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“We were talking about something important, but it wasn’t about you,” Jim said.

“Yeah, sure, right.” She stormed out of the room.

Jim looked weary. I patted him on the arm. “It’s not your fault. Teenage girls have issues with their fathers too.”

CHAPTER 7

“Your breakfast’s been sitting here for ten minutes,” I yelled out to Gia.

“I was studying for a test,” she said, coming into the kitchen balancing her open history book, with her notes on top.

One of the pages fell on the floor, and I picked it up. “You’d be ready for the test if you weren’t always on Instagram.”

She took the page out of my hands. “I wasn’t on Instagram. I was going over the study guide, and I’m ready. What’s your problem?” Gia was never home anymore. She was always out with her friends or Jason. Of course, I’d done the same thing at her age, but I still missed her.

“It’s too early for so much yelling,” Jim said, walking into the room.

“Tell that to Mom.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” I said. Jim knew by the way I narrowed my eyes and glared at him, that he shouldn’t say another word, but I knew what he was thinking: Why are you yelling at our daughter who’s going to be leaving soon? Don’t you want to have a good relationship with her when she goes? Don’t you want her to miss you?Okay, Jim, you’re right. You made your point, I screamed in my head, even though he hadn’t said a word. “I’m sorry I was yelling,” I said to Gia. “Good luck on your test.”

“Thank you.” She picked up her backpack and left without eating anything. I guess that was my punishment.

I asked Jim how work was going. He gave me his stock answer that things were the same. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked. He said not really, then kissed me and left.

I sat down next to Theo, who was curled up in his bed in the corner. At least he never talked back to me. He looked peaceful until I interrupted him by laying my head on his warm body. He tried to get up, but my head was too heavy for him to move. I could have stayed there all day, but it wouldn’t take away my frustration at Gia and Jim or my anxiety over my dad, and at some point, Theo was going to have to pee.

I needed to do something productive, or at least something that would distract me. I sat down at the desk and opened the mail. I hated paying bills, but that would be productive. After I watched our money fly out the window, I took Theo for a walk, and then I had coffee with my friend Heather, and we bitched about our lives. At noon I was hungry, but I wanted to try to see Michael rather than eat, and since he had said he went to the gym most days at this time, I thought I’d have a good chance of running into him. And if not, I’d go home and stuff my face.

For some reason the gym was more crowded than usual. The main area, which had all the weight machines, was surrounded by smaller rooms where they held classes like yoga, Pilates, and spin. The treadmills and ellipticals were lined up along the walls facing mirrors. Not only could you watch yourself while you ran or climbed stairs, but you had a perfect view of anyone at the weight machines. I slipped a scrunchy off my wrist and put my hair up in a ponytail, then I got on a treadmill so I could watch who came in. After I’d been walking fast for twenty minutes and thinking up excuses so I could stop, Michael came out of the room where they teach the spin classes. He was wiping his brow, and his hair was sticking straight up. Even sweaty he looked good. He saw me, waved, and headed over. I slowed down so I could talk without panting.

“I thought you said you hated the treadmill,” he said.

“I do, but I need some cardio, and I’m afraid of the elliptical machine.”

“Me too. I’m not coordinated enough to attempt it. Are you just getting here or finishing up?” he asked.

“Just finishing up.” I hit the button to stop the treadmill, even though twenty minutes was not enough to burn even the glass of wine I had last night. “How about you?” I asked.

“One spin class is usually enough for me, but I might stick around for a while. Can I buy you a juice before you go?”

What would it mean if he bought me juice? Would it be a juice date? I’d come here to see him, but had I passed charming and funny and entered flirting? Would I have to tell Jim if I had juice? I began to twirl my wedding ring, and after what felt like a long time, but was probably a second and a half, I blurted, “I’m, uh … uh … married.”

“Does marriage prohibit you from drinking?” Michael asked facetiously.

“Actually, it makes you drink more,” I muttered.

He laughed, and I realized I was being ridiculous. He was a nice person who just happened to be a good-looking man who was a lot younger than me, and all we were going to do was have an innocent glass of juice.

“Sure,” I said, and we walked over to the juice bar. He pulled out a barstool for me to sit on, which felt nice. Jim hadn’t pulled out a chair for me since we were dating. Michael got two little bottles of orange juice and two glasses. He poured the juice into our glasses and took a drink from his. All I could think of was how nice it was that this man didn’t drink his orange juice out of the bottle like Jim did.

“So, how long have you been married?” he asked.

“Nineteen years.”

“Congrats. I was married in my early twenties, but we only made it three years.”

“Did you have kids?”