chapter ten
HE’S LOOKING AT you like a lost puppy,” Mel whispers as we head to the rower.
I spent the first half of our gym session filling her in on the events of last night. Like Tara, Mel is also a traitor, it seems. She’s aboard the Scott Ritchie train with a nonrefundable ticket. In fact, her enthusiasm for him heightened ten notches when he politely returned her water bottle after she forgot it at the assisted pull-up machine. I tried to tell her he doesn’t deserve a cookie for merely existing, but she dismissed me.
At no point in our entire workout has he stolen any of my machines. In fact, when it appeared we were headed for the same cable machine, he stopped and veered left. He hasn’t even given me his usual disarming smirk from across the gym.
“Did you say he was a firefighter?” she asks in between rows.
“Apparently,” I mutter, suppressing invading thoughts of him heroically dodging a perilous, fiery blaze to herd defenseless goldendoodle puppies to safety, while shirtless, of course.
She not-so-subtly ogles him from across the gym. “Don’t you think he looks like that guy from that Nicholas Sparks movie . . . the one who married Miley Cyrus?”
“They’re divorced now,” I say, suddenly feeling defensive of Liam Hemsworth for absolutely no logical reason at all. “And you can put your pregnancy test away. I’m not dating Scott. But if you think he’s so attractive, maybe you should date him—though I’d advise against it.”
She snorts. “I have a boyfriend. Peter, remember? He looks like Henry Golding. That’s enough handsome for me.”
I refrain from drooling at the thought. “Henry Golding, hashtag too beautiful for this world.”
We giggle, and I pretend not to admire Scott’s endurance from afar as he does what looks to be a painful number of cleans and presses.
When Mel’s gaze follows mine, I avert my stare and clap toward the rower. “You’re doing amazing. A couple hundred more meters and you’ll be free.”
“I think you should just see what he’s about. Rebound or not. Use his body for sex, even,” she suggests, completely disregarding what I’ve just said.
My neck prickles with heat at the mere mention of having sex with Scott. If our locker make-out was any indication of how incredible it would be, I would probably be ruined for life. “I’m not about the other woman life, thanks.”
As Mel finishes her last few meters, I accidentally meet Scott’s eyes as he takes a break. My cheeks flush instantly at his kind smile. This time, it isn’t that cocky grin. It appears genuine. It screams I’m sorry.
What a mess I’ve made. Why hasn’t modern science cracked time travel yet? I’m desperate to launch myself back in time so I can avoid our hot-and-heavy make-out. I hate the awkwardness. In fact, I’d take the petty rivalry any day over this.
Making a concerted effort to ignore his entire being, I keep my eyes locked forward as Mel and I head for the exit. Before I go through the turnstile, footsteps jog up behind us.
It’s Scott, looking no worse for wear after an intense CrossFit circuit. “Crystal? Can we talk before you go?”
Mel gives me a sly look and a rushed wave. “Later, girl,” she calls over her shoulder, deserting me in the sun-filled entranceway with Scott. I make a mental note to plot an extra-difficult workout for her next time as revenge for her callous abandonment in my time of need.
I turn to him, folding my arms across my chest, gym bag dangling from my shoulder.
He glances at the floor before bringing his gorgeous eyes back to mine. The sunlight illuminates the gold flecks among the dense green. “What’s it going to take for you to accept my apology?”
“I accept your apology. Happy?” I say robotically, purely to get him off my back. I have more important shit to do today than stand here and argue with him.
He blinks down at me. “Really? Because you’re looking at me like you want to castrate me with a butter knife.”
“Maybe you deserve harsh punishment.” I let those words linger a few moments before he swallows, as if fearing for his life. “And just because I might accept your apology doesn’t mean your girlfriend should,” I add.
He sighs, averting his gaze to the ceiling, as if praying to the gods above for assistance. “I don’t know how to prove to you I don’t have a girlfriend.”
I shrug, giving him nothing as another gym patron impatiently walks around us, shooting us a cross-eyed glare as if we’ve single-handedly inconvenienced his day. We inch to the left so we’re no longer blocking the entire entrance.
Scott runs his hand across the back of his neck. “Look, why don’t you just ask Flo? I told my grandpa about my breakup last night. I wouldn’t lie to him.”
I give him a bored stare before turning for the exit. “Maybe I will.”
• • •
GRANDMA FLO HAS always been a hoarder. She isn’t as extreme as some of those people on that TLC show with rotting garbage and dead cat carcasses among stacks of newspapers from 1978, but it’s still worth an intervention.
There are at least fifty editions of Oprah magazine under her side table, along with endless baskets overflowing with yarns of all colors and itchy-looking textures. She also has an expansive collection of those creepy Precious Moments figurines adorning the mantel above the fireplace. I stare down a particularly demonic-looking one masquerading as a delicate ballerina as I wait for her to bring me tea. It sits next to a dusty framed photo of Mom and Uncle Bill in their youth, botched haircuts and all.
There’s a smaller picture frame to the left that houses my and Tara’s wallet-size school portraits, side by side. Tara is twelve and is the spitting image of Dad, only with a delightful toothy grin and thick, sideswept bangs. Meanwhile I’m at peak awkward stage at ten, mid-blink, sporting thrice-layered assorted-color tank tops from Hollister. When asked why in God’s name she’d display this photo of me, of all photos, her response is always something to the effect of “It captures your essence,” and I’m left to question my entire life.
“Be careful, it’s piping hot.” She sets the mug over the coaster on the coffee table, littered with Joann Fabrics coupons.
“Thanks, Grandma.” The floral couch squeaks as I lean forward to take the steaming mug. “So how are the wedding preparations coming along?”
She settles into her La-Z-Boy, crochet slippers pointed to the ceiling. “Most of the big details are already set. Tara is organized as all get-out. There are just some small things, like the centerpieces, that need sorting.”
I give her an uncomfortable nod after blowing on the scorching tea. Aside from clearing up the Scott conversation, I’m desperate to ask whether she and Martin were together before Grandpa died. But there is no tactful way to go about it.
“I’m surprised you decided to go for such a big wedding,” I say instead.
She shrugs, tugging at her blouse. “Grandpa and I never really had a wedding. He didn’t care about the glitz and the glam. You know how he was. Wasn’t much for being the center of attention.” She’s right. Grandpa didn’t even like being photographed, let alone having an entire day all about him. “So anyway, when it came to a wedding, he decided it would be better if we just put the money toward a house. So that’s what we did.”
“Were you okay with that?”
“I kind of had to be. It was his money,” she says matter-of-factly. She likes to remind me of the old-school ways. As if it’s the way things should be.
Grandma was a stay-at-home mom, while Grandpa worked in the financial district, controlling the funds exclusively. Grandma didn’t even own a purse until he passed away.
“So does Martin want a grand wedding too?”
“He didn’t have much of a first wedding either. He and Sheila eloped. In Vegas, if you can imagine. I suppose we both wanted it. And it helps Tara out so she doesn’t have to lose her deposits.” Her voice trails as she absentmindedly fidgets with the hem of her blouse. “Do you think it’s crazy? Me getting married at seventy-seven?”
When she puts it that way, it’s hard to say no. Despite my suspicions about the overlap between Martin and Grandpa, it suddenly seems wrong to call her out on it. Realistically, I want her to be happy and guilt-free, regardless of the past.
I shake my head, forcing a smile. “No. I think it’s great. Are you guys going to move in together?”
“Eventually. But we’re having a heck of a time deciding on where. I don’t want to move out of this house, and the stubborn man doesn’t want to move from his. He suggested downsizing, but . . .” She casts a sad gaze around her cluttered living room. “I just don’t know about that.”
I cringe at the inevitable task of sorting through all of this junk. God knows what creatures we’ll unearth. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out before the wedding. There’s no rush.”
“So,” she says, taking a sip of her own tea, eyes glinting. “What did you think of Scotty?”
My shoulders fall with relief. I’m thankful I didn’t have to bring it up. “I actually wanted to talk to you about him. But first, I wanted to apologize for leaving your dinner so early. I wasn’t feeling well.”
She nods, as if she already knew. “No sweat, dear.”
There’s a pregnant pause before I come out with it. “Does Scott have a girlfriend?”
The corners of her lips curl upward, amused. “Why? Do you fancy him?” Before I can even respond with an exaggerated No, she continues on. “I thought he’d be perfect for Tara. But she might be better off with someone who will dote on her and shower her with his undivided attention. Scott is too busy for that. But you—oh, I could see him with you. Imagine your children!” She hoots and clasps her hands together at the mere thought of us procreating.
My eyes widen and I lean back, away from her. “Anyway.” I clear my throat, trying to steer her back to my original question. “I thought Martin said he had a girlfriend?”
“That’s what everyone thought. But Scotty told him after dinner they’d recently parted ways. Something about the distance being too hard on them. Marty said he seemed down about it. Poor thing.”
I’m rendered silent for a moment, clutching my mug. I’m relieved to find out Scott wasn’t lying about being newly single. He’s not a cheater after all. But it still doesn’t change the fact that he’s just gotten out of a relationship and he’s “down” about it.
“But,” Grandma continues, “if you ask me, he has nothing to worry about. He won’t stay single for long. He’s quite the catch. All-American. Handsome. Nice to Martin. Family oriented. Heroic. Works a lot though . . . but that means he’d be a good provider. What if I set something up? Are you free tomorrow night?”
“Thanks, Grandma. But I don’t know if he’s my type.” I conveniently leave out that we’re gym nemeses and we loathe each other.
“What’s that, dear? You’re mumbling.” She holds her hand to her ear theatrically.
“I don’t think he’s my type,” I repeat.
She gives me a knowing once-over, as if I’ve just said something completely ludicrous. “Oh, honey. He’s everyone’s type. And you’re getting on in age, you know.”
Grandma Flo is a product of the fifties, not that it’s an excuse to be ignorant. But she still firmly believes women should be married in their twenties. Being in your late twenties and unmarried is bordering on spinster status, as per her humble opinion.
“Unless you’re still interested in being one of those career types. I can really picture that for you,” she says, still unable to grasp the concept that women can balance both family and career.
I pretend to check my phone, ignoring the fact that my own grandmother envisions me dying alone. “I have to get back for a virtual meeting with my client,” I lie. “But I’ll see you tomorrow for your bloodwork appointment?” I’m the one who takes Flo to all her various appointments, given I have the most flexible schedule in the family.
She nods, watching me as I stand. “I’ll be ready with bells on.”
As I sit in her driveway behind the steering wheel, I find myself back on Scott’s Instagram page. Maybe I owe him an apology. It’s the least I can do for giving him a hard time and wrongfully accusing him of philandering.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
You were right. Sorry for not believing you.
By the time I pull into the parking garage of my apartment building, Scott has responded.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
You talked to Flo?
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
I did. She confirmed your singleness.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
Does that mean you no longer wish death upon me?
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
To be determined.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
So when are you taking me on a hot date?
I scoff when I read his text. What is it with guys and their inability to stay single?
You’ve only been single for a little over two weeks. You’re probably still crying into your pillow over her, I want to type in all caps, bold and underlined. But instead of a dramatic response, I give myself a minute to calm down.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
Never.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
Can I ask why not?
I’m tempted to just tell it like it is: it’s too soon after his breakup. But I don’t. He is Squat Rack Thief, after all. I take pleasure in making him squirm.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
Because.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
“Because” isn’t an acceptable response.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
I’m allowed to turn you down without an excuse.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
That’s true. But I’m pretty sure you kind of like me. You even pretended your phone was missing so you could attack me in the changing room.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
You’re so full of yourself. That’s one reason I can’t go out with you.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
One reason? There are more?
I smile, knowing I’ve intrigued him.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
Yes.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
Care to share?
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
Stand by, this might take a while to type.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
Lol . . . Eagerly awaiting your novel.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
Aside from reason 1—the fact that your ego is the size of Boston . . .
2) We go to the same gym and our families are joining. What if things didn’t work out? We’d have to see each other. It would be weird and awkward for everyone involved.
3) I can only be wooed with classic joke pickup lines. You’ve failed to give me one I can’t refuse.
4) I’m not looking to be someone’s rebound.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
1) I’m really not conceited. It’s all an act. Part of my façade. But don’t tell anyone.
2) It’s only a date. Not a marriage proposal. If the date doesn’t go well, we can just be friends like mature adults.
3) Just wait for it.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
Do you like raisins? How do you feel about dates?
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
Oh, come on. That’s a great one.
I can’t help but notice he still hasn’t addressed reason number four. The glaring reason. The real one that’s authentically keeping me from taking him up on his offer.
CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL
It’s not the worst I’ve ever heard in the history of awful pickup lines.
RITCHIE_SCOTTY7
Alright. Challenge accepted.