Page 47 of Dream with Me

Tillie’s right, this feels great, so I follow along with the other stretches Shyley instructs us in. I’m not going to admit to her that it feels good, though. I’m still pissed at her for her trickery in getting me here.

Finally, after the stretches, she lets us lie back on the ground and tells us we should meditate quietly in place for about five minutes to bring our body down from all the adrenaline that was flowing through our veins during class. I can definitely get down with that, and I’m on the ground before she’s done talking.

The problem is the minute I close my eyes, I flashback to the other night with Troy. I’m not even sure what I think about it all happening, and I wish that I could say to myself that it’s all physical, and that explains it away, but it’s not. There’s more to it than that. I miss him. Constantly, actually. Yet, when he told me he loved me, a part of me was terrified to let myself believe that. Or to think about what that means. We’re scheduled for a final court date, for God’s sake. We’re getting divorced.

I’ve been working to become healthier by treating my depression with medications, as recommended by my provider, and working with my counselor. I’m learning techniques to be kinder to myself and to stop my negative self-talk and thoughts. Along with all of this, my thinking about Troy started to change.

I don’t know what everything I’m feeling means, but there’s a lot going through my head right now. So, I’ve been avoiding Troy for the last two days. During drop-offs and pick-ups, I’ve always made sure I don’t let him get me alone because I’m not yet ready to talk about what happened and what it might mean.

I know it’s not fair to remain silent on this. He asked me when we were going to talk about it, and I told him that I needed a little more time to process it.

This week, I will take my review class and then start my rigorous testing schedule for my CPA exam—four separate test sessions up to four hours each. Ugh. Once I get through that, then I plan to tackle sorting out what it is I’m feeling.

Just as I’m finally able to start clearing my head, I’m pulled from my Zen state by snoring, followed by Shyley laughing, one of those deep belly laughs. I open my eyes and lift myself up, resting on my elbows and forearms, and I look over to see what’s going on.

Tillie is asleep. Sound asleep. Shyley’s laughter only escalates when Tillie passes gas as she wakes herself with a snore and startles. She bolts upright, her head thrashing side to side. “What? I wasn’t asleep.” Her expression sours. “Ew, what’s that smell?”

I scoot several feet away. I join in the laughter because Shyley’s amusement is contagious. By this time, Shyley has crawled a good six feet away from Tillie. She manages to settle her wheezing laughter enough to respond.

“That smell is you. You fell asleep and were snoring and startled yourself awake farting. Or vice versa. I’m not sure which came first.”

“I most certainly did not!” Tillie’s cheeks are pink, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just from the exertion of exercise.

Shyley looks over at me, questioning in her eyes. I nod and frown at the same time.

“Sorry, Tills. You did.”

“Well, if I did—and I’m not admitting that—it’s probably because something got messed up in my body through all those stupid ups and downs on that seat of torture. It’s got my ass feeling like someone’s pounding into it with a hammer.”

“That’s what she said.” Shyley snorts obnoxiously loud. It throws her into another fit of laughter, and within seconds, all three of us are laughing uncontrollably. Ab muscles I didn’t know I had are hurting because I’m laughing so hard.

It’s not even because of the gas situation anymore. It’s one of those things when someone starts laughing like that, and you can’t not do it, too. Then we keep cycling each other into this laughter.

It takes us a solid five minutes to settle down, and we have to turn away from each other to make it happen. When we’re finally chilled out enough, we gather our stuff and head to the car. Tillie drove to my house, and Shyley picked us up... Probably so we couldn’t escape when she got us into this sadistic room. We all climb into her SUV, and she heads toward Enzo’s.

A half-hour later, we’re all taking our first bites into an Enzo’s mushroom pizza—my favorite—and we pretty much simultaneously moan as the hot cheese and sweet, yet savory sauce hits our taste buds.

“Oh my God, this is so good,” Tillie says around a mouthful.

“Told you,” I smirk at her because she insisted that she had never been to a good pizza place in Elladine, so Enzo’s must be overhyped.

Since Shyley’s driving, Tillie and I both indulge in a glass of wine, and within a few minutes, Shyley and Tillie are like two women who’ve been friends their whole lives.

“So, are you married? Seeing anybody? Tell me about your love life,” Shyley demands of Tillie.

I knew Tillie would get the third degree from Shyley, and I’ve been looking forward to seeing how that went. They’re two of the strongest women I know, and I figure they can go toe to toe with each other on their stubbornness.

“Nope. I’m single andnotready to mingle.”

Shyley lifts an eyebrow at her and tilts her head, her curiosity piqued.

I take a sip of my wine and watch the show.

“Really? You’re gonna say that and not follow up about why you’re not ready to mingle?” Shyley asks.

Tillie shrugs. “Been there, done that, got the scars to prove it.” There’s an air of joking in her voice, yet there’s tension in her jaw. Even though she’s trying to make light of it, maybe there’s something that’s hurt her.

“She does have a hot contractor she loves to hate,” I tease. I’m hoping to lighten the mood for her. Shyley’s eyes get big, and Tillie groans.

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