Page 89 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
“Come back to L.A. with me. I’ve got a sweet apartment now. You can live with me.”
“I have a great job here.”
“You do?” he asked.
That did it. He paid absolutely no attention. I didn’t need him. He was all wrong for me—a fair-weather man, who only showed up when it was convenient to him, but never noticed me.
“I’ve learned that I’m worth the best, Tyler. And I’m afraid that means I have to go now. Thank you for lunch.”
And I went back to the office, leaving him sputtering with the tab.
Another week later, I was still living at Headlands, and commuting into Santa Barbara for work.
Two weeks without Mikey was like a year without water. He drenched my dry soul.
But it hadn’t been two weeks without him, entirely.
Every day he’d texted me. Usually it was a simple “Good night, I miss you.”
He was showing me he was thinking about me, but giving me space.
I missed him terribly.
A few days later, I went to Lucy’s house to visit her and baby Chelsea.
“Oh, she’s adorable!” I cooed as I cradled her carefully in her swaddling blanket.
Jake beamed. Lucy smiled. Lucy’s son Rob read a book in the corner.
“She’s such a happy baby,” said Lucy.
“Thanks for letting me model at that session,” I said. “I enjoyed it.”
“I can’t wait to go back. I’m going to take up yoga,” she said. “I want to get my body back in shape. You want to come?”
“I’ve never done it.”
“Then it’s time to try. I’ll be able to go soon enough. You should go.”
The following day, I showed up at the studio she recommended, which was in a vintage house. All sorts of equipment that I didn’t know how to use was stacked up along the walls—mats, piles of blankets, straps, blocks, and cushions.
It looked simple and weird.
Since I’d left Mikey, I hadn’t been working out the way I did with him, but I had kept moving, whether it was horseback riding with Marie at the ranch, or walks at my work at lunch time to the coffee shop. Cherry still said hi, although there was a coolness that wasn’t there before. I suppose that’s what happens when you fall in love with someone else’s ex.
But now I entered the yoga studio, just hoping it would hurt less than spin class.
A teacher sat in the middle of the darkened room, which smelled like she had just burned incense. A candle burned near her, even though it was still daylight.
“Welcome,” she said in a quiet voice. “I am Maia.” She was tiny, with stretch pants and a tank top. While I was getting used to my size, I still envied people who were smaller than me.
The other people in the class got a mat and straps and arranged themselves around the room.
After I told her it was my first class, she helped me get equipment, and I sat cross-legged, waiting for her to tell me what to do.
“In yoga, we practice nonjudgment. We don’t force anything to be anything other than it is. We allow you to experience you just as you are now.” That sounded good to me. But then her next words almost made me laugh. “First, we are going to review how to sit.”
How to sit? Doesn’t everyone know how to sit?
