Chapter Nineteen
Ivy
Breathe in through your nose and release a long exhale out of your mouth,” Rose says, her perfect posture evident in my peripheral vision.
I’m on a Pilates reformer, stretching out my muscles at the only Pilates studio in the small radius of geography that is usually my life.
The studio is on the outskirts of town, past several neighborhoods and nearly in the next town.
I close my eyes, my legs in the machine straps, the tension and release of my muscles soothing.
I developed a regular Pilates practice early in my dance career, and it’s stuck with me.
I use it for injury prevention, for strength, and, for tonight, to clear my mind.
The emotional waves I’ve been riding this season have made me feel like it should be summer instead of winter in New England.
Rose speaks again. “The next time your carriage has returned to the starting position, lift your legs to a tabletop.” There’s a pause as calming music flows throughout the space. “And point and flex your feet. And point. And flex. And point. And flex.”
I’ve worked myself into the rhythm when I hear a whispered, “Psst” in my ear. That’s odd. No one ever talks during these classes except for the instructor. I attempt to ignore it, crack my eyes open, and then catch a frantic wave to my left.
“Psssssst!” It comes again.
Halting my movements, I disrupt my concentration to find my grandmother on the once-empty machine next to me, the gleeful look on her face a pretense that she didn’t somehow stalk me to this location. My carriage crashes with a thump that causes me to wince.
“Gram!” I exclaim in a whisper-shout.
Rose looks my way while my grandmother stretches like she’s been doing it for years. Maybe she has, and I’ve never known?
“What are you doing here?”
A woman on the other side tries to shush me, and I shrug apologetically before flopping back on the reformer. My thoughts are positively scrambled.
Rose’s pleasant voice continues, “And carefully release your legs from the straps.”
I do as I’m told, trying to rush to get to the part when I can hear what I know will be a wild explanation from my grandmother.
“Hug your knees into your chest, and rock side to side. If that’s not available to you, simply keep your knees hugged into your chest.” Rose’s sweet tones ring throughout the space, and within a few more movements, we’re done, and I nearly leap off the machine.
Looking over, my grandmother nonchalantly wipes down her equipment with the provided sanitary wipes and acts as if she hasn’t just crashed my class.
Hurrying, I wipe my own station, waiting for Gram to be finished.
When she has satisfied the basic fundamentals of social hygiene, I—lovingly—grab her hand and pull her toward the lobby as fast as her clearly strong-cored frame can move.
How she snuck into the studio within the last few minutes without causing a scene is eluding my understanding.
“Gram!”
“Yes, darling?” she replies serenely. Her outfit is of notably better quality than mine; a little jacket she had stowed in a cubby is now wrapped around her shoulders.
I pinch the space between my eyes with my thumbs. “Gram, what are you doing here? At this studio?”
“Oh, I’ve been coming here for years.”
“You—what?” My mind can’t comprehend how the time and space continuum between our lives has merged to this degree.
“Yes, darling. Who did you think you got all your coordination from? It’s definitely not from your mom’s side of the family, though we love them.” With a little laugh, she grabs her purse.
“You’ve been—and I—” I point to the studio and watch as more students filter in and out.
“I know, dear. Now, let’s go get a cup of tea and get down to the business of why I’m really here.”
We walk a few doors down from the studio to the national coffee chain on the corner. It’s no Sparrow’s Beret, but desperate times and all that. Besides, it’s the only thing open at this time of night within a thirty-mile radius.
When we’re sitting at the table, cups of peppermint tea in front of us, Gram gives me a knowing look. It’s the one she’s always used when we needed life advice. And it’s then I know I’m about to get emotionally pummeled, even though I know she’ll be right.
“I have things to say.” That’s all Gram gives me before taking a bite from her cake pop.
I’m growing more astonished by this woman by the moment. “Okay, Gram.”
“My dear, I’ve watched you accomplish great things, training students, training yourself.
You’ve worked hard. You’ve traveled the world.
You’ve returned home. And I am immensely proud of you.
” All the kindness and encouragement disarm me, even though I’m used to her affection.
But what isn’t she telling me? “Jace is your person,” Gram continues.
The sip of tea I took for the sake of doing something with my hands shoots toward the back of my throat and my nose. I cough and take a sip from my water bottle. “Come again?”
“Jace. He’s your person. So is Emmy. They’re your people. I’ve seen him around town. I’ve seen the two of you around town. And I’ve been trying to work my magic, you know.”
“Gram, you can’t say things like that.”
“I just did.”
“Yes, but—Gram, there are feelings involved.”
“You love him. Or if you don’t fully yet, you will.”
“Are you some sort of Christmas fortune cookie reader right now, or what is happening?”
“Your grandfather and I met years before we got married. There was both a misunderstanding and a series of events that kept us apart for a time. I nearly missed out on the most important person to me in my whole life because I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.”
Tears fill my eyes unintentionally. Even though I’ve heard this story countless times, I’ve never heard Gram talk about my grandfather quite like this. Suddenly, it feels like we’re sharing in a common experience rather than her relaying it to me as a story.
“It was a magical night. Your grandfather and I met in the winter. It was snowing, and I nearly slipped. He caught me. He’s caught me ever since. I realize now it was love at first sight.”
“Gram, that’s great, but this is different.” I swallow.
“What aren’t you saying?” Her gentle hand, covered in age spots from her days tanning on the beaches of North Hampton, covers mine.
Taking a sip of tea, I breathe deeply before setting the cup back on the table between us.
“That if he leaves my life again”—I shift, pulling the edges of my sleeves over my empty hands—“I’ll always be alone.
” Gram’s concerned expression urges me to keep speaking, so I continue, “Sure, I could find someone out there to marry and have a family with. But that man wouldn’t be Jace.
My heart is so attuned to him that even though he is currently in Birch Borough, he already feels like the one that got away . . .”
“Because he’s your person.”
I sniffle and wipe my eyes. “Yeah, I think he might be, if he chooses to be. And that’s what I’m scared of.”
“You’re right to be scared. We can’t predict someone else’s choices.
Free will and all that. But hang on, my dear.
Have courage and take hope. You’re stronger than you know.
You always have been.” She draws herself up to her full height, the compassion in her tone still present, but on her face is the expression of a woman who’s always told me the brutal truth.
Gram continues after a moment’s pause. “Also, I’m well aware of your innate drive to be perfect.
You’ve always sought to avoid punishment or embarrassment in all things .
. . since you were a little girl asking for a middle brownie instead of one on the edge of the pan.
And it’s holding you back from living the fullness of the life you are meant to have.
You’re doing better than you were, but you really need to let it go, dear. ”
“What?” I say incredulously.
Her words come out slowly, as if she’s speaking with as much care as I speak to one of my elementary school students.
“Perfection isn’t going to do you any favors.
It steals your joy. It weighs down your heart.
It poisons the good things you could think about yourself.
If you want Jace, tell him. Because there’s no such thing as the perfect way to tell someone you love them.
The perfection happens just from loving them. ”
I sip my tea in silence and shock, and when I’m done, Gram leads us out into the night air.
Pointing her key fob at her car, it beeps as she yells, “Fancy catching you here, darling! See you at the gingerbread competition!”
Her joy releases something within me. Finally, I laugh and slide into my own car, watching as she reverses out of the space, and her headlights light the way back to town.
“What just happened?” I whisper to myself before starting the engine and planning how I’m going to win the upcoming competition on my own this year.