Page 32 of The Waiter at Table 6

The nerves were almost enough to make me turn around. Not just because I feel self-conscious about my body in these shorts and tank top, but also because I have no business being in a place like this.

But just as I’m about to convince myself that there’s no good reason for me to be here, a beautiful, blonde, older woman flashes me a dazzling smile.

“Hi there, are you here for the intro class?” she asks me.

I can’t help glancing at her grey hair as I answer. “Yes, my name is Vanessa. I called yesterday about trying a class.”

“Oh yes, I remember you. Perfect timing. We have two other women here who are also taking their first classes. Please, follow me.”

That makes me feel better, but by the time I realize this woman is going to be teaching the class, a startling amount of tension has left my body. I don’t know why I thought it would only be twenty-year-olds with societally perfect bodies taking the class, but seeing that I’m not going to stand out like a sore thumb because of my age and body is a relief. My steps become surer.

I follow the instructor—named Marina—to the far side of the room, where a few women are already stretching out. I wave a stiff hello to them, then take a seat and start copying their stretches as Marina walks us through what to expect—we’ll warmup, stretch, learn some basic pole techniques, then work on pole strength-building exercises before putting it all together in a final sequence.

The warmup is fine. I’m no stranger to the gym, though I’m more used to spin class and lifting weights with a personal trainer. But once we reach the pole techniques, insecurity comes right back to the forefront.

I don’t feel the least bit graceful. Everything’s awkward. My shirt keeps riding up when I grab the pole up high, and I keep trying to tug it down. None of this feels natural.

I’m a housewife, not a sexy stripper. What am I doing here?

“You have to get out of your head,” comes Marina’s gentle voice from behind me. We’re working on moving around the pole, and it’s obvious she can sense my frustration.

“Try this. Close your eyes.”

I hesitate, pulling in a stuttering breath, then do just that.

“Good. Now…forget everything else. Forget everyone in this class, forget your last try, forget what you think you should be doing. Just breathe, and…let your body move the way it wants to.”

Another shaky inhale, and then, on the exhale, I take a step, letting my hips sway. Then another. On the third, I grip the bar and throw my weight into the step, propelling my body into a spin.

My eyes blink open mid-spin, and I’m so surprised to see I pulled off the move that I let out a squeak and grab onto the pole with both hands, effectively stopping my momentum.

Marina’s clap is the first sound to reach my ears, followed closely by the excited cheers of some of the women around me. I’m still too shocked to react.

Marina has the biggest grin on her face as she steps in front of me, her claps slowing. “And that,” she says in a passionate whisper, “is how you embrace your inner goddess. Well done, my dear.”

Happiness bursts like an overripe peach in my chest. It mingles with excitement, and passion, and pride. I did that. That’s why I came here. Because I am a beautiful, independent woman who deserves to feel like one.

And it’s about goddamn time I do.

By the time I leave the studio, it’s with excitement buzzing under my skin, already eager to come back. I signed up as soon as class was over. I don’t know if this is just a checkmark on my post-divorce bingo card or if this is going to be something long-term, but for the first time in a long time…I’m excited to find out.

At home I shower, dig into some ice cream, and flip through half a dozen design magazines before I realize I’m restless. Because I don’t want to keep these feelings to myself anymore.

I want to tell Ryder about them.

Not just because I can share this with him, but also because…I kind of have him to thank for it. If it weren’t for Ryder, who knows if I ever would’ve found the courage to put myself out there like this.

Vanessa: Hey. How was your day?

Surprisingly, it takes him a little bit to respond. I know something is up before I even open his text.

Ryder: Honestly, I’ve had better

Vanessa: Oh no, what’s wrong?

Ryder: Just work stuff. Everything that could go wrong did. My brain’s fried.

Vanessa: Are you still at work?

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