Page 2 of Waiting For Ever
“Are you a coffee drinker? Tea? I know tea is supposed to be the healthier option, but coffee will always be the nectar of the gods.” Allie holds up her cup in a salute.
“Uh, coffee would be great, thanks. I can get it, though. Where are the cups?”
She hands me one she’s already removed from the cupboard for me and I fill it from the urn on the counter and take a quick sip. The bitterness stings my tongue and throat. I take another.
Allie watches me for a moment like she wants to say something. She doesn’t. She simply flows past me and out of the kitchen. At the bottom of the stairs, she turns and says, “We’ll be heading to the fitness club in thirty minutes. Meet me back down here then, okay? And there’s cream and sugar if you don’t like it black.”
I don’t like it black, but I drink it that way to come off as low maintenance. I wander around the kitchen for a minute getting my bearings. She left some quick-grab breakfast out, beyond healthy no doubt. I peruse my choices suspiciously, opt for just the coffee today and head back upstairs to get my shit together.
Allie is great though, breakfast choices aside. She’s like the cool aunt who doesn’t treat you like a kid because she never had kids of her own. And she is. Cool, that is. She’s my mom’s oldest friend and lives in what’s known as the foothills below the Sierra Mountains of Northern California, about an hour’s drive from Oak Valley, the town I lived in my whole life. She runs a fitness studio and lives in this sprawling house that overlooks Blue Lake. Her whole existence is a chill, Zen state of being. Why she’s agreed to take me in is beyond me. Lately, I seem to be a magnet for whatever the opposite of Zen is. But she and my mom are more like sisters than friends, and she considers us family. More so than her own that I’ve never met and seldom hear her speak of. So maybe that’s why. Or maybe she’s just that nice. Either way, I’m here, in her space, trying to piece my life back together.
Here goes nothing, Ev. Adulting, here I come.
The thing is, I’m not exactly an adult. Eighteen last month, so technically I guess I’m an adult, but I feel like a kid pretending to be an adult. I wasn’t quite ready to strike out on my own. Not exactly on my own here, but not exactlynoton my own. I’ve left the only home I’veever known to live in the middle of nowhere, skipped months of my senior year to go remote, and now take a job in my mom’s best friend’s fitness studio and essentially disappear from my life as I know it. I’m not even sure what the job will entail or what I am even qualified to do, but she agreed to give me one, so I guess I’ll be grateful instead of feeling sorry for myself. Besides, I chose this. To disappear and start over. I don’t care about all the senior year rituals or all the firstlasts. Okay, losing the valedictorian thing makes me a little bitter—mostly because that suck-up mathlete, Eli Tran, would get it. Everyone knows math is inferior to literature. His speech will probably suck too. I shake my head at the train of my negative spiral. Eli is a nice guy. I don’t begrudge him his glory. I left by choice. And I don’t need the coveted valedictorian status anyway with my college plans now up in the air.
Fuck, what is my life right now?
The weight of it all has me feeling like the oldest eighteen-year-old on the planet. And feeling old is not new to me. A new level, sure. But I’m stubbornly ready for it. Proving haters wrong is a great motivator. Though they’ll never know if I succeed or not. They’ll never see me again, God willing.
An introverted homebody, I’ve always been an easy target. I tried to bond with girls my age, but it wouldn’t be long before I said something that caused the blank stares and eventual ghosting. Dubbed a brainiac since preschool didn’t exactly help me blend in. Speaking fluent movie, TV and book quotes since puberty for them to fall on ignorant ears got me mocked and avoided. So I mostly quit trying. I decided that being uninterested in them before they could become uninterested in me felt better. But I wasn’t without my uses. Some of the more popular girls my age had been asking me to write poems fortheir boyfriends since seventh grade when I got called on to read one out loud in English class. They were also willing to pay for it. And . . . my accidental, super-secret Cyrano-esque side hustle was born. Of course, it came with all the threats ofruiningme if I didn’t swear to absolute secrecy. What did I care? Not gonna lie, I low-key ate up the idea of their boyfriends catching feelings over something I wrote. And writing gavemeall the feels, so win-win.
It’s also why the only socializing I engaged in were the occasional invites to hang out with my older sister and her group of friends. They didn’t treat me like a subpar human. As the youngest of the group and only a member by sibling proxy, I kept a low profile and tried to fly under the radar. Mostly house parties and usually at Chase and Kendall’s, the unofficial leaders of their crew. My sister, Olivia, only recently began inviting me. I guess Via felt sorry for me. Or maybe I was old enough now not to be a burden.
Either way, my sister’s crew was different—many of them older siblings of the bitchy girls in my class—and their boyfriends.Small towns.They treated me like their mascot, which wasn’t as bad as it sounds. They doted on me. Did I get a drink? Did I have enough to eat? Was I having fun? It’s like they were all playing adult, and I was their kid. But it was a win-win. They got to feel older and superior, and I got more attention from them than I had my whole life. And for well over a year now, they were “teaching” me how to party. After my first hangover, I decided drinking wasn’t my thing, so I slowly sipped one throughout a party and faked the “fun.” And it worked. It kept the peer pressure to a minimum. Until it didn’t.
I shake my head to physically snap me out of the memory spiral and focus on the passing scenery out the passenger window.
The drive to Fit, as Allie calls it—full name Blue Lake Fitness Club—is quick and Allie explains there’s a bike trail I can safely use to ride to work on nice days. I left my car back in Oak Valley. What’s left of it anyway. Maybe if I save enough money, I can get another one. But I know that won’t be anytime soon. I brought my ebike though, so that could be fun if the weather holds. California is known for its sunny and seventy-five hype, but the Sierra foothills are known for being one of the few places in the state that boasts all four seasons, albeit short snippets of them. The trail looks cool, peaceful, like everything else up here so far. It meanders through the trees and follows the curve of the road to Fit. I make a mental note to check it out on my first day off.
Eucalyptus and mint hit my nose first walking through the doors. It’s nothing like I pictured. It’s huge. And more like some bougie country club than the small-town gym I envisioned. No wonder Allie oozes serenity. The smell alone embodies health and fitness. Every cell in my body exhales. I feel lighter. She gives me the tour, and I feel a sense of home, but I don’t want to trust it just yet. I follow her around as she proudly describes the layout. From the juice bar to the men’s and women’s locker rooms that each boast a sauna and steam room, my excitement builds. This place is incredible for the smallhillbillytown it resides in.
“Wow, Allie. Impressive! How many employees do you have?”
“Including you, five. Letty helps me manage the place during the day. Two high schoolers, Lilliana and Noah, share the afternoon and evening hours. And Julian and I share the personal training appointments. He and I also lead special classes. He’s trained in kickboxing and personal fitness, and I run Pilates and yoga. On weekends, Fit alsofeatures remote access that we enable so members can use an app to unlock the doors during modified business hours. When we activate remote access, we lock access to the saunas and steam rooms.”
I nod as she explains.Cool, so we get days off sometimes.Not that I’m lazy. I like to be busy. I was just wondering how she worked here every single day without any days off. Tension drains from my shoulders at hearing there’s only five new people to deal with. Well, four if I'm the fifth. I can meet four new people. “Our Fit crew is really nice,” she adds with a chuckle.
I guess I’m not hiding my apprehension very well.
“C’mon. Let’s get you a Sunshine Shot. I noticed you didn’t eat any breakfast. And juice shots work great on an empty stomach. Letty is the master behind our shot creations.”
We make our way to the juice bar around the corner from the welcome counter. She opens a little fridge and grabs two bright orange containers and hands me one. She slams hers like a shot, so I do the same.Spicy . . . and delicious.The tangy sweetness wakes up my taste buds and puckers my lips. After the tour, she asks me to fold towels from the dryer in the back room behind the front desk. It’s a small area with a table and chairs, washer, dryer, a folding table and some shelves. I throw in my earbuds and crank my old-school rock playlist as loud as my ears will allow and welcome the mundane task.
Armed with my neat stack of linens, I head to the counter a few minutes later to ask Allie where they belong. Coming out of the back room, partially blinded by the wall of terry, I hit a wall. The towels topple over and puddle at the feet of mywall, which isn’t a wall at all but might as well be. My eyes track large tanned hands attached to larger toned arms extended out low in a clear stance ofwhat thehell. I note a long, wide scar on the inside of one forearm but don’t dwell on it. I raise my eyes past the tight-fitting thin, white muscle shirt that showcases a sculpted six-pack and bulging pecs underneath. A tan taut neckline with veins protruding on either side connect to a rigid, chiseled jaw and chin. My scrutiny pauses on a full set of pouty lips slightly agape and quickly continues until I meet eyes of crystal blue under dark slightly raised brows. Brows that are almost hidden by the tufts of equally dark brown hair spilling onto a creased forehead. The messy strands fade into a neater buzz beyond his ears. He’s most certainly not the high schooler named Noah. He looks older than a high schooler for one and clearly annoyed. My heartbeat trips on the pure virility oozing from this tower of a guy—like no high schooler I’ve ever met.
Julian. Great, Ev. Way to make an impression on the first of the four.Pulling out one earbud, I begin to apologize but stammer instead.Uh, I hate it when I do that.I quickly shove the earbud into my leggings pocket so I canpay attention to my surroundings(I hear my mom’s voice in my head) and bend over to grab the towels. I think he grunts (Really?)as he steps around me and continues on his way to wherever he was headed.
Allie must’ve witnessed the collision because she chuckles and she’s there instantly helping me pick up the pile. She tells me to divide and stack them on the towel racks in each locker room between the saunas and steam rooms. “Just knock before you head into the men’s room. We’re the only ones here right now, but it’s a good habit to get into. Heading into my eight a.m. hot yoga if you need me.”
And just when I thought she ignored the collision, she adds, “Don’t mind Julian. He can be . . . moody.” With a little giggle, she turnsto go—then pivots back. “Evvie, breathe. You’ve got this. Fresh start, remember? Give it a chance. Blue Lake will steal your heart. Promise.”
Sounds nice. But to steal a heart, you’ve gotta have one, and I’m still not sure mine survived the hit.
Chapter 2
Julian
Ialmost took out Allie’s newproject. Typical teenager, earbuds in and no clue of their surroundings. I should’ve helped her with the towels. I should’ve asked her if she was okay. But one look at the saucer-sized doe eyes . . . and then the stammering.You were one of those projects once, so don’t be such a dick.But Jesus, she might as well have been screaming “Save me.”I had to get the hell out of there. And I usually reserve the sauna for post workouts, but I admit it, I’m hiding. Like a little kid. I’ve got almost an hour before my first client. I just need five minutes in here to warm up my muscles, then I can hide upstairs with the free weights. Where I don’t have to hear the stammering. See the sad, broken eyes. Eyes like ones I haven’t seen in almost three years. The color might be different, but that pain looks the same. Most might miss it. For me it might as well have been a neon sign on her forehead.
