Chapter Fifteen Jo
Chapter Fifteen
Jo
I snap a picture of the sight in front of me. It takes some finagling, but I manage to get both the bouquet I just made and the florist’s hand-painted glass door into the shot. I send it to Serena with the caption:
I’ve always wanted to do this bouquet making class so I finally did!
Her response comes as I’m descending the stairs to the subway:
Love this for you!! And on a Monday night no less!! I’m proud of you babe
She follows with:
You can be in charge of flowers on Amber’s wedding day. Make sure the florist doesn’t try to go cheap on her
Then—
If I find one carnation in any of her flowers I will go nuclear
I respond while I wait for the 1 train.
I will gladly take on the role of flower inspector at her wedding
I see an unread text from Silas, confirming he’s riding in my morning streaming class tomorrow.
For research , he said, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s starting to actually enjoy Haven Spin. I respond as the train is rolling in, then throw my phone into my tote and shove my way into the car. As soon as the doors close, I realize it’s too crowded for the AC to be effective. Immediately I regret taking the class in Midtown during peak rush hour , even if the experience was as joyful and meditative as I’d hoped it would be.
The idea came to me after Silas showed up in my class unannounced. When I saw his face, I was surprised that I wasn’t upset. There’d been no intrusive thoughts or panic over what he was thinking. Instead, delight ran through me, and I found myself smiling—no, grinning . When the two of us locked eyes, the rest of the world fell away, just long enough for something bright, something electric to pass between us.
I had to make a quick wardrobe change and ready myself for my next class, so we only spoke for a few seconds. But it was his presence—and the fact that I didn’t feel like I was going to hurl when he surprised me—that gave me the boost I needed to try something new. Again.
Unfortunately, it only takes about ten minutes of slow crawling through musty underground tunnels for the elation to wear off. The train keeps stalling; the announcer never says why. At each stop, more people force their way into the already packed car. I end up with the flowers pressed against my chest, my face in some man’s armpit, my hairline damp with sweat as I take deep breaths through my mouth to escape the smell of a stranger’s body odor.
By the time I emerge from the West 4th Street station thirty minutes later than I should have, my body feels sluggish. I have to drag myself down the two blocks to my apartment. The muggy heat of the evening compounds my exhaustion. The flight of stairs up to my apartment zaps the last of my energy.
I’ve been pushing too hard the last few weeks. With the already huge number of Haven Home clients still growing, I’m teaching the most classes of my career, plus doing my own strength training outside of work to balance out all the cardio. My physical therapist—a perk the company pays for—canceled our last session thanks to a nasty stomach bug, so my body feels out of whack. I should have taken the time to go to a restorative yoga class last week, but instead I chose to lie on my couch and rewatch Sex and the City for the millionth time.
All I can do tonight is take a long, serious shower and spend some time with my massage gun and recovery boots. First, I force myself to put my semi-smashed flowers into a vase with water before setting them on the coffee table. I would never forgive myself if I threw away $150 because I was too tired and lazy to take care of some damn hydrangeas.
Then I crank on the hot water, strip out of my clothes, and let the steam fill my tired lungs. I take my time, letting the heat soothe my aches as I deep condition my hair, shave my legs, and exfoliate every inch of my body. It’s a true Everything Shower that leaves me light-headed.
It’s when I’m stepping out of the wet stall and into the cool air that I feel a familiar twinge in my back. Panic starts to spread at the same rate as the pain emanating from a pinch in my lat. I hurry to dry off and throw my bathrobe on before the muscle spasm has the chance to really take over.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” I say to myself. This has happened enough times that I know what to expect next. I manage to knot the belt of my robe around my waist before the spasm takes me down to the floor, an insidious ache searing throughout the entirety of my back.
As I lie curled in the fetal position on the bath mat, my wet hair sticks to my face in globs. I force myself to breathe through the agony as I reach up to grab my phone off the counter. The last time this happened, it took a full twenty-four hours for the pain to subside, so I know I can’t teach two back-to-back classes starting at six A.M. tomorrow. I fire off a text to the instructor group chat to ask if someone can sub my classes.
In less than a minute, two junior instructors have snatched up the sub opportunity. My streaming classes come with an automatic roster of at least a few thousand people, so the youngsters always jump at the chance for exposure. Next I text Z to tell her I’m down with an injury—something only Mike and I are required to report to the CEO, being her stars. I consider telling Amber that I’m currently posted up on my bathroom floor in the fetal position, but she’s in Chicago on her work trip.
There’s no need to worry her or Serena; this kind of thing happens from time to time.
Scrolling through my texts, I pause on Silas’s name. He’s expecting to see me tomorrow morning. I should at least warn him I’ll be out.
I type between shaky breaths.
Down with an injury. Someone subbing for me tomorrow. You can still take the class.
I hit send and will myself not to cry. Normally I’m fine on my own, but in times like these, I wish I had someone who could help me. Even just a lift from the bathroom floor to the bed would be life altering now.
Then, like a monster, Silas calls me.