We exchange a tentative smile, one that neither of us truly believes.
With a nod his direction, I flip my cart in a one-eighty and finally head to the cashier. He doesn’t follow.
By the time I pull the oddball items I don’t need from my cart and place them on the conveyor, the knot in my stomach has grown. I can’t even remember why I came to the grocery store to start with.
My subconscious seems to be scanning the area on high alert for Dane’s presence. I chastise myself again as I swipe my credit card.
It’s that simple.
Yeah, right.
It’s never that simple.
CHAPTER SIX
NEELY
There you are!”
Aerial’s dark ponytail swishes as she propels herself across the gym. If the bright overhead halogens weren’t enough to light up the room, her smile would do it.
Banners from competitions hang on the opposite wall, stretching the expanse of the room. They’re visual proof of the excellent teaching staff. The other walls display motivational quotes, pictures of students in their glory, and a rack of trophies in all shapes and sizes. Couple all that with the faint smell of sweat and bleach, and it’s like coming home.
“Get over here and give me a hug,” Aerial insists, coming at me with arms wide open.
“How are you?” I ask as she pulls me in.
“I was at Mucker’s last night and heard you were in town.” She releases me but holds my hands in between us as she steps back. “I was going to swing by your mama’s tonight and rail at you for not coming to see me.”
“I’ve just needed a couple of days to myself,” I say, curling my nose. It’s a simple gesture, an automatic one, but it gives enough away for Aerial to pick up on it.
“Things not so hot in New York?” When I don’t reply, just slump my shoulders for her benefit, she drops my hands. “Does this mean you’re home for good?”
She starts along the edge of the mats toward her office, motioning me to follow. A few younger girls are stretching on the far side of the gym and wave in my direction. I lift my hand and move it back and forth, earning a giggle from the group.
There’s a lightness in my steps as I follow Aerial. I’ve padded across these mats more times than I’ve ever walked anything in my life. They’ve caught my tears, heard my cheers, listened to my frustrations, and absorbed my perspiration. No matter what was happening in my life, what I was worried about or scared of, the gym was my sanctuary.
Aerial’s office is a small, purple space that fits her to a T. She sits at her desk, and I slide into a chair across from her.
“Want to talk about it?” she asks.
“What? New York or the show?” I tilt my head toward a folder with SUMMER SHOW stamped across the front. “I heard you’re in the throes of the best one ever.”
“It’s going to be great,” she says, eyes twinkling. “The backdrops are overboard and totally too much in the best way. We somehow roped a band from Nashville to play after the final performance on Saturday, and someone from the mayor’s office—Trudy, you won’t remember her, she got here after you left—helped with the carnival. It’s going to be incredible.”
“I can’t wait.”
“So . . .” She sits back in her chair. “Any chance my star student could hang around and help out with it this year?”
My laugh dances through the room. “I don’t think I’ll be around for the actual show, but I’d love to help out until I leave.”
“The girls would love that. You’re kind of a legend around here.”
“They’re going to be so disappointed.”
“Hardly,” she says. “I bust out your Finals tape every year as motivation.”
Memories from that epic night flicker through my mind, raising goose bumps across my arms. The roar of the crowd, the electricity floating through the air, the excitement rolling off my teammates as I stood in the center of the mat and waited for the music to start.
“I haven’t thought about that in a long time,” I admit.
“If I pulled out a perfect routine on national television, I’d think about it every day.”
“I’ve had a lot of other things to think about, you know. Like rent.”
She laughs with me.
“Trials of adulthood,” she says.
“I’m really not enjoying adulthood as much as I once thought I might. It’s freaking hard, Aerial.”
She smiles softly. “It doesn’t get any easier. But at least you’re home for a bit. How does it feel to be back in God’s country?”
It’s not a loaded question, but it certainly feels like one. By the contented smile on her face, I know she expects an answer full of sunshine and roses. That coming back seems like a perfect fit and akin to a warm robe on a cool evening. Truth is, it’s not. Not completely.
I struggle with how to explain that my adult memories take place on the streets of the city. How I love a good play in an antiquated theater and street food that may or may not make me sick. The museums brimming with history, the way you can sit in Central Park and lose yourself in the throngs of strangers, are my new normal. I miss them. I love them. I love them as much as I used to love the quiet streets of Dogwood Lane, especially when the streets here are filled with people who have lives and experiences I know nothing about anymore.
“It’s strange,” I say, tossing out the closest word I can find that gets near how I feel.
“Strange?”
“Yeah,” I admit, shrugging. “I’m a fish out of water. I drive through town or wake up in my old bedroom, and for a split second, it feels like that’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. But then I talk to people, even my own mother, and things aren’t like I remembered them. How could they be? I mean, I’m not the same person I was when I left, so why would they be? Does that make any sense?”
“Absolutely. But I bet you won’t feel so ‘fish out of water’ here long. You’ll find your stride.”
“I don’t know.” I cringe. “I’m used to being able to get a latte on every corner and Chinese at three in the morning. It’s like I’ve gone back in time.”
“No one needs Chinese at three in the morning.”
“When you’re putting together a piece that’s due at six a.m., you need Chinese at three,” I insist. “Trust me.”
She leans back and assesses me. Arms over her chest, eyes narrowed, she sweeps her gaze over my face in a way that makes me squirm. “So, Neely, why are you really home?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you here? And don’t give me the crap answer you’re giving everyone.”
Fidgeting in my seat, I shrug. “I’m visiting Mom.”
“Remember when you used to fall off the balance beam,” she says, “and I’d ask you girls why and you’d say you slipped. And I’d ask you why you slipped—what were you thinking?”
“Yes.”
“What were you thinking that made you want to come back after all this time?”
“I quit my job,” I say, shifting my weight.
“Maybe, but that’s not why you’re here.” She stands and leans against her desk. “Shouldn’t you be there job hunting?”
Scrubbing my hands down my face, I feel the weariness settle in my muscles. I should be there doing just that, but the thought of fighting that battle today is overwhelming. Being here, in the gym, at Mom’s, seems weirdly more palatable.
“Have you ever become so tired you felt like you were running on autopilot? Like you go through every day in survival mode and you hope tomorrow is better?” I ask.
“I’m a mom. So yes.”
I grin weakly. “I’m tired, Aerial. And not just from this whole job-loss, job-hunt thing—although I’m not enjoying that. But I’m just exhausted from life.”
The words aren’t a revelation, but saying them out loud seems to ring a lot truer than I even realized. I feel so much more run-down than I did when I ran in here, like verbalizing it to Aerial somehow gave me permission to feel it. As I wrap my brain around that, I imagine starting all over again—working my way up the ladder at a brand-new company—and I want to cry.
“Exhausted from life? How so?”
I suck in a deep breath and feel it fill my lungs. My chest is tight, too tight, almost, to fit all the oxygen I try to take in.
Standing, I pace a small circle around the office. “Do you ever feel like there’s more for you out there? Like you love what you do and you find satisfaction in it, but like there’s something else you could be doing that’s important and you just can’t quite get there?”
“Go on . . .”
“I thought the promotion I didn’t get was that, and now I feel like I have no freaking clue what I’m supposed to really be doing.”
She watches but doesn’t respond.
“I love what I do,” I insist. “I’ve done it for years, and the longer I do it, the months just add up and I expect to feel more validation, maybe, from it and it’s just not coming. Not like I thought.”
“You don’t feel fulfilled. That’s what you’re saying.”
“Maybe I don’t. I don’t know how to describe it.” I shrug. “But when things went to hell, for the first time, I didn’t overthink it. I came home.”
She walks around the desk and places a hand on my shoulder. “And we’re glad you did. But can I give you some advice?”
“Please?”
“There are some things in life you can’t find outside yourself. What you’re looking for is one of them.” She drops her hand. “My mother-in-law taught me that after I had my second child. I kept thinking this perfect little baby was supposed to complete me, you know? That’s what movies and books tell you. I had the house, the husband, the two cutest little girls, and yet I wanted something else. What I wanted, I found out, was to find me in the midst of all the things that make up me.”