I tuck the memories and descriptions away, like pressing a treasured flower between the pages of a book. “Sorry, I was just ... thinking about a plot twist,” I mumble, which isn’t entirely a lie.
Lily’s knowing smile tells me she doesn’t buy it, but she lets it slide.
For the next half hour, we chat about trivial things, about her job and my writing, carefully skirting around the edges of Friday night. There’s an unspoken agreement, it seems, that some chapters are left unshared, even between friends.
Though, I’m nearly certain she knows …
She knowswhere I was headed on Friday night and perhaps even why. I haven’t had the courage to ask her.
The coffee I sip is strong and grounding, a much-needed anchor for the day ahead. It doesn’t erase the images that flicker at the edges of my consciousness, but it dulls them and brings me back to my purpose today.
My workout attire seems like a costume now—like it’s nothing more than props for a role I’ve committed to playing. Much like the one I donned for the event at Nocté, if I’m honest.
While that was the role of a sexy, confident woman, the persona I’m trying on today is the healthier, stronger version of me I want to write into existence.
It’s all about taking control of the narrative, isn’t it?
Michael might have cheated on me because my weight was?—
I stop that thought in its tracks, not willing to give it the power of voice, even in my head. I’ve given it enough airtime over the past few months and I’m stronger now.
Lily interrupts my thoughts with a light touch on my hand. “You know, I’m really proud of you, Carlie,” she says earnestly, bringing me back to the moment. “This step—it’s a big deal. I don’t know that I could do it.”
I nod, the corners of my mouth lifting in a grateful smile. “Thanks. I was super nervous to sign up, but thankfully, I managed to get paired with a woman named Ada. Should be less intimidating. Less ... I don’t know,judgy?”
The word feels awkward, but it’s the best I can do to describe the relief I felt when I realized I could be training with someone who might understand the struggle and not some beefed up guy who likes to add protein powder to his coffee.
“I get it.” Lily nods. “And who knows, she might become a new friend. Or at least a cheerleader for the new Carlie.”
A laugh escapes me, short and slightly hysterical. “Hopefully, thenew Carlieisn’t just a figment of my overactive imagination.”
Lily gives my hand another squeeze. “She’s real. She’syou. Just waiting for her cue to enter stage right.”
I mull over her words, turning them over in my mind like I would a particularly powerful line in one of my novels. My characters often surprise me, taking paths I hadn’t plotted, and developing in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
Perhaps I could do the same. Life imitating art and all that.
But first, I have to face Ada.
“Well, speaking of the new Carlie, it’s time to make her first appearance.” I stand, slinging my gym bag over my shoulder, a modern-day warrior armed with nothing but spandex and hope. “I’ll text you after,” I promise, my voice steady, though my knees feel like they’re penned in italics—shaky and uncertain.
“Go get ‘em,” Lily cheers, shaking her hands in mock excitement.
I smile, feigning my own enthusiasm.
Here goes nothing—or maybe, here goes everything.
Lily waves, then shoos me to go.
With that, I’m moving to the door, heading towards what I expect to be a battle with dumbbells and discipline.
I exit the coffee shop with the same determined stride one might reserve for approaching the gallows—or in my case, a gym full of potential humiliation and sweaty butt cracks.
I shudder that thought away.
Truthfully, the idea of physical exertion before noon seems more criminal than motivational, but here I am, trying to prove to myself that I can be one of those gym people—the kind who say things like,“I love the burn!”and“No pain, no gain!”without a trace of irony.
Seems unlikely, but I’m gonna roll with it.