EPILOGUE
Two Years Later…
The San Juan sun glints like gold off the tinted windows of the enormous ícaro Studio—a space once part of our presidential suite. Outside the air-conditioned windows, ocean waves lick sand from the shore.
Inside, the pounding beat of the bomba drums accompanies the fitness class as the students bound across the room, following Liza, one of our top certified ícaro instructors, as she’s projected across the walls.
Bent over his drum, Mateo rocks his body as his big hands rhythmically match the instructors’ lithe moves. I’m thrilled he was able to be here today. He’s been so busy with his new mechanical engineering job with Puerto Rico’s green power grid initiative, but he was able to get some time for us today. It wouldn’t be the same without him here.
I clap my hands in time with the music. It’s a beautiful feeling to see so many enjoying their workout. The new Bailarcise routine Easton and I designed works so well with Mateo’s improved and expanded fitness equipment.
Despite a midnight premonition that something would go wrong today, the grand opening of La Vida Buena’s new health center and lifestyle community is a huge fiesta. I couldn’t be happier.
Someone nudges me from behind. I look over my shoulder to see Haydée, glammed up in a tight, gold-sequined, spaghetti-strap jumper, like she’s going to a gala and not the opening of a gym. I squeeze closer to the others watching the live fitness class, making room for her.
Already taller than me, Haydée’s staggering heels give her added height, so she leans down to whisper in my ear, “Liza and Mateo rock my design. Ver. Te dije.”
She’s right. The red-and-white LVB-branded workout gear Haydée designed—short, unisex fitted shorts, glam pants that she refuses to call yoga pants, muscle shirts, and her addition of sheer skorts and workout dresses—looks great.
“Yes, and you can barely notice the circular black-and-gold FTW patch.”
I bite off my smile, but she notices and frowns down at me. “It’s ridiculous. It’s not enough that you two took over my parents’ place so they could move into a newer, smaller unit, but does he need his name on everything? It’s not even his gym.”
She’sridiculous. She begged me and Easton to buy her parents’ place when they said they wanted to design one of the new spaces. “Ay. Stop that. Easton gave LVB special affiliated status with FTW so the people who work out here can donate to charity through his organization. It’s a big deal. And he asked very little in return.”
“Ay. No. If I was Mateo, I would’ve gotten that as a concession when he sold Easton the rights to use ícaro in his gyms.”
Running a hand along the swell of my belly, remembering that I am a full-fledged adult now, I manage not to roll my eyes even though I stick my tongue out at her.
“I don’t get it.” She points at the smiling people bounding around and shouting their joy as they work out. “Mateo’s not as smart as he thinks. It’s amazing Parker keeps coming back here to visit him.”
I know my cousin well enough to know this is more teasing than acrimony. She likes Parker, who I saw around here earlier with my aunt and uncle, likely grilling them on every detail of Mateo’s childhood. That woman is curious in the best way.
I switch topics to one I know she’ll like—her. “How goes the store? Not enough clients to keep you down there and busy?” That gets the snort-reaction I knew it would. Her and Kim’s flagship clothing and makeup store downstairs is booming. It deserves its featured spot along the avenue of shops that’s replaced our first-floor rooms.
She cocks a hip, places a hand there. “I came up here for the interview, pendeja. You think you get all the publicity?”
“As if you need any more publicity. Kim has been promoting the store nonstop on her channel.”
“Verdad.” She wrinkles her nose. “It smells like people in here.” She glances at her watch. “I’ll meet you out there.”
“It smells like success,” I tell her, but she’s already moved off.
I watch Mateo for a moment longer, watch the smiling, sweaty faces of our community, watch as, after years of planning and saving, arguing and scheming, the wellness community of my dreams takes shape. ?Wepa!
With a wave to Mateo—getting a return wink—I exit the new workout room, bypassing the saunas, and taking a shortcut through the spa to the original gym space.
Once there, I breathe in that familiar gym smell—rubber, steel, tenacity, and coconut. A line has formed at the health bar which has free samples of nutritionally-dense and calorie-light island recipes. Just a sample of what can be obtained at the restaurant, La Dulce Vida, that took over the bar downstairs.
I stop short when I notice Haydée not talking to the two news crews that are circling, but with Stone. She leans toward him, running a hand down his chest. He leans into her. They smile at each other with heat that should set off the sprinklers. Ay. They look good together. In fact, his outfit—a gold suit with black lapels—is suspiciously coordinated with hers.
How long has this been going on? Does Easton know? He and Stone had just returned from opening another FTW studio in Europe. This one in Madrid, Spain. Stone’s father, who I gather Stone is not that big a fan of, funded the franchise. Though it rankled Stone, Easton said it ended up being a good thing.
Where’s Easton? If he doesn’t know about Stone and Haydée, I have to tell him. He loves this kind of chisme.
Weaving through people, past camera operators, LVB workout shirts and towels being handed out, screens with digital displays of class schedules, I look for him. Floating through the crowd, I greet new clients and regulars alike, and stop when George, decked out from head to toe in LVB gear, steps in front of me.
“Hola, Yolanda.”
“Hola, Jorge. Estoy sorprendida de verte aquí.”
His gaze widens. “Why are you surprised I’m here?”
I like that he so easily understood me but switch to English, because he’s a bit slower in Spanish and I have only a few minutes before my interview to find Easton and share my gossip. “You were here for the five-a.m. class that Shell taught. Can’t get enough of us?”
Before he can answer, an arm snakes protectively around my baby bump, drawing me back against a firm, warm body. Tingles ride my spine with his heat at my back.
Easton’s lips brush my ear. “I think he’s trying to cheat the FTW fitness tracker.”
He points at the blue band around George’s wrist.
George and I laugh. The bands keep track of workouts and, therefore, points members use to earn money for charity.
“As long as it’s for a good cause,” I say.
George looks around. “It’s all for a good cause. Soy orgulloso de ti.”
The tears come, rimming my eyes. I manage to hold them back. I’ve been so emotional since I got pregnant. Mateo says that means I’m having twins. Though I don’t know that for sure, I like the idea.
Because I need my mascara to stay in place, I stuff all that emotion back inside—at least until I’m interviewed. Still, it means so much that he’s proud of me.
“Gracias.” Spontaneously, I grasp his hand, squeeze. “It’s all thanks to gente like you.” He was one of the first people to buy a home here, one of the first to become a lifetime member of LVB. “People who’ve believed in me and encouraged me to keep fighting for this dream.”
With his own eyes misting, George kisses me lightly on the cheek before he walks away.
Easton turns me in his arms, staring lovingly down on me. “People did support you,” he says, “but make no mistake about it, you did this. Your vision not only created this unique place, but it enhanced your community, the lives of your family, and my life. I adore you, Yolanda Blake Vasquez.”
My heart beats as if I’d just finished an ícaro class. “Te amo, mi amor. You are where my heart belongs.”
I tiptoe up. He bends down. We meet in the middle in a kiss that steals us from the world and opens us to where we were always meant to be.
With each other.