on a mat or a bar or a beam or a springboard, for at least ten hours a week. Because being a competitive gymnast is practically a job in itself, even when your bedtime is eight o’clock.
The equipment is all updated, but the set-up is exactly the same, and part of me longs for the good old days. And the tiny little body I had back then.
I have no idea how my mother kept up with my gymnastics schedule, particularly when I was in high school and didn’t only compete for the club, but also for the school team. That added extra hours of practice, which meant extra drivetime, to our schedule.
Fortunately for me, Fiona has never taken a class before. One hour a week shouldn’t kill me on mileage. I’m saving that free oil change I earned at Quickie Oil when I completed the punch card last month for when I really need it.
Fiona grips my hand a little tighter as we approach the front desk. She’s just like me in some ways. We talk big, but in a new situation, we can get really shy.
“Hi, my daughter Fiona is here for the beginner’s class.”
The woman behind the desk grabs her binder and begins flipping through it. She’s petite with a short dark bob and wide smile. “Is this your first time, Fiona?”
My girl nods and tries to hide behind me, one lopsided pigtail peeking out.
“Well, you’re going to have lots of fun today.” She gives her a wink and Fiona looks up at me, her eyes filled with excitement. My mother was right. I should have done this a long time ago.
“Ok, let’s see… Fiona, Fiona, Fiona Monroe, right? Looks like you are going to be with Coach Zach.” She stands up and leans over the desk to point across the gym. “You see all those cubbyholes over there? Take your shoes off and put them in one like all the other kids are doing. The coaches will call for your class in just a couple of minutes. Sound good?”
“Sounds really good, right?” I exaggerate my own excitement, hoping to help stave off some of Fi’s nervousness. She bites her lip, but she nods. I take that as a good sign.
We wind our way through the maze of hyper children in bright leotards, most of them bouncing, plenty of them cartwheeling, and a few of them doing the splits in the middle of the waiting room. Poor kids. They can see the trampolines, rings, and foam pits… it’s all right in front of their wide little eyes… and no one will open the gate to let them in and run free. I get it. I feel that way right before they open the doors at Target during Black Friday every year.
“I’m scared, Mom,” Fiona whispers. “I don’t know anyone.”
I sit down on a bench by the wall and grab her hands so she’ll look at me. “I know. But you’re about to make a bunch of friends who all love gymnastics like you do. Just follow what the other kids do first when you get in there. You’re gonna warm up before you learn any new tricks anyway, ok?”
She nods, but I can still see a bit of fear. It’s overpowered, though, by that fierce determination I know is in there. It’s the same determination that made her ask to sign up every single day for two weeks until I finally remembered to make the call. She isn’t going to back down now.
“Ok, beginners!” a baby-faced teenager yells to get the kids’ attention. Were the coaches always this young when I came here? “Let’s head to the mat and follow the leader. I need everyone to run three laps!”
The bottleneck of children at the gate entrance reminds me of a viral video I saw once of a bunch of piglets all trying to get through a fence at the same time. Their little feet were still moving rapidly even though they weren’t going anywhere.
The same thing is happening here, except these kids are basically running in place instead of climbing all over each other. Well, there are a couple of the little boys who can hardly take holding back so they wrestle while they wait. I may or may not have laughed when one of them raised his teeny tiny arms up in a muscle pose showing his victory.
I have to give Fiona credit. For as nervous as she is, she does exactly what I told her to do and she follows the crowd. Soon enough, she runs into a little girl from school.
And I mean that literally. The other girl was running the wrong direction and they smack into each other. Fortunately, the excitement of seeing each other overshadows any injuries.
The warm up hasn’t changed all that much since I was a gymnast. Same stretches. Same lunges. Same backbends. Briefly, I feel an urge to run out there myself and start tumbling. But then I remember the last time I jumped on a backyard trampoline with Fiona to show her my front flip, and I peed all down my leg.
They don’t tell you about that in your health classes in high school. We’d see a huge drop in teenage pregnancy in this country if we only told the poor girls about weak bladders and hemorrhoids. I’m sure of it.
A door next to me closes, and I glance up, only to do a double-take. “Greg?”
He stops and smiles. “Hey, Elena. What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing? Do you work here?”
“Yeah. I thought you knew that.” We both stop and think for a second. “It’s never come up before has it?”
“I don’t think it has. How weird is it that we see each other all the time and I’ve never asked where you work?”
“We’re usually too entertained watching the Callie and Christopher show. I guess we shouldn’t be surprised, right?”
“Yeah. But now that I think about it, I don’t even know your last name.”
A blush creeps up his face. “It’s Brady.”
“Oh that’s… wait…” My lips slowly curl up in amusement. “You’re Greg Brady?”
“Yep.”
“I’m trying really hard not to laugh.”
“I appreciate that. And also, no. Despite her obsession with the Brady Bunch, my mother didn’t hate me. Much.”
I have to bite my lip to stop the giggle that wants to escape. Callie is going to have a field day with this one.
“You don’t happen to have a weird last name or something that would make me feel like less of a freak, would you?”
I shake my head. “Sorry. My last name is Monroe.”
“Elena Monroe,” he says. “That’s really pretty.”
And it’s back. That moment that might be a moment but might not be a moment, and I can’t tell because I’m freaking neurotic. So I do what I do best… look away and deflect.
“Um,” I clear my throat and sever the mood completely, “are you a coach or something?”
“Program director,” he corrects me. “But yeah, I coach a lot. Normally it’s the team, but Coach Zach called in sick. I’m filling in for him today.”
“Oh, Fiona’s going to love that! Today’s her first day, and she’s really nervous.” I peek out onto the floor and find her cutting up with her new friend, laughing her head off when she’s supposed to be stretching. “Well, she was nervous. She looks okay now.”
I look back over at Greg and he hasn’t taken his eyes off me. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. If she’s anything like you, she’s resilient.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that compliment, except to blush. Sometimes I feel like I’m going through the motions of my life and forget how strong I truly am. It’s nice hearing that someone else besides my mother and Callie can see my strengths.
“Anyway,” he says, pushing away from the wall, “I’m gonna go get my class moving. You’re sticking around the whole hour?”
I nod. “Wouldn’t miss it. It’s bringing back all my childhood memories.”
“Cool.” He keeps talking as he walks backward. “I’ll make sure to come talk to you after class is over.”
“Ok.”
He smiles and I smile and he’s still backpedaling until he smacks into the gate, making him stumble and me laugh. But in true gymnast fashion, he hops around and rights himself quickly as he jogs towards the kids.
Suddenly, I’m extremely disappointed in myself for waiting this long to bring Fiona. I could have spent weeks ogling him from afar without Callie giving me any shit about it.
Pretending I’m busy texting, I try to take a super stealth picture of Greg in action. Open camera. Zoom in. Click.
And the flash goes off.
Several parents turn my direction and glare.
“Sorry. It’s our first day.” I point at Fiona who waves at me. “See?” My explanation seems acceptable to the uppity parents who turn back to their own tasks, but I happen to glance up at Greg who has his arms crossed and is smirking at me.
Dammit. Busted.
Ignoring my embarrassment over the faux pas, I open my text messages and pull up Callie’s info.
Me: It’s Fiona’s first day of gymnastics.
Callie: Fun! Does she love it?
Me: She does. Of course, it helps that she likes her coach.
I attach the picture, press send, and wait.
It doesn’t take long for the shouty capitals message I expect to come through.
Callie: NO FUCKING WAY!!! He’s a gymnastics coach?
Me: Program director. But he coaches the team.
Callie: How did we not know that?
Me: Because we’re self-absorbed and have eleventy billion children?
Callie: Exactly. But now you get to watch him from a distance and he’ll never know you’re staring.
Me: I’m leaving now.
Callie: If he flashes his abs, get a pic for me!
Me: Already tried stealth mode. It didn’t go well.
Callie: Lol. Rule #1: Always make sure your flash is turned off. How do you forget every time?
Me: Shut up. I’m busy watching my kid.
Callie: Sure you are. Tell Greg I said hi.
Me: Will do.
Clicking my phone off, I search the gym for my child. I find her and a few other little girls around her age rotating through stations on the floor. Some are doing backbends on the cheese. Some are doing handstands. Fiona is with Greg, working on her cartwheel.
Her little arms are high in the air, one foot out in front, as she listens closely to what he is telling her. She nods, he claps, and she pushes off, throwing her legs in the air, hands on the ground.
And in a split second, somehow she’s fallen and ended up on her butt. I smile, because it’s too much fun seeing my girl learn all the tricks she dreams about every time she watches a competition on TV. Thank goodness we can find most meets On-Demand. It’s tough tearing her away from the boob tube at bedtime before the final competitors perform.
Fi rubs her head as she stands up, making her lopsided pigtails even more disheveled. Greg then does something I never expected. He stands behind her, pulls the hair ties out, runs his fingers through her hair until she has a high ponytail on top of her head, and ties it all back together like a champ.
And if seeing a hot single dad do a little girl’s hair didn’t just make my ovaries explode, what happens when she walks away does.
He lifts his shirt to wipe his brow.
My jaw drops and I blink several times.
Holy. Mother. Of abs.
Not only is Greg handsome, and tall, and kind… he’s ripped. I’ve never noticed before but he’s really muscular. The biceps peeking out of his sleeves are bulging. His shoulders are broad. From behind, when he stretches to demonstrate a technique, his back muscles are rippling. All of those adjectives people use to describe an attractive muscular man apply here.
“Ohmygod,” I say under my breath. No way I can deny my secret crush now. He has catapulted to a new level of sexy in my book.
I spend the last thirty minutes of class trying really hard to watch my daughter, but my eyes keep gravitating back to her coach. He’s so good with the kids. Encouraging and motivating and smiling all the time. How in the world this perfect man is divorced is beyond me.
As the classes wind down and the kids trickle back out the gate, smiles on their sweaty little faces, Fiona bounds up to me. She looks elated and it puts me in a good mood, too.
“Did you have fun?”
“Mama, it was so fun!” she exclaims. “Did you see me flip on the bar? Did you?”
“I did! Your pullover looked great!”
“Coach Greg said my handstand is super high, too!” She jumps up as high as she can. “Did you see me do my handstand?”
“I did!”
“Can we come back next time?” she interjects, not even listening to any of my responses because she is way too excited. “Please, Mama? I wanna do gymnastics again!”
“Of course you can.”
“She really did do a great job, especially for her first time.” I look up and my breath hitches a bit. Now that he’s exponentially sexier to me, my puppy dog eyes could become a problem. He has officially succeeded in dazzling me today.
“I’m gonna come back next time!” Fiona yells and continues to bounce.
“Okay, okay, calm down kid.” I pat her arm lovingly. “I don’t want to have to Benadryl you when we get home.”
Greg chuckles. “Hey Fiona, why don’t you go get your shoes on so I can talk to your mom.”
She bounds away, leaving him and I alone to chat. Well, as alone as you can be in a room full of people thinking they’re training their kids for the Olympics in eight years.
“Thank you for coaching her today. I mean… I know it’s your job and all, but you’re amazing. I mean… you’re amazing with the kids. Not that you’re not amazing anyway… Oh geez.” I blush and he smiles. It seems that blushing and smiling are the only things we do these days.
“She’s a natural. I hope you bring her back.”
“She’s officially signed up for this class so we’ll be here every week at this time.”
“Good, good.” He clears his throat. “Um, I’ve been thinking. Ok… I’m just gonna say it… Can I make you dinner some time?”
I… wait… what…. Did he ask me out on a date?
“Did you just ask me out on a date?” I blurt out.
“Yeah. Is that ok?”
“Yeah, it’s totally fine. I …” I pause to gather my thoughts. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting that. Are you serious?”
He scratches his beard. “About the date or about cooking?”
“Both, I guess. I haven’t been asked out for a long time, so I guess I’m trying to make sure I’m not misunderstanding. Or dreaming.” I squeeze my eyes shut with embarrassment. “Or say stupid things like that out loud.”
He leans towards me and I swear he is tossing smoldering looks my direction. “You’re not misunderstanding, and you’re not saying stupid things. I would like to take you on a date, but I also like to cook sometimes. Would you like to come over to my place? I can cook for you.”
His baby blues are locked on mine and I lose all ability to speak temporarily as I’m sucked into his web. Or maybe my hormones kicked up a notch. Either way, I have to shake my head to break myself of the fog.
“Yes. Yes, I’d like to go on a date with you. And I’d love to not have to do the cooking for once.”
He smiles and begins to back away. “Great. I’ll grab your cell number off Fiona’s registration paperwork and text you this weekend so we can make plans.”
“Sounds good. And thanks.”
He turns and jogs back onto the mat, clapping his hands to take over warming up the next group of classes.
“Mama, can we go?” Fiona tugs on my hand as I stare at my future date. “I’m getting hungry.”
“Yeah, um, ok. Let’s go, baby cakes.”
We turn and make our way back through the crowd and out the door.
We certainly got more out of her new class than I ever anticipated.