"Then say you'll go. You can pull out last minute."
Somehow I figure she doesn't mean that. Come September, if I try to change my mind, I'll never hear the end of it. But, I always give in. I'm a doormat. I know this. I don't want to focus on finding a date, though. The first thing I need to do is lose some weight. "Fine," I agree through gritted teeth.
chapter three
The one negative of trading in my car for legs to get to work is walking back. The walk back is much easier, though, probably because the incline goes down instead of up. I arrive home in slightly quicker time than it took me to get to work and enter the house to James running toward me and wrapping his arms around me. "Mama!"
"Hey, honey. Did you and NaNa have fun today?"
He doesn't respond except stare back at me with his huge brown eyes, but the smile on his face tells me everything.
"Did you eat dinner yet?" I ask my mom. Usually, I'm home by a quarter to five, but my slow legs put me at fifteen after. We stay for dinner most nights, and occasionally they come downstairs to my place and I cook something. Since my mom stays home all day with James, this is an easy arrangement.
"No, but it'll only take a few minutes to make. I'm making James' favorite."
I love my mom's grilled cheese sandwiches, but if I plan on seriously losing any weight and eating healthy, I need to change how I eat, too. I already avoided donuts at work, which will be a daily battle. "I think I'll pass and make a salad with some lemon juice."
My mom opens the refrigerator and pulls out deli cheese. "Excuse me? A salad?"
Okay, so salad isn't something I normally enjoy. Why someone wants to eat leaves is beyond me. I can learn to like something so blah, and I won't live on salad. Once I get a chance, I can research some recipes online, nutritious ones that don't make me want to gag. Healthy foods with a spectacular taste must exist. I need to start somewhere, and, today, that means respectfully declining my mom's awesome grilled cheese. "I made a decision to eat healthier. I'm going to lose some weight and get in shape."
"Is this a repeat from our conversation this morning? You look fine, honey." She pops a stick of margarine in the microwave.
"I don't want to look fine, Mom. I want to feel amazing. I'm tired of moping around and forcing my body into my old clothes. I'm so uncomfortable." The snap on my khakis press into my belly. Years ago, I wore skirts to work every single day. Now, I won't even wear shorts on my day off.
"I think you're being ridiculous." The microwave beeps and she takes the melted margarine out and starts swiping it on the bread. The spread soaks into the grain, and she adds garlic salt. Mmm. So. Good.
I put James down and tell him to go play in the other room. "No, I'm not, Mom. I want to be healthy for James. It's only me. I need to be here as long as I can. I want to be here as long as I can. This isn't only about losing weight. I want to be in shape." I hate she won't make eye contact. "I want to take a walk after dinner. Can you keep an eye on James while I do that?"
"It'll be starting to get dark, honey."
"I'll be okay, Mom. We live in the city. The streetlights are on, and I won't go too far. Promise." Even though I have a child of my own, my mom still treats me like I'm a kid.
The pan sizzles as she tosses the first piece of bread into the pan. "Why don't we go together? We can put James in the stroller and get ice cream."
Ice cream. Another lovely food item I'm forced to scratch off my list of indulgences. "Don't think less of me, Mom, but I want to do this on my own. If we all go, I won't get the workout in I want. We'll go too slow. I'm serious about this." She thinks I'm talking without intent. I plan on going through with my walking program and yielding results. "Please, help me out?"
The placement of cheese on the bread is near perfect. Every sandwich boasts not two, but three, slices. My mom makes a special one for herself with only one slice, since she is still pretty health conscious. I'm a tad surprised she cooks such fattening dishes for other people, and then eats lighter herself, but I don't want to get into that argument now. "Okay. But be sure to take your cell phone, and don't be too long. Eat something first, though."
"Thank you." I join her making dinner, wishing I could inhale the hot, gooey grilled cheese and not my minuscule meal made of plants.
•••
As I step outside, the cooler air slaps me in the face. Amazing how much the temperature dropped since dinner. Thankfully I changed into yoga pants and a long sleeve shirt. I stick my phone holder on my arm and hit my playlist. I require some good music if I plan to walk, and Justin Timberlake never disappoints. My route is simple — fifteen blocks to the local coffee shop, get myself some black coffee no sugar (I eliminate the calories this way) and enjoy a piping hot cup on my way back.
By the time I get three blocks away from my destination, my body starts breaking down. I crave caffeine and a chair. The temperature dropped at least five more degrees since I left, and I wish I thought to bring gloves. My sore legs need a break, definitely proving I'm in anything but impeccable shape. My breath collects in front of me, and I can't wait for the warmer weather to arrive. In April, snow still spots the ground, although not a ton. The snow from the last storm melted, but puddles of water and some slick places scatter themselves on the sidewalk.
The amount of people out and about at six surprises me. City buses whip past me, and I spot the first motorcycle of the season. A lot of people walk their dogs, and they check their phones as they wait for them to do their business. A few runners pass me. Runners never give up, despite the cold. They run regardless of temperature. Every time one sprints past me, I think about putting my leg out and tripping them. I hate how easy they make it look.
A block from the coffee shop, I pick up the pace, my fingertips almost numb. Yes, warm air settled in here and there — only a few days ago a heat wave of almost fifty degrees graced us - but I'm still cold. I laugh as a runner approaches me, a dark hat on his head, wearing shorts and a tee shirt, clothes which I think are completely inappropriate for the temperature. I reduce my speed for a second to get a glance at this odd combination when my feet lose balance on a slick spot on the sidewalk. As if in slow motion, I slam into the ground. Any padding I grew on my ass over the years certainly doesn't cushion the fall.
"Dammit!" I yell and a young mom nearby covers her child's ears. "Sorry." I quickly take back my words.
"Are you okay?" I glance up and the gentleman I secretly joshed is standing above me. His ear buds hang out of his collar, his hands on his waist, and he's out of breath. "That was quite a fall."
I grab his hand he so gratefully holds out to me and let him help pull me up. I wipe the back of my yoga pants, afraid the wet from the ground will be mistaken for pee.
"I'm fine. Embarrassed."
"As you should be," the man laughs. His smile is wide, and his cheeks are bright red from the cold. Mine are flushed from humiliation, and my backside probably matches. A tuft of almond hair peeks out from under his hat, which I now see is dark blue with a Milwaukee Brewers logo.
"Excuse me?" I retaliate in shock this stranger agrees with me.
"I'm joking. Kind of. I'm sure you are embarrassed, but I don't doubt you're in pain as well."
"It doesn't feel good, that's for sure."
His shirt clings to his body, outlining the clear definition of his chest. He more than likely runs every day. If I plan on walking every day, I wonder if I will run into him again. This is a big city, but there's always a chance. The first guy I meet in ages, and I make a fool of myself.
"Are you headed somewhere?" He rearranges his ear buds.
"Well, um, I planned on getting a coffee. I'm on my way to Grounds Works." The small cafe opened a little over a year ago, and I love the ambiance of the place. I want to do my part to support local businesses.
"Cool. I'll join you."
"You will?"
He flips his cap around so the rim is in the back, and it's off his head long enough I catch a glimpse of his
full head of wavy hair. "Is that okay? If you prefer, you can go ahead and I'll stand back about ten minutes."
What's happening? Do I care if this guy — hot guy — accompanies me to the coffee shop? We can exchange a few words during our walk, I'll get my drink and be on my way back home. Tomorrow, I'll go the opposite direction, and in the morning instead. I can even put on some ankle weights and really work up a sweat. Of course, I must buy ankle weights then. Yeah. I'll do it. This way, I can drive to and from work so I'm not drenched in perspiration when I arrive. I don't think anyone wants to encounter me after a mile long walk.
"No, it's fine."
"Great." He waves me along. "Let's go."
We begin in silence, my chest pounding both from the energy lost while walking, and the fall I took. My butt sure hurts, too. I want to rub it but not the best first impression. Granted, falling on my ass isn't either. Am I crazy I imagine this guy rubbing it? Wow, I suppose years without physical contact with a man will do that to you.
"By the way," he says as he sticks his hand out. "I'm Jay."
I reach my shivering hand out. "Chelsea."
"You should wear gloves next time. Your hands are freezing."
I'm well aware, Captain Obvious. This guy sure is cute, but so far I'm not sold on his personality. I glance at his gloveless hands. Hypocrite.
"I don't wear gloves when I run. Too restricting. I stick only to the hat." He points to his head as though I have no idea what one is.
"Yeah, I'm new to this." I'm not sure what to say to this stranger. I'm not any good at chit chat, and I'm not sure what we should talk about.
"New to walking? What were you doing before? Crawling?" He laughs.
"Ha, ha, very funny." Who does this guy think he is? He may think he's a comedian, but he doesn't know me well enough to be laughing at my expense. Hell, he doesn't know me at all. What if I'm some psycho who pulls out a knife and cuts him because of his little jokes? He has no idea. Okay, I'll admit Daniel left me a tad bitter. I typically think the worst of men. Perhaps this Jay guy is hysterical. Many girls may find his antics silly and they giggle at every word that comes out of his mouth. Fine. I can explain myself if that makes the jokes stop. "I decided to start walking for exercise. I'm not a gym kind of girl, and running isn't something I enjoy, either."
"I love running. Been doing it since high school."
We cross the street and are only a few doors down from the coffee shop. "I need to lose some weight and thought this would be a way to start." Don't say baby weight.
"Lose weight?" I keep looking ahead but sense him checking me out from head to toe. "No, you don't. But, either way, good for you for exercising."
I blush at the thought of Jay scoping out my body, and his suggestion I don't need to thin down. I'm sure he's only being kind, though. We arrive at the cafe and he opens the door for me. "Thanks."
The bold aroma of coffee enters my nose as we step into the shop. If someone bottled that up and sold it, they'd make a fortune. Coffee beans filling the air, gentle music playing in the background, and wood tables slipped between comfy couches — this is my element.
"What are you getting?" We take our place in line, and he's standing right next to me.
"Oh, just a black coffee. Trying to cut back the calories." He rolls his eyes with a smile painted on his face. Does he think it's funny I'm trying to keep the calories down? "Well, I am."
"If you say so, Chelsea." He steps to the counter and places his order - a salted caramel mocha with skim milk and no whipped cream. That's what Daniel calls a "girly drink." I rather like he's man enough to place such an order. He completes his order with a black coffee.
"No, no. I have money," I try and stop him from ordering for me. "I can buy mine. Thank you, though."
"It's only a dollar fifty."
Doesn't he understand it's not about the price? We met ten minutes ago; he doesn't need to be buying me anything. "I know, but I can pay for it."
"Fine, but she already rung me up, so hand me the cash."
I expect a bit more of a power war between us. Isn't that how this typically goes? Two people go back and forth about paying a bill until the other finally gives in and allows it?
"I'm kidding!" He must sense my shock via my dropped mouth. "It's on me."
I agree because I don't want to argue, and I only want to get the hell out of there because clearly I'm making an utter fool of myself. He pays, hands me the coffee, and says, "It was a pleasure meeting you. Maybe I'll see you again soon."
Apparently he didn't plan on sticking around either. As I watch him walk out the door, I don't even get a chance to say thank you, but think, "Yeah, maybe."
chapter four
"You seriously didn't ask him out?" Amber scolds me as we sit in the small lunch room. Ryan sits at the table next to us, too involved in his phone to pay any attention to us. He doesn't need to hear this conversation and my total failure of having a meaningful relationship, much less discussion, with a member of the opposite sex.
"I didn't, Amber. I talked him for like ten minutes!" I'm clueless about everyone else, but I sure don't develop a love connection after a few tiny moments. Sure, Jay is cute — super cute — but that doesn't automatically make him dating material. Besides, I fell on my ass right in front of him, which is a little detail I left out. I told Amber I bumped into him and after I said sorry, we began chatting. I'm not sure how I feel about him anyway. I suppose his sarcasm is cute, and said to anyone else, I'd be laughing. I can't decide if I think he's funny or a jerk. Even still, I can't stop thinking about him.
"Ryan! Ryan!" Amber snaps her fingers at the Mark Paul Gosselaar look alike. "Are you listening to this?"
He moves his eyes from his phone momentarily. "Trying not to."
I've never met a guy who texts as much as Ryan. He never eats lunch. He sits at the table and slides his fingers across the keyboard as though playing a fancy tune on the piano. He's the Bach of texting. I usually catch him eating a string cheese in the morning, and a bag of pretzels in the afternoon, topped off with a Mountain Dew he got from the vending machine during his daily walk there with Amber. Yep. It's like an official standing date between those two. The minute the displays on our phones change to 3:00, they rise simultaneously from their chairs and meet at the first cubicle wall to go to the vending machine. I can't call her out in front of Ryan, but hopefully at his Labor Day bash those two will finally succumb to their obvious infatuation with each other.
"So Chelsea's out taking a walk yesterday, literally bumps into this guy. They start chatting and he buys her coffee." Amber doesn't need to include Ryan in our conversation. He dates a different girl every other week and his daily vending machine visits with Amber is the longest relationship he's had. I don't put much weight into his thoughts.
He shrugs, never looking up from his phone. "So?" I'm sure he played football in high school with those broad shoulders.
"So! Would you buy a coffee for a girl you didn't like?" I'm sure Ryan purchased something for her on one of their vending machine dates and this is her grade school way of finding out if that means he likes her.
My heart races as I wait for a response, yet at the same time, I don't want an answer. If Ryan says no, I'm crushed and embarrassed by even thinking I may see this guy again. If he says yes, then my mind will go crazy trying to think of how to track him down again.
"No," he says, and my heart deflates. "But I wouldn't buy coffee anyway. Disgusting."
"That's not the point, silly!" Amber's voice squeaks, bringing me back to fifth grade. If Ryan is as clueless as I think about Amber's feelings, he's not the one I should be getting dating advice from.
He tosses his phone on the table. "Fine." He scratches the five o'clock shadow on his face and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "No, I wouldn't buy a drink for someone I wasn't at least a little interested in. You should have thrown some signals his way and maybe he would have asked you out."
Did I want thi
s guy to ask me out? I only met him momentarily and that's not a lot of time to decide if I want to spend more than an hour with someone. "Do guys like when a girl does the asking?" It's been so long — too long — since I've even entertained the opportunity of a date.
"Of course they do!" Amber jumps in. "I do it all the time."
This is true. Whenever she tells me about a night out at the bar, she usually includes some story about her approaching a man and striking up a conversation. Sometimes this leads to a phone number, or even a one-night stand, never a relationship. Though since her divorce (after a mere seven months of marriage), she's been sort of a commitment-phobe herself. If she's going to commit to anyone, I think she's hoping Ryan is the one.
"Actually, I'm asking Ryan, Amber. I figure he may be better qualified to answer, since he's a guy and all." I turn my chair toward him so I can read his reaction clearer, even though I remain skeptical of his opinion.
Ryan straightens in his chair and pulls his brows in. "Well, that depends."
"How? Either you like it or you don't." Amber interjects again, controlling the conversation as usual.
My blood pressure rises as I motion for her to stop interrupting. "Amber, let him talk, please."
She widens her eyes, and I sense she's a little embarrassed I scolded her in front of Ryan. Her cheeks redden as she unscrews her water and slurps it. The bottle pops as she finishes the drink and I cringe at the noise. Can't people learn to drink from a water bottle without being so loud?
Ryan scoots his chair out and crosses his leg. "Well, it's one thing to be forward and ask a guy on a date. It's another to be a tramp about it."
Amber is listening intently, probably taking notes in her head, possibly even reclaiming her long-lost virginity in her mind.
"How do you mean?" His answer isn't clear to me.
He rubs his hands together like he's the know-it-all on the subject. Of course, being a guy, he knows what guys like. "Okay, so if we're chatting and you touch my arm a little and casually ask me out," he touches my arm and I'm afraid to look Amber's way. "I may say yes and consider it a date. Now, on the other hand, if you hang all over me, practically groping me, I definitely won't date you." Thank God he doesn't grope me.
Jay Walking (Pastime Pursuits) Page 2
