it to the gym without rear-ending or side-swiping anyone again, a miracle. Nicola’s not there, and I think I might be relieved she’s not. Or I might just be horny. Jesus-fucking-Christ. I’m absolutely soaking. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I mop. Change. Ponder having a shower before the session…walk out. The gym looks fuzzy.
‘Jane!’ Jesse’s voice. My head snaps. ‘You looked like you couldn’t find me,’ he says. ‘So. Any requests for today?’
He seems very, very far away. ‘Yes,’ I say finally. ‘Make me lift heavy shit and not think. Exhaust me.’
‘I can do that,’ he laughs. I hope he’s as dense as I think he is. Sweet and dumb, right? He cannot pick up on the unleashed storm that is me right now.
‘Jane!’
‘What?’
‘Stop now. Rest.’
‘OK. What next?’
‘On the bench.’
‘What?’ I fucking jump up two feet.
‘On the bench,’ he says. ‘Chest flies. You hate chest flies. And I’ll give you a heavier weight than normal to boot. You asked to be exhausted, remember?’
I sit at the edge of the bench and watch while he goes to get the weights. ‘Hey, Jesse,’ I say. ‘How long have you known me now? More than a year, right?’
‘Almost two, actually,’ he says.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘So – well, you don’t really know me very well, because it’s always just here, and we have limited conversation. Lift this. Rest. Et cetera. But – well, tell me this. Give me some adjectives that describe me.’
‘What?’ Jesse looks uncomfortable, and for a brief moment I wonder if perhaps he does not know what an adjective is.
I am unfair. Because he’s so pretty.
‘Well—’ He crouches down beside me. ‘Lie down so I can give you the weights.’ I lie down. On the bench. Fucking hell. ‘You’re very…disciplined. Committed. Dedicated.’ He places the weights in my hands.
‘Jeezus fucking Christ, how heavy are these?’ I yowl. Heave the weights upwards.
‘You’re a really, really good mother,’ Jesse continues. ‘The left arm is going too deep – pull it up sooner. The way you talk about your kids – it always makes me smile. Inspires me, really. Well – and it’s part of that dedicated thing. How many clients do I have who, at any excuse, don’t come? Too busy, too sick. No babysitter. When your babysitter falls through, you come with the kids. And they’re great kids. And you’re so patient with them.’
‘Fucking hell, Jesse, I am going to die here.’
‘Although you do swear too much. One more – you’ve got it.’
‘Ugh.’
He takes the weights from me and I curl into the fetal position on the bench.
‘You swear too much,’ he repeats.
‘Not an adjective,’ I mutter.
‘Was I only supposed to use adjectives? Well – yeah. Disciplined. Dedicated. Patient. Outspoken…but kind of reserved at the same time, which is an interesting combination. And…’ I stop listening. Other adjectives are going through my head.
Hard.
‘…one of the strongest women I know, actually, physically and mentally,’ Jesse says. And flashes me a lovely smile. I have no idea what he just said. My thoughts are in a hotel room in which I would have been a week from now – and in which I will now no longer be. And…feeling no relief. Just regret. Such overpowering, crippling regret. And lust and desire and…Oh, fuck. If I were ruler supreme of the universe, I would be in that hotel room right now.
‘Jane?’ Jesse asks. ‘Are you going to get off that bench?’
Eventually.
Fuck. One night. I wanted that one night. So very, very badly.
I finish the workout. Drive back to my parents’ house.
My mom can’t wait to get us out of the house, which happens sometimes, so I gather up the kids – Eddie doesn’t want to leave, of course – and drive straight home. The kids want to chill, so I let them find books, movies and computers. Throw in laundry. Ponder supper. Avoid work and the computer for a while. Scrub the bathroom. Promise to read books in a few minutes.
Check Facebook.
5.30 in the morning? Could you not sleep, my lover?
In the span of six days, I’ve become one of those people who check their Facebook mobile every 11 seconds. Obsessed.
Today’s obsession, made worse by the fact that I won’t get to feel it: the sensation of your hair between my gripping fingers.
Freshly shorn to serve me better. I’m developing a preparation fetish.
Instantly wet. Or, rather, wetter.
I am losing my mind.
Why is he writing me? Tormenting me? It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. He’s not coming.
Read books to kids. Do stuff. Then it’s time for Cassandra and Henry’s piano lessons. I think, as I do every Saturday – what was I thinking? Piano lessons on Saturday? Why? But it’s the last one before Christmas break. Fine. Distraction. Good to have things to do, places to go. I won’t write back.
Load kids into car. Think about leaving the phone behind. Except that would be irresponsible. Winter. Icy roads. I could have an accident. I need the phone with me. Right.
‘Jane!’ Lacey dances out of her front door and around her Mini. Clayton is with her, smiling shyly at Cassandra. ‘Jane, look!’ and she thrusts a hand, huge flickering diamond on her finger, into my face.
Oh, my fucking God. A diamond. A ring. He did it. She did it.
‘Oh, Lacey!’ I hug her.
‘It’s not exactly me, is it?’ Lacey says, extending her hand in front of her and looking at the ring and finger critically. ‘A little too…white.’ She laughs. ‘But Clint insisted this was the one.’
‘It’s stunning,’ I say. ‘And the date?’
‘The day I nail that man down to a date,’ Lacey says. ‘How many years did it take me to get him to propose? And how many months to get the engagement ring?’ She’s not frustrated or bitter. She’s, if anything, ecstatic.
But that’s Lacey. Perfection. Happiness. No matter what.
And to her, in some way, Clint must be perfection too. I can see it, sometimes, physically anyway. He is
