thinking about opening a boutique downtown.”
“Hmm, well that’s not what I expected.”
“It’s not? What did you expect?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mom. Maybe go back to school and get your teaching degree.”
“Teaching degree. Really?”
“Yeah, I mean, you always liked kids and enjoyed teaching Sunday school and being my and Tory’s scout leader.”
“True, but I don’t feel called to teach. When I hear you talk about your job, David, I can hear the excitement in your voice. Even though the hours and pay aren’t what you’d like, you love what you’re doing and see it as an investment in your future. I want to feel that jazzed about my job. I’m tired of my Sundays being dominated by that sinking feeling the workweek is looming.”
“There’s actually a name for that, Mom. It’s call the Sunday Night Blues.”
I laughed.
“I’m pretty sure, Mom, that people who like their jobs experience a little of that, too. They see the weekend fun coming to an end and the start of five days of pressure.”
“And poor you,” I interrupted. “You don’t seem to have much fun, even on weekends.”
“Well, next weekend I will. I’ll text you when my plane lands. Is Dad driving up with us?”
“No, separate. But he’s staying at the same hotel and said you can sleep in his room if you want.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
“I love you more!”
I couldn’t wait to see David. While I loved both of my children equally, David and I shared something special. Maybe it was that mother-son thing people talked about. Or because he was my firstborn and I almost lost him when I slipped on a patch of ice and fell. I wasn’t sure, but if there was anything I’d learned from David, it was that you shouldn’t let money stand in your way of doing what you love. He’d followed his passion and talking to him made me want to follow mine.
I stood in the locker room in my cream-colored granny panties and black sports bra as Renee measured my biceps, waist, hips, bust and thigh areas.
“This will help us track your progress,” she said. “We’ll take photos, too. I usually recommend we use the client’s cell phone so they’re able to access the photos any time. It helps to see how far you’ve come when you’re struggling to continue.”
“Great idea!” I dug my cell phone out of my gym bag and handed it to her.
I stood still while Renee took several photos from different angles. “Remember, we start slow. In my experience, between weeks three and four you’ll feel like quitting. That’s when motivation usually wanes. Be aware of this so you can get through that tough time.”
“How’d you get through it?”
“I decided to reward myself by getting a mani-pedi after the sixth week. Believe me, there’ll be times when you don’t feel like exercising and you’ll have to remind yourself how good it makes you feel. If you can associate exercise with feeling good as a result of it, you’ll have a better chance of sticking with it. Habit is seventy-five percent of the challenge.”
I pulled on my gray workout tee and sweat pants. I knew Renee was right. I’d been down this road a time or two and always dropped out. I’d miss a day, then two, and suddenly a month would pass and I’d just give up. “I’ve never been so determined to succeed,” I told her.
Renee pumped her fist. “That’s the spirit. And if you slip once, don’t let it become an excuse not to exercise at all.”
“I made a promise to myself this time.”
Renee nodded. “The funny thing about promises we make to ourselves is that we somehow always negotiate. Think about it. If you made a promise to your daughter or son, you’d stick to it. But because it’s you it’s somehow different. You wouldn’t let important people counting on you down, so why do it to yourself?”
“Man, you’re tough.”
Renee patted my shoulder. “No, I’ve just been where you are lots of times and I’m trying to pass on my wisdom.”
Renee asked me what activity I enjoyed, explaining that if I chose something I liked I’d be more likely to stick with it.
“Back in the day I did aerobics and I used to like biking and running. But it’s been a while since I’ve done any of that.”
“How about starting out on the treadmill?” Renee said. I nodded and followed her up the stairs to the second floor. As I walked between rows of machines, treadmills on one side and elliptical trainers on the other, I felt out of place. Everyone seemed fit and I worried I’d stick out. I kept hearing that song Tory used to sing in preschool: One of these things is not like the others. One of these things just doesn’t belong.
I felt a dull ache in my stomach and it reminded me of the stomach pangs I used to get in grade school. Our gym teacher, Mr. Williams, would pick two people to be captains and they’d take turns picking who they wanted on their kickball team. I was always one of the last to be picked.
“You’ll be fine,” Renee said. “Believe me, no one is watching. They’re focused on their own workout.”
I sucked in a huge breath and exhaled. I knew she was right. I’d just had to keep telling myself that.
I stepped up onto the treadmill and Renee explained the controls. An hour later, I walked out of the gym feeling pretty good about myself. I knew I had a long way to go before I was capable of running a marathon, but I’d taken the first step.
On my way home, I passed by a skin-care clinic that was advertising twenty percent off of injectables. I ran my fingers over my lips. I’ve always hated my lips. They were too thin. I made a mental note to call the clinic and check out its prices. Maybe I’d treat myself to some filler as a reward for making it past the red-flag period, just as Renee rewarded herself with a mani-pedi.
When I got home, Muffin was at the door. I let her out and then showered. I had two hours before I had to meet the real-estate salesman downtown. I was meeting Ed at the property, but I wanted to get there ahead of time to check out the neighborhood. Walking a couple blocks in each direction would give me an idea of what the neighborhood was like.
I stood in front of the wooden storefront and imagined looking through a sepia-tinted lens, watching those who had shopped at what was once a TV store. The chestnut door with transom sash was sandwiched between two large display windows with wood bulkheads beneath. I gazed up, noticing the stone window hoods and decorative cornice molding at the top, below the roof.
“You must be Scarlett.”
I turned to see a handsome middle-aged man with dark hair wearing a black suit. “And you must be Ed.”
We shook hands and I waited for him to retrieve the key
