by M. E. Carter
“Ok.”
“Now go take a shower. You’ve only got forty minutes left and you need to stand under that hot water for a while so your muscles don’t hurt too bad tomorrow.”
He leans in and in full view of everyone, including Heather, who I hope is catching all of this, kisses me. It’s only a peck, but it’s a leisurely one. A kiss that says, “She’s mine.” When he finally breaks away, I flash him one last smile, turn to the locker room and walk away, feeling confident and content.
I had a great workout, I’ve got another date, and my crush likes the shape of my body.
Now doesn’t that put a little extra sway in my hips.
Chapter Fifteen
Butt bruises don’t lie.
Two days ago, I was sitting on a tiny little bicycle seat, feeling good about accomplishing some exercise. Today, I’m trying to sit gently on a bench while Fiona does gymnastics, but every time I move, it feels like that time I traded paddle licks with a two-hundred-pound college kid at a frat party on a dare.
I will neither confirm nor deny if I ever partook in such an exercise. But I will say, it took a month for those bruises to finally fade.
This is why I don’t do Jaeger bombs. They give drunk college girls bad ideas.
Greg came out of the office a little while ago and started to come talk to me, but I was on an emergency call with my mom. Or what she considers a grandma emergency anyway. She wanted to verify that I had, in fact, said the girls have been so good today they could have ice cream instead of vegetables for dinner.
If that had been true, Maura blew it by trying to pull a fast one on her Mimi.
However, I give her credit for reminding me that we’re out of mint chocolate chip, and I need to stop for some on my way home.
When I shifted in my seat to wave at Greg and subsequently winced, he laughed at me. The dirty look I shot his direction made him laugh even harder. If he wasn’t such an amazing person and I didn’t like him so much, I would have called him an asshole.
Ok, fine. I may have done that anyway.
Unfortunately, he’s still on the clock and he didn’t have time to stick around and wait for my mother to stop babbling.
And now here I sit… sucked into the reality show vortex with her again. I’m in Kardashian hell.
“He said he was going after the President if there wasn’t more equality. Can you believe that?”
“She, ma.”
“What?”
I glance at Fiona across the room, doing her best to swing on the bars. I’m thinking it’s not her best event since she keeps falling off.
“Caitlyn Jenner wants to be referred to as she,” I correct.
“She does?” For as much as my mother is obsessed with this family, I still can’t get her to figure out the politically correct way to handle the drama that comes with it.
“Yes. It’s part of the point of being transgender.”
“Oh. Well I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
She continues to blather on about more recent Kardashian drama that she refuses to admit has been played up for publicity purposes, while I continue to watch Fiona. Fi is still struggling with her swing and I can see the frustration building. Coach Zack is spotting another kiddo, so I don’t think he realizes it’s even happening.
“I worry about him, her,” she quickly corrects herself. “Caitlyn couldn’t even stand up to Kris Jenner when they were married. How is she going to stand up to a full-blown narcissist?”
“As good of a point as you have, ma,” And she really does kind of have one, “I need to go. Fiona’s having some trouble on the bar.”
“Oh no. Did she hit a mental block like you always did?”
I hope not. I don’t want her having the same struggles I do as an adult.
“Nah, she’s having trouble with her re-grip. She’s heading over to see me.”
We disconnect as Fiona gets to me and jumps in my arms, tears streaming down her face.
“Hey, now,” I soothe. “What’s going on?”
She shakes her head, her little face still buried in my shoulder.
“You don’t wanna tell me?”
Another shake. My little mini-me. When she’s ready, she’ll talk. But first she has to figure out how to explain it.
We sit and rock for a few minutes. Coach Zack quickly realizes she’s gone, and begins looking around his stations, a panicked look on his face. I wave my hand until he sees me, point at her on my lap, and flash him a “thumbs up” so he knows everything is fine. I appreciate him as a coach anyway, but his look of relief when he sees Fi with me makes me feel confident he really cares about his kids.
“I can’t do it, Mama.” Her muffled voice is full of disappointment, and I wish I could do it for her. But I can’t. As a parent, that’s a tough pill to swallow. I can’t make sure she’ll always be successful because she is only human, just like me. But what I can do is guide her. Teach her. Give her the wisdom others have given me and hope it helps her become the best she can be.
I pull her out of the embrace and sit her back on my knees. “Ok, tell me what’s happening.”
“I’m supposed to do a big swing back and forth.” She sniffles. “Three whole times. But after two times I fall down.”
“Are you doing your re-grip?”
“I don’t know what that is.” She looks at me with inquisitive eyes. It’s moments like these, when she’s engaged in learning something, that I love the most. I love watching the light bulb go on in her head when she takes the information, processes it, and learns something new.
Using it as a pretend bar, I place her hand on my forearm and demonstrate. “When you’re swinging out as far as you can, your fingers are kind of slipping. See how they moved?” She nods so I continue. “And when you swing back, as high as you can go, see how your fingers don’t go all the way back?” She nods again. This is good. She’s still with me. “When you get all the way back, as high as you can go, you let go of the bar and re-grip it as fast as you can. Like this.” I pull her hand off of me and put it back quickly.
It’s fast, but her eyes still widen. “I have to let go of the bar?”
“Not for long. It’s more like a hop. See?” I move her hand back and forth and make hopping sounds every time she lets go for a fraction of a second. “You try it.”
She continues with the motion I’ve shown her until I feel pretty confident she knows what to do. Now it’s just a matter of going for it. “You ready to go try it on the bar?”
She hesitates, but finally agrees.
“That’s my girl. I’ll sit here and watch.”
She walks slowly towards the bar, still nervous, but determined to get it right. I realize there is wisdom in the technique I taught her, and not only for athletics, but for life in general.
For the last year, I’ve just been swinging through life, trying to hold on but losing my grip. Sometimes I don’t even realize how close I am to falling. But if I’m going to be successful, I have to let go of my insecurities and my fears so I can grab onto things differently.
Coach Zack says a few words to Fiona when she gets to the bars. I see her nodding in agreement and he stands back as she climbs up on the bar and gets in position to swing. Slowly, she begins to move back and forth, but then she starts to pick up speed. It takes three or four swings, but then I see it. A hop. It’s a small one, but it’s there.
My smile is so big, I know my cheeks are going to hurt later, but there’s no stopping it as I watch her keep going. She’s swinging, back and forth, her hops getting higher and her grip getting stronger as she gets more sure of herself.
Eventually, Coach Zack stops her and pulls her off the bar, giving her a high five in the process. My baby girl is beaming. She’s so proud of her accomplishment, and why shouldn’t she be? She took hold of her fear and conquered it.
She turns, gives me a giant thumbs up, and continues to smile when I return the gesture.
What an amazing moment for both
of us. My first born learned how to re-grip the bar. And I learned how to re-grip my life.
Chapter Sixteen
Once a year the carnival comes to town. When you live in the suburbs, this is huge news. Not that we don’t have any form of entertainment around here. It’s your standard things like bowling and movies. The choices aren’t bad. They just tend to feel limited after a while. Talk about first world problems.
When the bright lights, impossible-to-beat games, and wildly expensive fried food shows up, we get way too excited. Well, most of us do anyway.
“How is it possible that you’ve lived here this long and never gone to the carnival?”
Greg pulls into a parking space and cuts the engine before answering, “I honestly don’t know. I remember always thinking it looked like fun, but never got around to it.”
“Well, you are in for a treat!” We climb out of the car and make our way to the entrance. Before we even get to the ticket booth, Greg is holding my hand. I like it. A lot.
Despite the fact that all the prices are clearly labeled, he still seems to be overwhelmed by what we should get. “How many tickets are we going to need?”
“That depends on how much we do. Usually each ride costs five tickets.”
“How many rides are we going to do?”
“As many as you want,” I say with a shrug. “Within reason, of course. There’s a few I won’t get on because they make me want to throw up.”
“Weak stomach?”
“No. Age. I used to ride everything when I was a kid. There was nothing with too many twists and curves for me. Then I hit twenty-five, and that was the end of that.”
“How about we start with five rides a piece?” he suggests, as we move to the front of the line. “If we decide to do more, we’ll come back.”
“Ok.” I pull out my cash and sort through bills.
“Um, what do you think you’re doing?” Greg gives me an amused, quizzical look.
“Paying for my tickets?”
“Hmm.” Based on the look on his face, I guess that was the wrong answer. “I thought this was a date.”
“Don’t people go dutch on dates now?” Isn’t this what independent women do these days? Obviously, I have no idea what I’m doing. “I thought this was one of the new rules of dating.”
“I think we’re both old enough that the new rules don’t apply. Put your money away. It’s no good when I take you out.”
I bite back a smile and do as he says. As soon as we’re through the gate and the gravity of all the possibilities are laid out in front of us, Greg’s eyes light up.
“Look at that!” He points to the left, his other hand still firmly clasping mine. “We should go there first.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
He’s pointing at a bungee system, where the riders are buckled into a harness so they can jump on giant trampolines. The ride starts, though, with being launched at least twenty feet in the air. Really, it’s any athletic person’s dream ride. Unless said athletic person has had babies and therefore has stretched out girly parts.
“Why not? It looks like fun.”
I contemplate my answer and then realize, he’s been married before. He has a daughter. None of this should be news to him. “I’ve given birth three times.”
He gives me a blank stare. Ok, I need to be a little less subtle.
“You know when women have babies and things don’t work right anymore…” I keep trying to lead him there, gesturing towards my nether regions with my hands, but we’re not getting anywhere. I huff. “Greg, I don’t have that much bladder control anymore.”
He grimaces. “Ummmm… what?”
My face begins to heat. “You’ve never heard of that before?” Great. Now I’ve told the man whose leg I want to hump that if I jump too high I’ll pee on myself.
Just when I think Greg is going to run away screaming, he does the opposite, putting his arm around my neck, pulling me close and kissing the top of my head. “I’m messing with you. I knew about that. I just wasn’t thinking when I suggested that ride.”
I smack his rock-hard abs with one hand, wrapping my other arm around his waist. “Asshole,” I grumble, making a laugh rumble through him.
“I couldn’t help myself. It was too easy.” We continue our trek through the fun, dodging a distracted child here and there. We continue holding onto each other as we walk. I can’t remember the last time any man had his arms around me in public. It feels so nice I almost don’t want to go on any rides.
Almost.
“Well, since we didn’t get you any Depends on the way here,” Greg jests, “what do you want to do first?”
I look around at the carnival rides, all of them outfitted with bright lights and blaring music, designed to catch your eye. There are so many things to choose from, and frankly, most of them don’t look very safe.
But then I see it. A ride worth waiting in line for. It’s not so much a ride as a challenge, and I’m up for it.
“That one right there.” I point at it and lead Greg that direction.
It’s all yellow and black, and it’s made of that blow-up material used for the giant kids’ slides. This one, however, is a circle. There are six small pedestals for contestants to stand on, and when the operator turns it on, the middle spins swinging long, soft arms at us. Participants have to either jump over the low arm or duck under the high arm, depending on which one is coming at them. And they have to stay on their pedestal.
It’s reminiscent of the TV show Wipe Out, which I used to love watching when I was pregnant with Fiona. I always wanted to be on that show. Now’s my chance to see what I’m made of.
“The Meltdown, huh?” he responds, but he’s not fooling me. He’s feeling the same sense of excitement I am.
It doesn’t take long for the line to move forward. Possibly because there’s an age limit no one is paying attention to and kids keep getting turned away at the front of the line. It could also be because most of the adults here aren’t willing to give it a go. That would mean putting their beer down, and who wants to risk the party foul?
As we step into the arena and get settled on our spots, I feel the anticipation as we wait. I wonder if this is how it feels to wait for the buzzer to sound before running over the Big Balls. Man, that was such a great show. I wish they’d bring it back.
In this case, though, there is no buzzer, which means Greg isn’t ready when we start. As the arm starts moving, he underestimates the height of the high bar and even though he bends over, it whacks him in the head and knocks him down.
I, on the other hand, can see the low bar coming for me, but I’m laughing so hard about the look on Greg’s face when he got hit that I can’t jump high enough, and within seconds I’m right there next to him on the floor.
The operator stops the ride and gives us a few seconds to climb back in our spots, before getting back to business. Within seconds, everyone is laughing at everyone else falling over and the ride has to be stopped several times.
It’s the most fun I’ve had in a very, very long time. One glance at Greg, and I know he feels the exact same way. That it’s nice to leave the stress of everyday life at home and embrace the fun.
We spend the next couple of hours bouncing from ride to ride, a couple stops for more tickets in between. We scream as loud as we can when the gates of our cage fly open and we defy gravity on the Gravitron. We make out at the top of the Ferris Wheel. Greg even tries his hand at winning some carnival prizes. It doesn’t go well. Well, it doesn’t go well for him. The carnie in charge of the game seemed pleased with taking all of Greg’s money.
Greg and I laugh and talk and break into song when Garth Brooks’ “Friends in Low Places” blares through the speakers.
By far, it is the best date I’ve ever been on and the most I’ve felt like a person, not just a mom, in ages.
“You win.” He shovels the rest of our fried treat into his mouth. I finally convinced him to take a br
eak from the rides, long enough to inhale some junk food. “I wasn’t really living until I ate a Fried Snickers Bar.”
“Told ya,” I say around a bite of my Fried Coke. Yes, Fried Coke, as in Coca-Cola. I have no idea who created it or how they make the liquid into a solid, but I don’t care as long as they keep giving it to me. “I know my junk food. I didn’t get this fantastic physique by eating salad all day long.”
“Tell me about it.” Tossing the napkin on his plate, he leans forward and grabs a bite of my treat. I try to snatch it back, but he’s too quick for me. “Just know, someday when I’m too old to work out, I’ll still embrace my love of food.”
I wipe my mouth after taking the last bite. “Is that your way of saying I can expect you to become glutinous in your old age?”
“You better believe it. Food like this will be too hard to pass up.” He pats his still flat stomach like he’s making sure it hasn’t grown in the last ten minutes of eating. “I’m glad I’m not too old at this point and we have spin tomorrow.” He looks at me with a quirked eyebrow, as if he’s challenging me. “You are going, right?”
“Yes, I’m going,” I grumble. “As much as my butt won’t like the bruises, I feel really strong when I leave.”
“Good. I like it when Bianca makes you lean over the handle bars and stick your butt out.”
I throw my napkin at him and he bats it away playfully. “You’re such a pig.”
“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”
My head whips over at the unexpected voices to see my girls running toward me. Max immediately jumps in my arms and lays her head on my shoulder. Maura and Fiona wrap their arms around my legs while I pat their backs.
“Hi girls! I didn’t know you were coming to the carnival tonight.”
The older two nod excitedly like little bobble head dolls. “We went on the Ferris Wheel and the Carousel and the bumper boats,” Maura spouts off, gesturing her hands wildly.
“Mom,” Fiona interrupts. “We went on those giant swings that go around in a circle. I thought I was going to fly off. I screamed so loud!”
