The Moon and More (29 page)

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” I said to Benji, as we all got out. “We’ll go golfing again, or something.”

“Yeah? Awesome!”

I waved, then started up towards the house to say hello to Theo. I was almost to the steps when Morris called out, “Hey. Emaline.”

“Yeah?”

“You know I’ll miss you, too.”

“Yeah, I know.” I smiled. “Talk later.”

“Talk later.”

So ridiculous, I thought, swallowing over the lump that was suddenly in the back of my throat as he backed down the driveway. I climbed up the stairs and knocked on the door, taking a few deep breaths. But even with my best efforts, and knowing how silly the reason, when Theo opened the door he still had to ask me why I was crying.

MOST PLACES IN town were not open at eight thirty a.m. on a Saturday. But the Colby Fitplex was not like most places.

It was a gym, although in my experience, there was never that much actual working out going on. This morning, for instance, as I got on the treadmill, the group I’d dubbed the Coffee Klatch was already at the tables by the front door. Senior citizens who gathered bright and early every day at the Fitplex, ostensibly to exercise, but mostly to shoot the breeze, their routine never varied. It went like this: fill coffee cup, drink slowly while seated and discussing town gossip and news, drag yourself over to ride the bike for five minutes or do one set on a machine on the lowest-weight setting; repeat.

There were some people exercising. Like the diminutive woman in her early sixties who always showed up clad in a leotard, tights, and a headband of varying neon colors. She’d stretch extensively, then do a routine with five-pound dumbbells, facing the mirror, with the seriousness and exertion level of an Olympic power lifter. There were grunts, gasps, and dramatic drops at the end of the set that sent the dumbbells bouncing across the floor to bump anyone who happened to be standing nearby. Which, more often than not, was an
older fishing boat captain who showed up with his mat every morning, spreading it out to do the downward dogs and sun salutations he’d tell anyone who would listen had saved his bum knee from needing surgery.

Really, that was the true workout, avoiding the Klatch and the talkers so you could actually break a sweat.

I’d started coming to the Fitplex the previous fall, just as all my college stuff was really heating up. I kept waking up in the middle of the night, heart racing, panicking about essays and applications, unable to get back to sleep. I tried not eating before bed, giving up coffee, and making other major sacrifices, but nothing worked. Finally, my mom convinced me to go to the doctor, who diagnosed “situational anxiety” and told me to get some exercise. From then on, when I woke up super-early and couldn’t calm down, I came here.

There was something oddly soothing about working out while the rest of the world was asleep. I drove down empty streets, past dark houses, the only stoplights blinking yellow. The Fitplex opened at six sharp, and invariably some of the Klatch was already there, getting the coffeemaker going, as I slipped in, scanned my membership card, and untangled my headphones from around my iPod. On the most stressful days, I hit the treadmill and ran for three or four miles. Other days, I did the elliptical or the bike. As long as I was moving, my heart pumping for reasons I could understand, I felt better. So much so that, once all the applications were in and I started sleeping through the night more regularly, I still dragged myself out of bed to work out a couple of mornings a week.

Now, as the older woman flexed her wiry, bird-like biceps at her reflection, I got on one of the open treadmills and cranked up the speed, starting with an easy jog. Because it was Saturday, and later than I normally showed up, the place was a bit more crowded, with people dotting the rows of machines here and there. The line of TVs were all on, some turned to morning news, one to a foodie show (which always seemed counterintuitive to me, watching people cook while running), another to a rerun of the same modeling reality show Amber always watched. With my music filling my ears, I alternated among them, which resulted in one crazy quilt of a show: headlines, celebrities, photo shoots, and corn bread preparation. When it got to be too much, I upped my speed and stared straight ahead at nothing. That’s when I saw Luke’s mom.

She was on one of the leg machines, doing a Klatch-like light and short set. As always, she looked totally put together: stretchy black pants, an East U T-shirt, and bright white running shoes, her hair pulled back in a pert ponytail. I suspected it was one of her first times at the Fitplex, both because I’d never seen her there before and by the workout she was doing, the same one they set up everyone with on the welcome tour. After a minute, I stopped watching her and put my head down, hoping that somehow this would also make me invisible to her.

No luck. Around mile two and a half, I happened to glance up at the clock on the opposite wall just as she was passing in front of it. Our eyes met, and I instantly felt my face flush even more. Before I could look away again, she was headed over.

This didn’t surprise me. If Mrs. Templeton was anything, it was polite; she wasn’t the type to dodge anyone due to awkwardness, or any other reason for that matter. I did my best to channel the same as she got closer, making myself smile as I slid off my headphones. Still, I didn’t break stride.

“Emaline,” she said warmly, smiling at me. “I didn’t know you were a member here.”

“I come for the treadmills,” I replied. “Also, there aren’t a lot of other gym options.”

“So I discovered when I decided to get in shape for the wedding.” She looked around the room, over at the Klatch, then back at me. “I’m determined to wear a sleeveless dress and
not
have my arms all jiggly. Although it may be a losing fight.”

“No way,” I told her. “You can build arms quickly. At least, that’s what the magazines say.”

She smiled at me, and I could just feel the Talking About Anything but Luke part of the conversation coming to an end. Sure enough, the next thing she said was, “We sure do miss you around the house lately.”

I actually felt myself start running faster in reaction to this, and had to force a slowdown. “I miss you all, too.”

It was true. I’d spent much of the last three years of my life over at the Templetons’, sharing dinners, weekend barbecues, and holidays. I’d even been the one who named their dachshund: she was Grace, which was my grandmother’s name. I
loved
that dog. It was such a weird thing how a breakup stretched much wider than you expected. You didn’t just lose a person, but their entire world as well.

“Brooke is really hoping you’ll still make the wedding,” she continued, as I worried fleetingly if I was splattering sweat on her. She was the kind of person who prompted this sort of concern. I slowed down. “I hope you know we want you to be there. Regardless of what is going on with—”

“Of course,” I said quickly, cutting her off. I felt so light-headed, suddenly. I wasn’t even sure I could bear to hear her say his name, much less finish this sentence. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

She smiled at me, just as the woman in the leotard again dropped her weights with a clank, distracting both of us. When we regrouped, I nodded at the treadmill console and said, “Well, I should probably …”

“Oh, of course!” She laughed. “Forgive me. I couldn’t even say one word while running at that speed, much less carry on a conversation.”

I smiled, slipping my headphones back into my ears. “It’s good to see you. Good luck with the workouts.”

“I think I’ll need it.” And then, before I could react, she reached out to my sweaty right hand and patted it gently with her own. “You take care, honey.”

I nodded, and then, thankfully, she was walking away, over towards the triceps machines. I found my spot on the wall again, cranked the speed up another two notches, and ran the last mile hard, almost wishing, at times like this, that I still had my applications to distract me. By the time I was done, she was gone.

“Okay. Keep your eyes closed.”

Another date with Theo, another Big Surprise. It was embarrassing enough be sitting there, blind, in a public place. This time, though, I had an audience.

“Are you looking? Don’t look.”

“I’m not looking,” I murmured, although I was sure everyone else was.

“Okay, one more second.” I felt Theo back moving beside me; something bumped my elbow. “And … now. Open your eyes!”

I did. The first thing I saw was Morris, across from me, a bored, slightly annoyed look on his face. Beside him, Daisy appeared slightly alarmed. And then there was the sparkler.

It wasn’t like I could miss it. It was one of those big ones, lit and spitting in all directions. At its base was a small, heart-shaped chocolate cake that had something written on it in pink icing, not that I could make it out through the pyrotechnics. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to blow this thing out or just let it run its course, so I just sat there watching it burn down, down, down until it ended with a fizzle, leaving a cloud of smoke behind.

“Wow,” I said, as Daisy coughed, politely covering her mouth with her hand. “What’s the occasion?”

“You don’t know?” Theo asked me. A large group of tourists, sporting sunburns and fresh bathing-suit strap marks, were all watching us from the next table over. “It’s our two week anniversary today.”

“Oh, right,” I said quickly, looking at him and smiling. “I just … the sparkler distracted me. Happy, um, anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary,” he repeated, then he leaned forward and kissed me. A real kiss, not the kind you normally engage in on a date with another couple when half the restaurant is watching. I felt so bad about forgetting the date, however, that I felt like I couldn’t pull away as quickly as I would have liked. When we did finally break, I did everything to avoid seeing Daisy’s face. She hated public displays of affection even more than mopeds and mom jeans.

Instead, I focused on removing the sparkler and setting it aside so I could read the message on the cake.
WILL YOU
…? it said, the question mark ending in a fancy curlicue.

“Will I …” I repeated, glancing at Theo, “what?”

“That’s the second part of the surprise,” he replied, reaching inside his sport jacket and pulling out a pink piece of paper with a bow on it. “Here.”

“Theo,” I said. “This is too much.”

“What? It’s our anniversary. Open it.”

Now I did risk a look at Daisy, only to see on her face something worse than offense or annoyance: pity. Oh, God, I thought. All I’d wanted, with this double date, was to show her and Morris why they were wrong about Theo. If I could just get us all together for one meal, I’d reasoned, they would quickly see he was not, as they thought, an obnoxious summer person, know-it-all, or big-city snob. Despite my best effort, though, so far I’d proven just the opposite.

It had started with the sport coat. Actually, scratch that. It had started with the restaurant. My idea was to go to the Inlet Drive-In, which had some of the best shrimp burgers in town, and just eat at the picnic tables there. We’d get some of
our favorite food, and Theo would get to experience a bit of the real Colby, done our way. Win-win. But he had other ideas.

“A double date! Sounds great,” he’d replied. “I just read about this new pan-Asian place in the paper. I’ll make us a reservation.”

“Pan-Asian?” I’d repeated. “In Colby?”

“No, it’s somewhere else.” He turned around from the kitchen sink, where he was busy washing some huge grapes Ivy apparently required to have on hand at all times, picking up his phone. After pushing a few buttons, he said, “Cape Frost. That’s not far, right?”

“It’s not close, exactly.”

He squinted at the screen, reading off of it. “‘Offering a range of both traditional and modern Asian fare, Haiku boasts an extensive sushi bar, a wide array of sake choices, and one of the best vegetarian menus in the area.’ Great, right?”

“I guess,” I said, sounding uncertain even to myself. “But it might be easier if we just, you know, stay closer to home and keep it simple.”

“It doesn’t get much simpler than sushi,” he pointed out, going back to his grapes. “Fish. Rice. Seaweed.”

“I don’t think Morris is much of a fan of that.”

“What about Daisy? I’m sure she has a more adventurous palate, right?”

“Why? Because she’s Asian?”

He gave me a look. “Emaline. I don’t stereotype.”

“I’m just saying—”

“What I meant,” he continued, over me, “is that Daisy, from what you’ve said, has a very urban sensibility when it comes
to fashion. I figured that might apply to cuisine as well.”

Now I felt like the one stereotyping, which was why I didn’t tell him Daisy, for all her reading of
Vogue
and
Harper’s Bazaar
, preferred pizza above just about all other food. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He was drying the grapes now, carefully, with a paper towel. “Look, just let me make a reservation. I promise, they’ll like it.”

So earlier that evening, I’d put on jeans and one of my nicer tops, pulled back my hair, and worn some eyeliner—all things I never would even think of doing for a shrimp burger at the Inlet. Because I was dressed differently, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised to see Theo do the same. But the sport jacket still felt like a bit much.

He
was
wearing it casually, with jeans and a button-down white oxford shirt, expensive sneakers on his feet. Personally, though—and I knew this said more about me than him—I associated any kind of dress jacket with formals and funerals, not dinner. I could only hope Morris wasn’t in shorts.

He was. And a T-shirt, albeit what looked like either a new or newly laundered one. Daisy, true to form, looked gorgeous in a floral dress and sandals, a simple white eyelet cardigan over her shoulders. When they walked out of the house, Theo jumped from his seat, opening the back door for her. Morris, not noticing, got in first.

Oh, dear
, I thought. Out loud I said, “Everybody ready for a road trip?”

“Let’s go to the Inlet,” Morris asked. “I could
dominate
on a shrimp burger right now.”