Do you have any medical conditions? No.
This isn’t so bad. As I hit next to move on, a long list of medical conditions appeared, and I was prompted to check yes or no for heart conditions, high blood pressure, diabetes, cancer, thyroid issues, and a host of things I’d never heard of. I considered pouring another glass or just bringing the bottle of wine to my lips as I clicked no on each item individually, the long list of possible illnesses intimidating.
How much sleep do you get per day? 8 hours.
It’s usually closer to five between the time I stop reading and when I hit the snooze alarm, but I strive for eight and that should count.
Describe your daily nutrition. I don’t eat as many vegetables and fruits as I should, but if caramel macchiatos, French fries, and peanut butter M&M’s are all in different food groups, then I am doing A-OK.
What are your exercise habits? Outside of attending a biweekly over-sixty hip-hop dance class I accidentally joined, not doing it.
Should I lie just a little? I erased the end and instead typed: My regular exercise includes a good amount of walking to get from place to place in the city. That lie might be too big. I take the ‘L’ or an Uber more often than not. I erased my response again and retyped my original answer. I planned to tell the world I wanted to be more active, and it wouldn’t help to lie here. I nodded, then answered a few more questions about favorite foods.
Do you smoke or use other tobacco products? Never.
How often do you consume alcohol?
I glanced at my wineglass and the almost empty bottle on the counter. Probably won’t be telling the world about that. A glass of wine or a bottle of beer once or twice a week.
What do you do for a living?
I had to be as true to real life as possible to give this an honest review, but even with three glasses of merlot in me, I had enough sense not to allude to Best Life or journalism, so I typed “assistant” instead.
What are your specific short-and long-term goals?
It had been over a year since I’d been with anyone, and even then, I didn’t always feel fully comfortable naked. It wasn’t something I’d ever shared before. Taking another big drink of wine and deciding to be honest, I typed “to look and feel good naked.”
Is there anything you’ve always wanted to do that your health and/or perception of your body has held you back from doing? Jumping out of a plane.
Something about mass and velocity and all the townspeople below. I thought about adding my joke but figured it might not be the place for self-deprecating humor. It was one of the few things my weight had kept me from doing, and I’d been sad in college when I learned there was a weight limit.
I reread my answers, fingers hovering over the track pad. Just do it. I clicked the button to submit the form. I guess I expected the Rocky theme to blare from my speakers, but I received a confirmation saying my registration would be reviewed and I’d be assigned to a coach within one business day.
Here we go.
4
“WHOA.” THE CHAIR squeaked as Cord spun, holding my phone. “Kelsey wants to get together?”
I grunted from where I was doing sit-ups on the floor of his office. It was the third message in two weeks, and I hadn’t responded.
“Are you going to meet with her?”
“Are you planning meetings with any of your ex-girlfriends?”
“My exes don’t run rival companies. What do you have to lose?”
Just my pride, my resolve to move on, and maybe my lunch. I didn’t answer, instead ramping up the speed of my reps.
Cord huffed, returning to his phone screen. “Fine. But do something, ’cause I am tired of this version of you.”
“This version of me?” I finished a set before switching to cross-body crunches. My abs contracted as I pulled my elbow to my knee. We’d just finished a conference call with some of our investors and our head of accounting. Good news all around, and everyone was making money, but I’d struggled to stay involved in the conversation. Lately, my head always seemed to be somewhere else, and the quick ab workout gave me something to do.
“Yes. This twitchy version. Like a caged animal that’s pissed off. What’s going on? Is it Kels? Something with your mom?”
No, it’s February. “Nothing.”
“You’re a shitty liar.” Cord returned to his keyboard, one worn sneaker propped on his denim-clad knee. With him in jeans, a T-shirt, and Chucks and me in workout clothes and sneakers, we could have starred in a movie called The Unlikely CEOs.
I finished the last set and fell back onto the thin carpet, staring up at the exposed ductwork in our trendy downtown office space. The Realtor had told us it added edge and sophistication—it reminded me of living in crappy, unfinished basement apartments where everything always smelled damp.
Freshman year, Cord and I were roommates in the most run-down and cheapest dorm on campus. He was there because he hadn’t gotten around to submitting his housing contract until the last minute. I was there because it was the least expensive option I still couldn’t afford, even with my football scholarship.
He handed me a water bottle. “You can’t ignore her forever.”
“I can ignore her today.”
He fixed me with a deadpan expression. “Mature.”
My body readjusted after the quick workout, and I sat up, flipping him off.
“You just did Eight Minute Abs on the floor of my office after spacing out during a meeting with the money guys.” A twinge of frustration had seeped into his voice.
Fuck. The rough, notched surface of the bricks was cool against the back of my head, and I took another slow breath. “Sorry. I’ll get my head back in the game.”
Cord shrugged and brushed the hair from his forehead. “I know.”
Pearl popped her head past Cord’s open door, and I noticed him straighten in his chair, which made me bite back a smirk.
“Hey.” Cord’s voice came out higher than normal, and he cleared his throat before repeating it in his regular register.
“Hi, Cord.” If she noticed him acting like a middle schooler with a crush, she had the grace to ignore it. Instead, she gave him a warm smile, and I swear his chest puffed out. “You need anything before I go, Wes?”
I waved. “Have a nice weekend, Pearl.”
She waved back, flashing another smile at Cord, who called after her, his voice too loud. “Have a good night!”
Despite my bad mood, I reached out a hand to offer him a high five he didn’t return. “Those tutorials on talking to women are paying off.”
“Fuck you,” he said, dropping his head to his hands.
“I’m just giving you shit, man.” I settled back, enjoying my friend’s mild misery.
“Anyway.” He stood and clapped me on the shoulder. “Pick up a client or two. You get less edgy when you’re coaching.” Cord tossed his messenger bag over his head and shoved his phone in his pocket. “Want to grab a beer?”
“Nah. I’m gonna hang for a while.” I took a swig from the water bottle but didn’t get up from the floor.
“Okay.” He headed for the door. “And, Wes?” Cord paused and faced me again. “I know there’s something going on. Offer stands.”
“Thanks, man.”
Cord held up a hand and disappeared down the hall. I let my head fall back against the wall and stared at the ductwork again. Painted black, it was a step up from the apartments with exposed wires and tape holding the pipes together. When my sister, Libby, was small, she was scared they’d fall on her in the run-down places we’d lived, so I made them into characters in bedtime stories so she wouldn’t worry. The tale of Mr. Sparky and the Dusty Cobweb.
For a second, my lips tipped up at the memory, and I released a heavy breath.
February.