I nod, mulling that over.
“I am my family. My house. This gym,” she says. “But I’m more than that, and it’s easy to forget who you are and what you want and need and love when you’re driven like we are. We want accolades. Trophies. Championships. Proof in tangible ways. That means we’re worthy. But it’s important, Neely, to reevaluate sometimes and be okay with wanting things you don’t get a trophy for.”
“I do need that,” I admit. “I don’t know why. There’s probably a lot of therapy sitting right there.”
She smiles. “Some people need parental approval. There are people who need a certain number in their bank accounts. Some get the same thing out of shoes. You and I do it with trophies.”
I mull this over but am pulled back to the present by her gaze. “What?”
“I just want to add that sometimes what we want in life changes, Neely. And that’s okay too.”
“Oh, I still want what I want. That hasn’t changed. I just want more, I guess. I just don’t know how to define that.”
Voices trickle through the open door as the evening round of classes begins to arrive. I glance over my shoulder to see a group of little girls huddled in a semicircle.
“You know some of their parents,” Aerial tells me. “Competed with and against a lot of them. There’s some talent out there.”
Twisting around in my seat, I take in Aerial’s narrowed eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I have a favor to ask.”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“Is there any way you can come by tomorrow afternoon and help out? Jessica has a family obligation I just remembered, and I’m going to be shorthanded.”
“Sure,” I say, my brain still reconciling her speech. “It’s not like I have anything else to do.”
She stands as a voice calls her name from the gym floor.
“I can help out tonight too,” I offer, getting to my feet.
“Not what I heard,” she teases.
“What are you talking about? I don’t have plans. And Mom splurged on margaritas last night, so she won’t drink again for a year.”
“I went into Dogwood Café this morning for an English muffin, and Claire told me you were going out with her tonight.”
My eyes almost fall out of my head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think it might be a good idea.” Aerial’s arms cross over her chest, and she flips me a look only a well-seasoned coach can deliver. “When was the last time you did something really memorable? Just for you?”
I give her the look of a defiant student. “Three months ago. Rob Thomas, live. It was amazing.”
Her arms fall to her sides. “If you’re counting fun in months, you have a bigger problem than I realized.”
“I may or may not have problems, but fun isn’t one of them.” When she tilts her head my way, I roll my eyes. “I have plenty of fun. Look at me, coming home on a whim. I’m spontaneous.”
“You might’ve forgotten, but you have people here who love you, Neely. People who would love to see you. Claire is only the tip of the iceberg.”
“That’s not true. They don’t even know who I am anymore. It would be rehashing memories that don’t matter.”
Her head cocks to the side, and she considers my words. She draws in a long breath before speaking again. “Have you seen anyone but Claire?”
My throat squeezes. “Yeah.”
“Who?”
“Dane,” I admit, toeing the floor with my shoe.
The longer she goes without a reply, the faster my heart beats. The deeper the silence gets, the clearer the picture of him becomes in my mind and the harder the knot that I’m beginning to hate twists in my stomach.
Finally, I look up at her.
“How’d that go?” Her words are pronounced carefully, each syllable nice and even like I’m some kind of caged tiger that might pounce if mishandled.
“It went fine.”
“Fine, huh?”
“Yup. Fine.”
“All right. If that’s all you want to say, then so be it.”
I blow out a breath. “That’s all I want to say. He’s really just a guy I happen to have a history with whom I ran into recently. It’s fine. It was just some stupid juvenile obsession, and that’s over.”
“You sure about that?”
No. “Absolutely.”
“Miss Aerial!” Our attention turns toward the gym as the little girl from the café waves. “Is that Neely? From the videos?”
I give her a little wave, trying not to laugh as the troop of little faces look like a celebrity just walked in.
“Hi, girls,” I say.
They give me a mix of waves, laughter, and a couple of shrieks that leaves me feeling like a million bucks.
“I thought you looked like Neely from the videos,” Mia gushes. “But I didn’t think it was really you.”
“It’s really me.”
“Miss Neely is going to help us around here. Would you like that?” Aerial asks them, to which they wholeheartedly agree. “Good. Now, Mia, show me what you’ve been working on.”
Mia turns toward the opposite end of the room, her chest rising and falling a couple of times before she sprints down the mats and tosses her small frame into a roundoff back handspring.
Her friends clap as she jogs toward us, a smile splitting her cheeks.
“Great job, Mia,” Aerial exclaims.
“Very good,” I tell her when she reaches us. “I didn’t think you had that yet.”
Aerial gives me a weird look. “How do you know her?”
“We met at the café,” Mia tells her. “I told her about the show.”
“Oh,” Aerial draws out. “I see.”
“Are you coming?” Mia asks me.
“I’m going to try. Okay?”
Aerial cuts in, giving Mia a pointer about her back handspring. I’m too distracted by my phone to pay much attention. It’s a number local to Tennessee, but I don’t know it.
“Hello?” I ask, turning away from Aerial.
“Neely? It’s Claire.”
“Oh, hey.” I laugh. “How’d you get my number?”
“Your mom.”
“Naturally,” I say, shaking my head. “What’s up?”
“Mucker’s tonight. Nine o’clock. Be there. This is not a request.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“I do. Be there or I’m coming after you,” she insists. “I’ve told everyone you’ll be there, and I don’t go back on my word. So, come. Okay?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Aerial smiling at me. I consider telling her no and spending the night brainstorming ways to get my life back together. But something about the way Aerial looks at me, and the way Claire seems so determined, makes me reconsider. Maybe I need a night away from the pressures of New York after all. If it’s weird at Mucker’s, I can always leave, and if nothing else, it will give me good stories to entertain Grace with.
“Okay,” I relent. “I’ll be there.”
“Yay! Let me know if you need a ride.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Except for the ache in my cheeks from smiling so hard.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NEELY
And then that movie star walked in. What’s his name?” Grace asks. The phone muffles as she bobbles it on her end. “You know who I mean. He’s in that movie I love.”
“Oh, him,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “I know exactly who you mean.”
“Damn it. Now it’s going to drive me nuts.” She takes a breath before carrying on about her story from dinner. As she delves into the whos and whats of her evening, I tune out and focus on mine.
Mucker’s sits before me like an old friend. The one-room sandwich shop, with its basket of fake ferns hanging by the front door, may as well be holding its arms wide open. It’s been a staple of the community for fifty years. Focusing mostly on pizza and burgers with a decent selection of beer, it’s the place to go in Dogwood Lane once the sun goes down. It’s the only place, too, but that’s beside the point.
There’s a door inside that opens into a lot that was once a dilapidated basketball court. The owners bought it years ago and put a brick wall waist high around the perimeter. With some added shrubs and black iron fencing, it’s a cozy little patio that gets more use than the seven or eight tables inside the actual pub.
As Grace chatters on, I do my best to figure out who’s here. The shrubs are so big, and the only light comes from an outdoor lantern hanging above the door and haphazardly hung string lights around the fencing. It’s difficult to make out anything, or anyone, for sure.
It’s the “anyone” part that has my palms sweaty.
“And we were supposed to listen to a comedian uptown, but screw that.” Grace sighs. “I’ve had enough action for one night.”
“Sounds like it.”
She snorts. “Whatever. You weren’t even listening.”
“I was too!” Moving up in the driver’s seat, I shake the fog from my head. A warm breeze billows through the open car window. “You told me all about . . . dinner . . .” I scramble to come up with something else she talked about but fall short. “And your outfit?”
“It’s a good thing I love you.” She laughs. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Not what I should be doing.” My index finger touches my lips, and despite all the germs I know are on my fingernail, I bite it anyway. “I’m so stupid, Grace.”
“You better not tell me you’re at home throwing a pity party. I swear to all that’s holy I’ll be on the next flight to Tennessee.”
Someone stands on the other side of the fence. A blue cap rises just to the top of the shrub, and I can barely make out a Dodgers logo.