The Fallback

by Dietz, Mariah

  Felicity reaches out and smacks me in the arm, the solitaire on her wedding band scratching me.

  “Have you called to make an appointment yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What are you waiting for? Contractions?”

  Her blue gaze sits heavily on me, silently demanding that I shut up. “We don’t know it’s actually positive.”

  “You took three pregnancy tests, and they all confirmed you were.”

  “Those can be wrong.”

  I stop at a red light, my windshield wipers filling the small space with a quiet swish, swish, swish as rain falls silently in long streaks. Felicity’s hands are knotted in her lap, her chin jutted forward. “Why are you so worried?” I ask, my tone changing with concern.

  She turns to face me, her lids lined with tears. “I love Gemma and Theo so much. What if I don’t love this baby as much? What if they don’t love the baby? What if they feel like I’m trying to replace them? I won’t be able to give them my undivided attention anymore. I’ll have to share it.” She sucks in a deep breath. “And what if I want to be more? I love being their mom, but sometimes I feel like I lose my identity to being a parent. I’m no longer Felicity with the really stylish house and high-fashion clothing, rocker of every karaoke bar, now I’m mother of Gemma and Theo, who makes really good brownies and terrible cakes and sometimes forgets if her kids have eaten a vegetable all week.” Tears slide down her cheeks, which have grown red and blotchy as she’s listed off her concerns.

  I reach forward, placing my hand atop hers. “You’re the best person I know. And it’s not selfish to want to have your own identity. I think it’s necessary. Hell, that’s why I’m doing this blog. I didn’t realize how much of my life had become about me and Gabe instead of just me. I forgot who I was and what I did and didn’t like. You deserve to have a life outside of being a mom—it’s necessary for your sanity. We can go to clubs, bars, yoga, whatever. Maybe it’s just coffee or a walk around the neighborhood if things are busy. It doesn’t matter. I think these fears are completely natural, but your kids freaking adore you and love you, and this baby will be no different. I know this is stressful, but I promise you you’re going to love this baby just as much as you do Theo and Gemma. And I vow to help with your sanity.”

  “How do you know I’ll love this baby as much?”

  “Because you had these same concerns when you got pregnant with Theo,” I remind her. “Now you can’t imagine your life without him.”

  She sniffs, releasing a small laugh. “Truly. It just feels like he’s always been with us.”

  I nod. “It will be like that with this baby, too.”

  Felicity turns her hand around so we’re palm to palm, and she twines her fingers with mine. She doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t have to. Our connection is far deeper than words.

  We pull up to the studio, and I tug at my Lycra pants. Working through meals and always being on the go helps to keep me trim, but age is reminding me I have to work harder these days, and my pants are highlighting that.

  “Stop,” Felicity says, batting my hand away from my stomach.

  “I don’t like these pants,” I tell her. “They hide less than a bikini.”

  “You look great. Knock it off, or I’ll curse you with stretch marks and loose skin.” She grabs a small handful of her stomach. “If I’m not freaking out, you don’t get to freak out.”

  “Why are we so hard on ourselves?”

  “Because we’re women and everyone expects us to be perfect at everything.”

  “After this, we should go eat a cupcake,” I tell her. “Screw expectations and these damn pants.”

  “One? Let’s eat a dozen!”

  “I can’t afford to eat my way into an entirely new wardrobe.”

  Felicity laughs. “Don’t worry. I’ve got lots of pants with elastic waistbands in my closet. We can gain baby weight together.”

  Inside, my thoughts of cupcakes and elastic pants fade as we’re greeted by a woman with frizzy curls and a smile that could be on billboards. “Welcome! How are you?”

  “Hi!” Felicity smiles. “We’re here to try Buti yoga. My best friend is writing a blog about new experiences, and we’re both new to yoga.”

  “A blog?” The woman cocks her head with question.

  Felicity nods. “It’s called Tales of Being Single. You’ll have to check it out. You might be mentioned on it.”

  Embarrassment colors my cheeks. “You won’t,” I interject. “I mean, I’ll write about the experience, but I don’t write about others. That would be an invasion of privacy,” I tell her, staring at Felicity.

  “Sounds great. Let’s get you guys signed in.”

  * * *

  I sit at Grammy’s kitchen table with my laptop open. Grammy and her neighbor Barb went to get their hair done, leaving me a couple of hours to get some work done, except my mind is on everything but work. I pull open my blog and lean back in my chair, my hair still damp against my shoulders from my shower.

  April 11

  “Buti Yoga and the Yogis”

  This week, my best friend accompanied me on another first: Buti yoga.

  We realized we’d been failing at living as “cultured” women because neither of us had ever tried yoga—I joke. But really, yoga has been a source of exercise for the mind and body for centuries and has definitely become more mainstream over the past couple of decades, but neither of us had ever given it a shot. We chose to try Buti yoga after a friend referred it—the style, which really is pronounced like the body part, only made it more fun. Because of our lack of experience, I can’t compare this to other types of yoga, but I can tell you it was hard! Much harder than I’d expected. I thought we would leave feeling restful, and instead we were exhausted, sweaty messes. My booty (pun intended) is definitely going to be hurting tomorrow, along with my abs, every muscle in my arms and legs… I think even my fingers might hurt. However, pain aside, this experience was awesome, and we had a blast!

  To start off, let me explain a bit about Buti yoga because I had no idea what it was initially. “Buti” means “hidden,” and the exercises are a combination of tribal dance, yoga, and primal movements (which we’ll get to in a moment and share a good laugh). It’s a fairly new style of yoga designed to seek health and happiness and free the mind.

  When Felicity and I arrived, the studio was filled with women of all shapes and sizes, and the first thing I noticed was how welcoming everyone was. (Though the class is open to men and women, our class consisted of all women.) Everyone was super pumped to be there, which created an energy that was fun and contagious with lots of female pride! Rah, rah! Go, women! Which was perfect since this is my time to experience things as a single woman. No one minded that we were absolutely clueless when it came to the different poses and what they were called, and they laughed with us when we looked absolutely ridiculous—which we did. A lot! A LOT! There were hip thrusts and bouncing, straddling, and some moves that would remind you very much of sexual positions (these were the primal positions), which had my best friend—who has the sense of humor of a fourteen-year-old boy—cracking up and whispering lots of crude jokes to me at the beginning of our yoga session.

  The jokes waned as we continued, not only because we were exhausted—this is not for the faint of heart!—but also because the yoga became infectious. The music was fun and loud, and everyone was smiling and happy.

  I’m considering going weekly because I had such a great time. Not only did it provide me with a vigorous workout, but the mood of this place was so overwhelmingly positive. I didn’t know anyone aside from Felicity, but I left feeling like they were my friends. My people. My tribe. Now, I might be second-guessing this decision when I wake up tomorrow and can’t move because my muscles are so sore, but I highly recommend you give Buti yoga a try.

  Namaste,

  Brooke

  I upload a couple of photos I’d taken and add captions to them and then close my laptop and wander ou
tside. The cement stairs are cool against my thighs as I take a seat, looking across the large yard. I’m distracted by the conversation Felicity and I had before yoga. I’m not certain if it’s her concerns or my confession of losing part of myself that has me restless and distracted, but whichever leaves me outside until Grammy returns, her white hair in large curls around her head.

  “How are you doing, dear?” she asks, sitting next to me.

  “It feels nice to be outside.”

  She nods. “I planted some extra catnip this year in hopes of keeping the mosquitoes away so we can be outside all summer.”

  I smile. Each year, catnip takes up a larger portion of the garden in an attempt to deter bugs. “Your hair looks nice.”

  She lifts a hand, fluffing the strands. “It looks the same as it has for the past twenty years.”

  It does. And though it seems crazy, it’s nice to have a constant even if it’s something as miniscule as my grandmother’s hairstyle.

  24

  “Did I hear right? You have a box of skulls in here?” Catherine asks, appearing in my office in a red pantsuit.

  I grin, pointing to the stack of boxes in the far corner of my office. “They’re for the Bellum wedding.”

  “Are they atrocious?”

  I shrug. “They wouldn’t be my first choice, but I did manage to convince them to get the ones without the fake blood—so we’ll call it a win.”

  She frowns as she pulls her chin back. “Fake blood?”

  “It was worse than it sounds,” I say as she goes to open the top box, revealing one of the skulls.

  “That looks too real.” She folds the flaps of the box so it’s closed, a shiver jolting her shoulders. “Remind me to give you a raise after this wedding. You’ll have earned it.”

  I sit up straight, my ears perked at the promise of earning more money. Though Felicity has assured me she’s in no hurry for me to move out, I’ve been looking at apartments and condos all around the city. As my finances currently stand, I can’t afford to live within forty miles of work, which has left tension in my stomach that stirs when I focus on it and remains even when I don’t. Catherine has never tossed around words like this—generally, she just gives me a small raise at the end of each year—and since I received a 2 percent raise just four months ago, I’m shocked she’s mentioning the possibility of more.

  “Also, I need you to find something for my sister. Her birthday’s next week, and I’m supposed to be attending her party. I don’t want to spend more than a hundred dollars, but I want it to look like I spent more.”

  My thoughts of being able to afford living closer fade with her words. Likely, Catherine will offer me a half a percent raise if I’m lucky. “Last year we bought her the wine of the month subscription, right?”

  “We?” Catherine hitches her eyebrows. I notice her eyes are red in the corners, subtle hints of her drinking habits. It has me briefly considering if Levi knows and if there’s a correlation to him owning bars.

  I ignore her dig with a regretful smile. “How about some makeup? I have a friend who works at a beauty store and can give you a discount.”

  She leans against my desk, drumming her fingers against her chin. “I don’t know. My sister’s never worn much makeup. What else?”

  It seems appropriate to mention I’ve only met her sister, Marge, a handful of times and am far from qualified to be selecting her birthday gift, but like all refutes I have with my boss, I swallow it. “I recall she really liked tea. What about some fancy teas and a nice tea kettle?”

  “A tea kettle?”

  “Tea drinkers swear it tastes different.”

  Catherine rolls her eyes dramatically. “They would.” She shakes her head. “We can discuss it later. How are things going with the Gilbert wedding?”

  “Everything seems to be on schedule. I’ll follow up with Selena this afternoon to double-check everything.”

  She nods. “Yes, and make sure you also check on the flowers that were ordered. I saw she wants everything to be white except for the purple tulips, and I don’t want to have another Santos wedding, where the petals were all browning.”

  The memory makes me frown. That wedding nearly cost me my job. Everything that could have gone wrong did, and they were sure to tell Catherine about it. “Absolutely.” I jot a note on my desk calendar to give them a call. “Anything else?”

  “How are things with the bar? I know you haven’t done a grand opening in a while.”

  I take a deep breath. “The contractor has everything torn up, but we’re moving forward with planning the theme, choosing the surrounding business owners we want to personally invite, and selecting the right details for the outside. I’m going to introduce Levi to Chelsea later this week.”

  Catherine nods. “Good choice. I like Chelsea’s work. She has an eye for luxury and small details, like you.” She slides her hand across the edge of my desk. “Just be sure to follow up frequently with my son. He tends to forget about things or assume it will just miraculously happen.”

  I stare at her, wondering if she realizes the latter is a trait he definitely would have inherited from her. “I’ll give him a call this morning.”

  She gives me a final nod and steps out of my office, hovering in the doorway. “Also, when you have a moment, I could really use a large coffee.” She leaves.

  “Also,” I quietly mock. I hate that word. No one uses it as much as Catherine, and it’s always tagged with another task.

  I grab my phone and purse and head toward the front of the office, passing by Andrea. “Can I get you anything at the coffee shop?” I ask.

  Her shoulders jump. “You startled me.” She attempts to smile, but her lips teeter and then totter before ending up in a frown. “I’m okay. Thanks though.”

  I give her a tight-lipped smile and head out. A breeze blows across my skin, tickling it and pulling my hair so that air touches the back of my neck. As my heels click along the sidewalk, I scroll through my contacts, stopping on Chelsea’s name.

  “Brooke!” she answers, her voice loud with enthusiasm. “It’s been too long. How are you? Has Catherine been keeping you locked up in that box you call an office again?”

  A smile teases my lips. I don’t dare criticize Catherine to anyone outside of my family or Felicity—she’s far too connected and well known in multiple circles that if I were to, I have no doubt it would get back to her. “How are you?”

  “You know me. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. What’s up with you?”

  “I’m calling to see if I can be one of the things on your calendar,” I tell her. “Catherine’s son is opening a bar, and I was hoping we could sign you on for helping with the interior design.”

  “Catherine has a son?”

  “Mmhmm. Two of them.”

  “I had no idea. What’s he like? Is he bossy and controlling like she is?”

  “He’s nice,” I say fleetingly.

  “Nice? Is Catherine near you?”

  I laugh. “No. He really seems like a good guy.”

  “I wouldn’t think that could be possible.”

  Chelsea is near my age, give or take a couple of years. I’ve only worked with her a few times, but she’s been in and out of the office numerous times over the past few years since moving here from New York and starting her business, which became successful practically overnight thanks to her knowledge and steadfast attitude with all things.

  “It will be a tight turnaround,” I tell her. “We only have seven weeks.”

  “What does it need?”

  “…everything.”

  “Everything?” she shrieks. “Brooke, I didn’t know you hated me!”

  “I’ll owe you big.”

  “Damn straight you will. Okay, when can I see the place?”

  “Whenever you have availability.”

  “Today,” she says.

  “Today?”

  “Today. How about in two hours?”

  “I’ll make it happen
. I’ll text you the address, and I’ll see you then.”

  My pursuit to the coffee shop is halted. I stand in a shaded spot on the sidewalk, people milling past me, glaring as I create a human speed bump. I call Levi, my heart ramping. I reason it’s due to the sudden deadline. “You survived the weekend,” he says, his voice rumbly.

  “Did I wake you?” I ask, glancing at my watch.

  “Yeah, but it’s fine. I needed to be up anyway.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Are you calling to schedule some times for us to meet?”

  “Actually, I’m calling to see if you can meet me at your new bar in two hours to meet a designer who I think you’ll like.”

  “Two hours?”

  “I know. I’m really sorry for the short warning.”

  “How many favors are you going to owe her?” he asks, surprising me.

  I sigh. “It’s no big deal.”

  “I’ll be there in two hours,” he confirms.

  “Thank you!”

  “Why are you thanking me?”

  “I just know that sudden appointments can interfere with plans.”

  “Hasn’t my mother taught you anything? Be fierce. You did this as a favor to me, not vice versa. Wait for me to thank you and then tell me how hard you worked and lay a trail of guilt.”

  I chuckle. “You’re welcome, and I don’t play my cards until necessary, like if you propose we keep the chandeliers or install shag carpet.”

  “I’ll see you in two hours so I can pick out my new gold shag carpet.”

  “See you then.”

  We’re both silent for several seconds, and then I lower my phone and press End.

  I’m not interested.

  I’m not interested.

  I’m not interested.

  My reminder is like a chant as I resume my trip to get Catherine some coffee.

  Catherine’s on the phone when I return with her large drip coffee and my soy mocha. I leave her drink on her desk and quickly head to my office to pack things up. “Andrea, I’m going to be with a client for a few hours. I’m not sure what time I’ll be back. If you see Selena, could you please let her know I emailed her?”