“I see. Well, it might be a little more lucrative if you thought about adding other types of classes?” I smiled. “Like maybe yoga or Pilates for the women. Or kickboxing?”
She sniffed indignantly. “I have no interest in teaching fat old women to do yoga. I train champions.”
My smile grew tight. “Alina, this is a small town. A champion comes along only once in a while. You need to cater to some of the normal people, too, if you want to stay in business.”
She turned away. “I will run my business how I choose. I understand success.”
She did too. Alina had her own Olympic bronze medal in the All-around and gold on the balance beam. And really, what could I say to that?
I stuffed my disappointment down deep, to the vault where all emotions were supposed to go whenever I was in Alina’s presence. I could still hear her words from my first session so long ago. What you bring onto the mat shows on the mat. You bring what you want them to see.
At the moment I wanted Alina to see me as someone not about to cry. “It was good seeing you.” I lied and then scurried out of the store as fast as my fat feet would take me.
I headed down the street, tucked in against the wind as the misery doubled and then quadrupled like a mushroom cloud erupting in my chest. Damn it, why had I let my mother talk me into that? How humiliating.
I had forgotten how much I hated Alina. Mostly because she didn’t pull any punches. Even though my head was down I wasn’t truly tracking my footfalls. The toe on my right boot hit a patch of ice and I went down hard, ass first, into a slushy puddle.
Cold wetness seeped into my backside through the wool skirt. I scrambled up, frantically looking for a place to hide and safely lose my shit.
There. I ducked into an alley before my emotions ran amok. I hid in the shadows like some misshapen swamp creature and let the tears flow.
Two minutes. That was all it had taken Alina to get inside my head. And the worst part was, she was right about everything.
“I am fat,” I sobbed. “A big, fat quitter.”
“Joey? Sweetheart, what are you doing back here?” My father appeared at the mouth of the alley.
I turned my head away. “Nothing.” Where did I decide to humiliate myself? Across the street from my father’s office.
My shitty luck had struck again.
He moved closer. His hands held up in front of him like a man who didn’t want to startle a wild animal. “I saw you through the window. It looked like a bad fall. Are you hurt?”
I let out a sigh. “Only my pride.”
His smile was gentle. “Well, come on inside and get cleaned up.”
Ever the hero, my father removed his suit jacket and wrapped it around me. Even if it did only leave him in thin shirtsleeves to combat the bitter mountain air as we made our way across the street to the real estate attorney’s office.
The receptionist, Edith, was asleep at her desk, her reading glasses hanging from a chain around her neck, chin against her chest. Her hair was shock white and curled up in a big poof, though there was a flat spot on top which Edith either couldn’t see or couldn’t reach. She looked like nothing more than a pigeon, cooing in her nest. Dad shook his head at her, but he smiled.
He kept his voice low as he moved through the front room and gestured toward his little kitchen in the back which was nothing more than a mini-fridge, a sink, and a coffee pot. “Poor thing is dozing off more and more during the day. I’ve taken to keeping an eye out whenever we’re expecting someone for a closing.”
Which is why he had spied my mishap with the puddle.
“Are you expecting someone?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. Winter is slower than usual. Come on upstairs.”
He gestured for me to climb the stairs that led to his two-bedroom apartment. I waited in the living room while he rummaged around in his bedroom and came back with a set of sweats and a big fluffy towel.
“Go ahead and get changed. I’ll make us some tea.”
I slipped into the small bathroom. My butt and the back of my legs were freezing from the puddle. After shucking the soggy wool and drying off, I