Page 34 of Bottle Shock
“That doesn’t sound pleasant,” I mutter.
Elyse smirks, barely breaking a sweat. “My therapist says exercise is good for my mental health. I actually think it’s been helping.”
Well, fuck. Now I feel guilty for being crabby.
“Up tall,” the instructor shouts, sweeping by. “Crown high. Shoulders down the back.”
I climb to my knees on the box and grab the straps, and my body responds by becoming a boneless noodle. I’m halfway through the second pull when my watch buzzes against my wrist with a text notification and I have a very unhelpful spike of adrenaline. Not because I think it is an emergency. Because it could be Gavin.
When I glance down, it’s just a marketing text alerting me to a half-off sale at a store I never shop at.
I don’t know why I even let myself get my hopes up. We’ve only texted once since that late-night call—just to sort out the logistics for today. The same call where I somehow found thenerve to say things I never would’ve otherwise. And I’ve been replaying it in my head ever since.
Today is the open house. Today we’ll see each other. Today, I will not think about whether he is just being nice, or whether there is something humming beneath the nice that I am not ready to touch.
Another pull. My neck twinges. I try to ignore it and focus on the straps cutting into my palms. Focus is good. Focus is not thinking about Gavin.
“Beautiful,” the instructor says to Elyse. Then to me: “Try not to grip with your traps.”
“I don’t know how to use anything that isn’t a trap,” I say through my teeth.
“Use your lats.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
She laughs. It’s an evil laugh. “Last set. Make it count.”
I make it count by not collapsing on the spot. A win is a win.
Class finally ends with a stretch that nearly makes me weep with gratitude. When I hop off the box, my vision snow-globes for a second—just a little floaty, like the room has shifted a half inch to the left. My watch buzzes again, confirming what I already know: my blood sugar is low. Sometimes intense exercise throws me off balance.
“I am fine,” I tell Elyse preemptively, feeling her eyes on me. “Just a little low.”
She watches me with concern. “Can I do anything?”
“I’ve got it.” After a quick mental carb calculation, I dart for the cubbies and grab the small bottle of apple juice I always keep on hand. In two gulps, it’s gone. Then I tear into the baggie of clementines. The goal is simple—get enough fast-acting carbs in before I drop low enough to cause real problems. I set a fifteen-minute timer on my watch to remind myself to retest and make sure I am back in range.
“Better?” Elyse asks.
I nod, gathering my things. For me, this is just life. I have been managing this since I was twelve, but I forget how strange it looks from the outside—this constant balancing act. And even though Elyse has been with me since the beginning—literally there the day I went into diabetic ketoacidosis and landed in the hospital, finally getting answers for why I had been such a sluggish mess for months—it still rattles her every time I have to shift into maintenance mode.
“All good,” I give her an easy smile.
“Smoothies…if you can?” Elyse suggests, reading my mind. “There is a place across the street.”
We step outside into Badger Canyon’s main drag—one block of mom-and-pop shops with cute names and even cuter window displays. The sky is that kind of blue that makes everything look bright and clean, and it’s still early enough that the air hasn’t turned suffocating yet.
Inside the smoothie shop, a blender roars to life. I order a drink with banana, peanut butter, and extra protein—just as my timer goes off. A quick check of my levels shows I’m still hovering near the low end of my range, so the smoothie’s perfect timing. Elyse orders something green and healthy that smells suspiciously like grass.
We find an open bistro table on the patio and settle in.
“So,” Elyse starts, drawing out the word. “What time are you meeting Gavin?”
I glance at my watch to double-check I still have plenty of time. It’s a little after eight, and we agreed to meet at the open house at noon. With the drive to Wallula Lake taking abouttwo hours, I’m in the clear. One of the perks of years spent perfecting quick costume changes is that I can get ready faster than most people can decide what to wear.
“We were going to drive up together, but he’s meeting me there instead. Something about him and Ethan having a meeting with a distributor, so Ethan’s going to drop him off.”
Elyse nods, clearly in the loop. “Yeah, I think I heard about that.”
