by Amy Hatvany
“Sure. See you at eleven?” I knew she meant Espresso Avellino, a small, artisan coffee shop downtown on Railroad Avenue, where we sometimes used to hang out after school or on the weekends when we didn’t have anything better to do. Her invite now confirmed that Daniel had left, and we could finally spend some time together.
Amber was already standing at the counter, placing an order, when I arrived a few minutes before eleven. The bell on the door chimed as I entered, and she turned and saw me, smiled, then signaled the barista to make two drinks. “Hey, you,” she said, giving me a quick hug when I approached.
“Hey.” I pulled a ten-dollar bill from my wallet and slid it across the counter. “Keep the change,” I told the barista, and then Amber and I took a few steps over to the corner and sat down. I leaned back against my chair, resting my fingertips on the edge of the small, square table between us. “How are you? How’s being home?”
“Weird.” She screwed up her face in a classic Amber expression, a mixture of distaste and uncertainty. “I can’t get used to the idea that I don’t have to go back to school. I keep waking up in a panic, thinking I need to call my lab partner or finish a term paper.”
I laughed, and the barista delivered our drinks. Amber lifted hers and took a small sip, closing her eyes as she did. “Do you have to work tonight?”
I nodded. “Yeah. My schedule lately is Friday through Tuesday. More incidents and accidents on the weekends.” I thought of the last call of my shift the previous night, which had been to a house where an older man had fallen down the stairs. When Mason and I arrived, the man was bleeding profusely from a gash in his head, as well as from a fracture in his forearm that had broken through the skin. As we treated him, his feeble wife stood too close, hands wringing anxiously. “Is he going to die?” she kept asking as I tended to the man’s wounds. Her thin, high-pitched voice wobbled. “They’ll put me in a home if he dies.” The house was a mess, both of them smelled like urine and sweat; it was clear they hadn’t emptied the garbage or showered in weeks. Neither of them seemed very coherent, so, after getting them to the hospital, I had to report their living situation to Adult Protective Services. It was a part of the job I hated. Almost as much as when, despite my best efforts, someone I treated died on the scene.
“So you took a Saturday off to come to my party?” Amber asked.
“I figured you’d kick my ass if I didn’t show.”
“You figured right.” She grinned, then set her mug on the table. “I just got around to opening my gifts last night.”
“Well, that’s good. I was a little worried when I didn’t hear from you.” I paused. “Did you like it?”
“Are you kidding?” She reached beneath the collar of her jacket and pulled out a thin chain, pressing the small circle of pounded silver between her fingers. Upon it, I’d had the jeweler etch the words “Just Ask Me” in a pretty, scrolled font. “It’s perfect. I love it.” She gave me a shy smile. “Thanks, Ty.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, and my chest burned with pleasure, knowing that I’d made her happy, that she and I were the only ones who understood what the engraving meant. “So, I take it Daniel’s in Seattle?”
“Yeah.” A shadow passed over her face as she looked down at the ring on her finger. “He left this morning.”
“Miss him already, huh?”
“I guess.” She didn’t make eye contact as she spoke.
“Is something wrong? Did you guys have a fight or something?” I kept my tone as casual as possible, considering the flash of optimism I felt.
“No.” She sighed. “I guess I’m just overwhelmed with everything. Graduating, getting engaged, now having to be apart from him, moving again in September . . .” Her voice trailed off, then she looked at me with bright eyes. “Never mind. I’m being an idiot.”
“Being overwhelmed doesn’t make you an idiot,” I said. Keep cool, I thought. Don’t let her know how much you want her to realize this engagement was a mistake. “It makes you normal. It’s a lot to have going on.”
“Yeah,” she said. “It is. I love him, Tyler. You know that. But I just feel so . . . awkward, somehow. He’s really the first guy I’ve been really serious with.”
“That’s true,” I said.
“And the only time we ever even talked about marriage was when he told me that he would rather do it before he actually became a doctor, so he’d know the person he was with wasn’t pretending to love him for his money. I thought he was just being theoretical, you know? Like we were just having a general conversation, not planning our future. We haven’t even been together a year.”
“So it feels like he made the decision without you? Like it’s more about want he wants instead of what you both want?” Careful, I thought. Don’t criticize him too much.
“Exactly!” she said. “I knew you’d get it.” She sighed again. “But he’s so great. I don’t know what else I’d want from a guy that he’s not already giving me.”
I bit my tongue to keep myself from blurting out anything that might prevent her from telling me more about what she was feeling. The more I let her talk about it, the more I’d know how to fan the flames beneath her doubt and turn her attention toward the possibility of having a relationship with me. It wouldn’t be the first time a girl finally realized that the guy who has been there all along, her reliable best friend, is really the one she loves. It could happen to us.
“You remember that I went home with him over spring break and met his parents, right?”
“Yep.” Tell me it was horrible, I thought. Tell me his family is a bunch of assholes.
“They were awesome. His mom made me a special fleece blanket because Daniel had mentioned to her that I tended to get cold easier than most people. I mean, Jesus. How would it have looked if I had said no when he proposed?”
It was everything I could do not to ask, You thought about saying no? but I didn’t think I could contain the glee in my voice if I did. “What do your parents think?” I asked, instead.
“They think it’s a little fast, but as long as we don’t get married right away, they’re good with it. They like him. And you know they got married when they were both twenty-two, so it’s not like they can tell me these kinds of relationships never work out.”
“That’s true,” I said, disappointed that Helen and Tom hadn’t shown their usual overprotectiveness of Amber in this particular situation. Either they really did approve of Daniel and the engagement, or they expected the relationship to run its course and end on its own without their interference.
“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes, as though she was annoyed with herself. “Enough about that!” She reached over and smacked my forearm. “Tell me about this neighbor girl of yours.”
I waited a moment, contemplating what details to share. “Her name is Whitney,” I finally said, deciding to keep it simple. “She’s a business marketing student, very smart and very cute.” If Amber was going to believe I had been dating someone, she might as well know that the girl was intelligent and attractive.
“Oh, really?” Amber said, widening her eyes. “And how old is Whitney?”
“Twenty-one,” I said, fudging the truth by a year. I worried that, somehow, seeing a girl who couldn’t legally drink yet would make me seem perverted.
“Hmm. Is it serious?”
I shook my head. I wanted Amber to be a little jealous or, at the very least, relieved that I wasn’t pining for her, but I didn’t want her to think that I was unavailable. “We have fun,” I said. “But we’re not in love or anything.”
“Well, good. Because she needs the best friend seal of approval before you can say that.”
“Ha! Like you waited for my approval with Daniel?”
“I know,” she said. Her tone was soft, and a little regretful. “I’m sorry it took so long for you to meet him. And I appreciate how supportive you’ve been after a sort of a . . . rocky start.”
“He seems like a good guy.”
/> “He is,” Amber said, but I couldn’t help but latch on to the tinge of ambivalence in her voice, thinking that, with the proper amount of convincing, my dream of a life with Amber might actually have a chance at coming true.
Amber
Initially, when Daniel decided to spend the summer in Seattle while I stayed in Bellingham with my parents in order to save up money, we’d agreed that we wouldn’t go more than two weeks without seeing each other. But after he left and as June progressed, it became clear that the seminars he had enrolled in were more intense and demanding of his time than he’d thought they would be. He was also working full-time at a twenty-four-hour gym, so by the Fourth of July weekend, it had been almost an entire month filled only with daily texts, FaceTiming, and, when our schedules aligned, a longer call on Skype.
“Love you, baby,” Daniel said at the end of every one of our conversations. “Can’t wait until you’re here with me.”
“I love you, too,” I always replied, because it was true. I did love Daniel. I missed him. But that didn’t erase the fact that since talking with Tyler about my feelings over coffee the day Daniel left, I hadn’t been able to shake the nagging sensation that getting engaged might not have been the smartest choice. I didn’t know if I was really ready to make that kind of commitment. Before Daniel asked me to marry him, I’d been excited to move to Seattle, to embark together on the adventure of figuring out what we would do with our lives and who we’d eventually become as individuals. There was no pressure, just the limitless, open-road future stretched out in front of us. But now, the ring on my finger seemed to signify something so weighty, so final and constricting, the excitement I had felt shifted into something less thrilling and more uncertain. Something that filled me with doubt.
I did my best not to think about it, telling myself that everything would be fine once I made the move to Seattle and Daniel and I were together again. I kept busy, spending time with my parents and Tyler, focusing on my own job at a locally owned gym. I started work at six a.m., five days a week, and was there until two in the afternoon. It was a smaller establishment that prided itself on a family-friendly atmosphere and personalized fitness plans for the customers. They scheduled me to see at least five clients a day, and I was happy for the chance to show them what I could do.
The Friday morning before the holiday weekend, I began my day with a dark-haired, attractive, but pudgy bank manager, who informed me that he wanted to try to find his abs again after ten years of feeding them nothing but fast food and beer. The next hour, I met with a client who seemed more interested in watching the Today show while she walked on the treadmill than in listening to what I had to suggest about letting go of the handles and bumping up the incline on the machine so she might actually break a sweat.
“I want to have a body like yours,” she had said when I first introduced myself and inquired about her fitness goals. She was in her late forties, and was round on top with long, thin legs.
“Well,” I said, in a measured tone. My first job as a trainer was to get a client to set reasonable and realistic goals. “I tend to focus more on getting you healthy and strong rather than trying to help you reach a specific body type. We can get your body in the absolute best shape for you.”
“Huh.” She gave me a sour look. “I bet you’re one of those women who can eat and eat and never gain weight.”
I suppressed a sigh, suspecting that if I told her about my struggle with body image and how close I’d come to dying—if I said that learning to make sure I ate enough food every day was as much of a challenge as her learning to eat less—she wouldn’t believe me. I knew from my time in the hospital, and the years of struggle to find balance that followed, that unless this woman changed her mind-set, her body would stay exactly as it was.
Still, I encouraged her through a workout, and she told me she would be back for another session on Tuesday, so it was still possible for her attitude to shift in the right direction. I reminded myself that I didn’t get better overnight—it had been a process, a relearning of everything my calorie-deprived brain told me was true. That even ten years later, I still had to fight the voice inside my head telling me I was too fat, that I shouldn’t eat this or that or, on some days, anything at all. After she left, I took an hour to get in my own workout—being able to do so while I was still on the clock was a perk of the job. Now, at a little before ten, I stood behind the front desk, watching it for the receptionist while he took his morning break.
“Can I help you?” I asked an older woman who entered the doors of the gym, clad in a red velour tracksuit, looking a bit uncertain once she was inside.
The woman directed her bright blue eyes at me. “Yes, please,” she said. “I’m Doris Carter, and I have an appointment with Amber Bryant?” Her voice wavered a bit as she spoke, and I guessed from the crinkled state of her pale skin and slightly hunched shoulders that she was somewhere in her seventies.
“I’m Amber,” I said with a welcoming smile. “Is this your first time meeting with a personal trainer?”
She nodded. “My doctor said walking my dog isn’t enough. I need to lift weights to help support my bones.” She looked me over from head to toe. “How old are you, dear, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m twenty-three.”
“And you know what you’re doing?”
“I do,” I said, continuing to smile. “I have a degree in nutrition and physiology, as well as a personal training certification. I’d be happy to show you my credentials.”
“Oh no,” she said, waving the suggestion away. “If Harold hired you, then I’m sure you’re wonderful.”
“How do you know Harold?” I asked as I grabbed the intake sheet I would need Doris to fill out before we started our session. Harold Richards was my boss, the owner of the gym, and a client of my father’s, which was how I’d secured the job.
“I was his high school English teacher,” Doris said. “He was a terrible nuisance in class, but it seems as though he’s finally made something of himself here.” She took the piece of paper I held out to her and looked it over. “ ‘Is there any possibility you might be pregnant?’ ” she read out loud, and then winked at me. “I doubt it, but I sure wish I had someone to practice with again.”
I laughed, immediately knowing I would like working with her. “You’re not married?”
“I was. For fifty-two wonderful years. My Steven passed away four years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, wondering if my marriage to Daniel would last that long. If it would last at all.
“Thank you,” Doris said, as she continued to fill out the form in front of her. She glanced at my left hand. “You’re engaged?” I nodded, and my conflicting emotions must have shown on my face because Doris made a clucking sound and gave a little shake of her head. “Uh-oh. If there’s even a drop of doubt in your heart, honey, you should listen to it. That voice inside you is the wisest part of your soul.”
I nodded, pressing my lips together so my eyes wouldn’t tear up. So much for my job distracting me from the indecision I felt. “Maybe we should barter our services,” I said. “I help you to build up your strength and you can teach me about life.”
Doris smiled, a lovely motion that lit up her entire face, giving me a glimpse of the young woman she used to be. “Oh no, dear,” she said. “The only thing I’m qualified to teach is English. Everything we learn about life comes from the living of it, good and bad choices alike. And each of us needs to make our own. That’s just the way of it.” She signed the bottom of the form with a flourish, then set down her pen, looking at me expectantly.
Just then, Trevor, the receptionist, returned from his break. “All set?” I asked Doris, and she nodded, then followed me into the gym. I talked with her about the importance of stretching her muscles before any kind of exertion, and then led her through a series of gentle warm-ups, including a fifteen-minute walk on the treadmill.
“How did you and your young man meet?
” she asked me as I stood next to her, monitoring her heart rate via the machine to make sure she wasn’t overdoing it. I told her the story, and then she spoke again. “Did you know he was going to propose?”
“No,” I said, recalling the afternoon in early June that Daniel and I went rock climbing in the same spot as we had on our first date.
“Can you grab my water for me, babe?” he asked when we reached the top of our first ascent. It was a beautiful, sunshine-filled day and we both were sweating. “My calf is totally cramping.” He set the heel of his right foot on a small rock and pointed his toes toward the sky, grabbing onto them with the tips of his fingers, stretching the muscle out.
“Sure,” I said. I leaned over, unzipped the backpack he’d just set on the ground, and pulled out the silver metal bottle he always carried with him when he worked out. But when I turned to hand it to him, he had stopped stretching and was down on one knee, holding a black velvet jewelry box in his hand.
“Oh my god,” I said, slapping a hand over my mouth. “What are you doing?” Of course, I knew what he was doing, but the words were the only ones my shock-addled mind allowed me to speak.
“What I’ve wanted to for a long time now,” he said. He opened the box, revealing a small but glittering round solitaire set upon a slender silver band. “I love you, Amber. I want to be with you, always. Will you marry me?”
A hundred thoughts raced through my mind as I stared at him. I loved him so much in that moment—the sweet simplicity of his proposal, the fact that he had chosen to ask me privately, just the two of us, out in nature doing something we both loved, as opposed to in a fancy restaurant in front of a bunch of strangers. He knew me well enough to understand I would have despised something like that. But along with the love I felt came a sharp spike of confusion. We’d been together less than a year. Was that enough time to really know each other, down to our cores? Oddly enough, I thought about Tyler, that even with the few bumps in the road we’d experienced, how our friendship had lasted longer than I’d been with Daniel. Was I being fair to myself, committing myself to only one person when I was still so young? My parents had done it, but they had dated for three years before they got engaged. I knew the longevity of their relationship was a rarity—that more than half of marriages that began in a couple’s early twenties ended in divorce. There was no way to know if Daniel and I would withstand the odds.
