by M. E. Carter
I don’t like her, do I? I mean, I like her. She’s amazing. She’s smart and witty and kind. Her smile lights up a room. She’s the only person I know who could see past how annoying Quinn is these days to help find ways to make him less crazy. She’s just… phenomenal. But…
But what?
The entire walk to the coffee shop, the only thing I can think is how I don’t do relationships. I’m forty years old and have never had a girlfriend for a reason. I have no desire to spend time with someone until they decide they’d rather hang out with someone else. Quick, simple, in and out, is better for me.
Women like Rebecca are better for me.
Pulling open the door of the closest coffeehouse, Rebecca walks in first, her air of confidence bordering on arrogance. Not the gentle self-possession Rian has. She walks with purpose, but also kindness. Like she sees others around her and…
No! Stop it, Carlos! Stop thinking about Rian. You are here with Rebecca.
Clearing my throat, I try to focus on my, um…. date? Is that what she thinks this is? I hope not, or I’ve got even more problems to figure out.
“What would you like to drink?” I speak quietly, feeling like I’m walking through a bad dream. Here with a woman I don’t like so I can avoid the one I do like, all while trying to save face at the office. I’m seriously losing my touch.
Rebecca twirls a hair around her finger. “I’ll let you decide since it’s your treat, but make sure it has mocha in it. I like a little mocha swirl in my coffee. And my men.”
I’d be offended by her inappropriate comparison of skin color to food if it’s wasn’t for the fact that I’m half Puerto Rican and half Norwegian, so the description doesn’t fit me anyway. Which makes me even more disappointed in myself for not vetting her properly. Especially if making assumptions about people without gathering information first is her norm.
“I’ll go find us a place to sit.” Rebecca walks off, and I’m left wondering how suddenly this became my treat.
I shake my head and place my order, pushing aside any discomfort I feel. No, I probably won’t see Rebecca again, except at Weight Expectations, but she’s a decent woman. Interesting, if a little dense. Easy on the eyes. Well, except for that lip gunk. But really, I could do worse than spending half an hour chatting over a cup of hot java.
“Carlos!” a barista calls and places two drinks on the counter for me to grab. Rebecca has made herself comfortable in an oversized chair, her purse on the one next to her. As I approach, she looks up from her phone, smiles at me, and moves the bag.
“I got you a white chocolate frappuccino,” I say as I relax into my own chair. It’s a little lumpy but not bad for as old as it probably is. “I hope that okay.”
“Sounds perfect,” she purrs and purses her lips, exaggerating the blowing motion. When she finally sips, her moan can practically be heard across the room. I watch, fascinated. The more she does these things that are clearly supposed to be seductive, the more I wonder how I ever found it attractive.
Is this what a midlife crisis feels like? It must be. There is no other explanation for it feeling like my perception of the world has turned completely upside down.
Rebecca lowers her cup and looks up at me, practically batting her eyelashes. “I was so excited when you called about the interview, especially since it had been a few weeks since we, well, you know.” She smiles shyly at me, because yes, I know exactly what she’s implying. “It was as if fate brought us back together, don’t ya think?”
No, not really, is what I think.
“Uh huh,” is what I say.
“We were just so good together. It’s like we had this connection. Not just physically but like a spiritual connection. Whenever our eyes would meet across the room or in the mirror, it’s like the stars would align —”
I try hard to keep engaged in the conversation, but the more she talks about how connected we are on a spiritual level, the more I zone out. And the more my thoughts return to the woman I’m trying hard to run from.
How is it possible for me to like Rian so much? She’s not my type in any way. She’s… not shallow. She has depth and wit and thinks outside the box instead of following the crowd. From what I can tell, she’s not interested in being better than anyone else. She just wants to be the best at what she does, or at least, not the worst.
Maybe that’s not what’s bothering me. I like Rian. Fine. She’s likeable. But why the sudden change in me? Why do I suddenly have feelings I’ve never had before? Feelings strong enough that I’m not as focused on my job as I should be, which is something I’ve always prided myself on. Man, it’s almost like Quinn having a hard time paying attention because he’s so in love with his baby.
Wait.
Waitwaitwaitwait. I’m not in love with Rian. Even if I’m attracted to her, it’s way too early to be in love. Am I in like?
Holy shit. I’m in like with Rian.
And I’m back to acting like a prepubescent boy with no game. This isn’t going to work for me. I’m better than this. So is she. So, the question is… what do I do with this now that I’ve figured it out?
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I shift on my chair as I grab it, tuning back into Rebecca who doesn’t seem to have noticed I was lost in my thoughts.
“- mercury was probably in retrograde last time we were together. That’s why it didn’t work out until now, don’t you think?”
“Uh huh,” I respond absentmindedly as I open my text. It’s from Tabitha.
Tabitha: I need to let off some steam. Meet me at Luma after work?
Perfect. She’ll know exactly what to do about my newfound feelings and since she doesn’t do many of her own, won’t judge me for it.
Me: Do I have time to workout first?
Tabitha: Yep. We’re leaving from here.
Clicking my phone closed, I make a note of the time and realize if I’m going to go out to drinks, I need to get some stuff done at the office. Now to figure out how to end the coffee date politely.
“It’s just amazing how the universe works.”
I pause momentarily, and I think Rebecca is finally done talking, I jump in, not wanting to miss the opportunity.
“Well, it was really good seeing you.” I quickly stand, ignoring the look of shock on her face.
“Wait,” she says, confused. “You’re leaving?”
I slap a smile on my face, trying to diffuse the blow she is no doubt feeling. “Well, with all the expanding we’re doing, I still have a lot of work to do.” Buttoning my suit jacket, I stand up taller, hoping to look the part I’m presenting to her. Not that it’s a lie. I do have a lot of work to do. “Nancy has a few more candidates to interview, but she’ll let you know the results in a couple of weeks.”
Rebecca closes her eyes and shakes her head just slightly. “Hold on. So, I don’t have the job?”
“Today was just the interview. It’s our process to meet with several people for each position. Just to make sure we have the right candidate.”
“But…” she starts, and I find myself feeling a tiny bit sorry that she’s going to be disappointed. But the look on Nancy’s face after the interview is imprinted on my brain, so there’s no way she’s being hired. I hope this isn’t the only job she applied for. “But you’ll put a good word in for me, right?”
I smile kindly, hoping to soften the blow. “I’ll be sure to give Nancy my thoughts.”
Rebecca relaxes a little and smiles seductively again. “Wonderful. I’ll see you soon.”
Hopefully not, I think as I race out the door and back to the office. For the first time ever my lack-of-dating life is coming back to haunt me and a new emotion I haven’t felt before comes flooding in…
It feels an awful lot like regret.
Chapter Twenty-One
RIAN
I hate weight training. It’s my least favorite exercise. Well, behind running, yoga, those band things that hang from the wall, and the rope. I’m sure that list will ge
t longer the more Abel has his sadistic fun, but I can confidently say weights are my top five most hated exercises.
Today, however, I’m grateful for the outlet. Nothing works out your anger better than bench presses. Unless punching someone in the face counts as stress relief but somehow, that’s frowned upon. It’s unfortunate for me, because today I’m chock full of emotion that needs to get out.
Oh, who am I kidding? That’s downplaying what I’m feeling. I’m pissed. Really pissed. Pissed that I was starting to like Carlos as more than a friend. Pissed that Carlos left for coffee with that woman. Pissed that I allowed my feelings enough leverage that I didn’t see this coming and feel hurt.
The kicker is, I’m not even sure why I feel this way. Carlos is my boss, not my friend. We went to dinner one time accidentally, and he struck up a conversation by default. He barely even looks at me at the gym. The only reason he has any interest in me at all is because I’m good at my job. So why did it hurt so bad when he took off with that, that gym bunny?
Abel continues counting, and I can tell he’s supporting the bar more than normal. It could be the fact that I’m pressing more weight than normal. What can I say? I was afraid it was too light, and my anger would have me accidentally throwing the bar over my head. Better be safe than sorry and all that crap.
“Fifteen. Awesome work—Sixteen? Seventeen? Eighteen? Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Abel grabs the bar and pulls it away from me. “You’re doing great, but slow down before you hurt yourself.”
Too late. I’m already hurt. Not the kind he’s talking about, but of course, I’ll never tell him that.
“What’s with you?” he asks, as I sit up and mop my brow. And my back. And down the front of my shirt. Boob sweat—it’s a real thing. “I’ve never seen you so hyped up about working out before. Usually you’re bitching about how your muscles ache from the walk up the stairs.”
“Maybe I’ve turned over a new leaf.”
“Not likely. Wanna talk about it?”
“No. I wanna talk about why your wife walked out on you and you’re still happy-go-lucky.” His face falls and I know I’ve crossed the line. Shame fills me, and I find myself staring at the floor, face flaming. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I didn’t mean to take this out on you.”
“You’re forgiven. But you also have a valid question.” He sits down next to me on the weight bench, which is weird. Like we’re having a moment. I’m not sure if I should crack a joke or cry on his shoulder, so I don’t do either. I just listen. “I don’t know. I guess our marriage wasn’t all that great anyway. May is kind of self-absorbed and demanding. At first, I was stunned and a little sad that she left, but after about a week, I realized I was more relieved than anything.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t walking on eggshells, making sure she wasn’t unhappy anymore. Even Mabel seems happier. I never realized how much tension was in the house until she was gone. I think, in the beginning, I wasn’t really sad as much as I was shocked, and my pride was wounded.”
Sounds about right. I don’t have any reason at all to be jealous of Carlos taking other women to coffee. I don’t even think I like the guy most of the time. But seeing him lose interest in our conversation when a beautiful woman walked in the room stung. It was just a reminder that I’m always the “interesting one”, until someone more interesting comes along. Talk about a blow to the ego.
I nod in understanding and take a deep, calming breath. “How many more reps do you want us to do?”
“I have a better idea. Ladies, follow me.”
Abel walks the four of us in his class downstairs. Our class has gotten smaller since we don’t have our normal location to meet at. I suspect it’s because all the “regulars” are scattered around at the various facilities, depending on what’s convenient. I feel bad for Abel because it’s like he has to start his entire business from scratch, but selfishly, I’m glad we get more one-on-one time.
Abel takes us into a room I’ve never seen before. It houses some of the larger weight racks and exercise machines, not just free weights. He pulls out some punching bags that look like they’ve been resting in a corner for a while. Then, he hands us each a set of gloves.
“I know what you ladies are thinking.”
“That this could come back to haunt you?” Dee asks, and we all laugh. Even Abel.
“No, but now that you mention it, the first rule of boxing is that you only punch the bag. So always remember rule number one.” We all groan, even though we’re not serious while Abel continues explaining how to stand and how to twist to punch.
It takes a few minutes for us to get into it, but after a while, even I have to admit boxing is kind of fun. Jabbing the bag as hard as I can, I feel my tension starting to melt away. It helps that I’m envisioning my boss’s face on the bag. And maybe his nuts. Some people call it psychotic. I call it motivation.
“Nicely done, Rian,” Abel says supportively. “Make sure to tighten your core when you twist. Really concentrate on your form. This is about quality not quantity.”
I jab right. I jab left. I make sure my feet are in the right position and I twist with purpose. My muscles feel tight yet relaxed at the same time. My mind begins to feel more Zen.
“Okay, Rocky, let’s try a new one.” Abel comes up behind me, probably to make sure he doesn’t get in my line of fire. Smart man.
I drop my arms and put my hands on my hips, breathing deep. Abel’s face lights up at my obvious enjoyment.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
I nod and try to slow my breathing. “It’s getting out all my pent-up aggression.”
“Good. Let’s try something else. Turn and face the bag.” I do and Abel stands behind me and puts his arms around me. I don’t think I ever realized how big he is until now. If only he was a few years older and not the bane of my existence most days.
Grabbing my arm, he helps me position it up in the air, elbow out. “This time, it’s going to be like a sideways jab. Pretend the person you’re visualizing—”
“That obvious, huh?” I interrupt.
“You never work out this hard without cracking jokes. Blatantly obvious. Anyway, pretend you’re punching them on the side of their head. It’s called a roundhouse hit, so make sure you have an arch in your movement.” He moves my arm slowly to show exactly how to swing and exactly where he wants my punch to land.
“What do I do with my feet?” I ask, suddenly very, very into exercise. I know my muscles are going to hate me tomorrow, but right now I don’t care.
“Just stand with your feet apart. Your whole body will twist into the movement, working your core in a different way.”
It’s slow going as my body gets used to the motion, but soon Abel is leaving me to help the others out as well. As I punch, slowly but methodically, I feel like I’ve found my exercise. The thing that not only helps my body, but my brain as well. I didn’t realize how angry I was, but I also realize it’s probably not just about Carlos.
It’s about my sister’s constant and subtle ridicule lately. It’s about Nolan’s sarcastic mockery. It’s about the sexist environment I allowed myself to work in for so long without giving myself enough credit, despite all my awards.
It’s about not loving myself enough because I’ve been too busy internalizing what people said around me.
I blink back the tears I feel welling up in my eyes. I don’t understand why this is making me impassioned, but every punch feels like an emotional release of some sort. I make a point of wiping my sleeve over my face, pretending to be wiping away the sweat when really, I’m making sure the rogue tears don’t have the chance to fall.
I keep jabbing.
Jabbing at my anger.
Jabbing at my disappointment.
Jabbing at my hurt.
Jabbing at this strange sense of sadness I didn’t know I felt.
I jab and I jab and I jab until I’m drenched in sweat and emotion.
And
then as if I’m conjuring him, the one I’m visualizing is suddenly in front of me.
“Go away, Carlos,” I say in between punches, which are coming harder now. I resituate my body to do front jabs again since I have a sudden and overwhelming urge to get more power behind my punches.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
I never look up, not trusting myself and those rogue tears from coming back. Nothing says “psycho” quite like crying over your boss in front of your boss. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“You just seemed to be giving me the cold shoulder since I got back from coffee.”
“Oh?” I feign innocence and continue to take my aggression out on the bag. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Abel watching from a distance. Not that he has to worry. If Carlos bugs me much longer, I might just swivel my body and use him as the punching bag.
He leans in closer. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Stopping, I pant heavily and put my hands on my hips. “You didn’t. You left for coffee with a blonde bimbo and when you got back, I was busy. You’re my boss, Carlos, not my friend. I prefer to keep any of my personal emotions to myself.”
He takes a step back and nods his head just as Abel approaches.
“Good work, Rian. Let’s move onto some front push kicks. They’re fantastic for your flexibility, but you aren’t going to be able to chat while doing them. You’re going to get winded quick.” He’s talking to me but never takes his eyes off Carlos. I wish I could say I’m mortified by his behavior and coming to my defense however subtle it is. But realistically, it feels good that a man thinks I’m important enough to stand up for. It doesn’t matter that Abel is my trainer and would never go for someone like me. I’m important to him as a friend and that’s more than I can say for most people.
Carlos takes Abel’s hint that he’s not welcome here. At least not now. Nodding his head once, he looks at the floor, defeat written all over his body language. “It’s okay. I’m leaving anyway.”
