Page 4 of Fun at Parties
My niche does not include having a mini breakdown on camera. But sometimes the pressure to be a happy-go-lucky cheerleader day in and day out is a lot. And today, when I knew everyone was wondering if I’d be able to pull it off, I cracked.
“I’m so sorry. The past twelve hours have been a challenge. What I did at the end won’t happen again.” My voice is all desperation. Tracy took a chance on me when I was a software sales rep in Philly teaching spin classes before and after work three days a week. She transformed my life on multiple levels. I owe her everything, and I may have just fucked it all up.
Plus, if I lose this job—the best job I’ll ever get—I’ll never dig myself out of the hole I’m in. It’s not like I have a backup plan. Lucrative fitness instructor gigs are rare, and going back to sales would mean starting from scratch.
“Between you and me, I know he’s an idiot,” she says, her mouth a disapproving pucker as she shakes her head. “But you went after our subscribers. And it’s not good for the brand to have two of our instructors pitted againsteach other. Team Quinn, Team Caleb, we don’t want that.”
I wince. “No, of course not.” Although I would like to see Caleb banished to teach boot camp classes on a cruise ship. In the Arctic Ocean, ideally.
“Look. Since Caleb is leaving tomorrow for his Haleakala trip, why don’t you take time off too? It’ll be a challenge, but we can rework the schedule. You take a vacation. Three weeks, let’s say. Give yourself an opportunity to process everything, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Avacation? The idea of a break is tempting, and not just because of Caleb. For the last few months, I’ve been dragging. Normally when a ride starts, I get a rush of energy that has me bouncing out of my bike seat, but lately I’ve felt…flat. I’ve had to psych myself up to get going, and I’m not sure why. I got bloodwork done and switched my multivitamin. Late one night in a fit of desperation I even bought a long, pointy crystal, which I’m now using to hold my hair ties.
If I took a vacation, I could rest and refocus. Hell, with three whole weeks off, I could go to Seapoint for Bailey’s birthday party. It’s been a couple years since I last visited the Jersey Shore, and I already told her I can’t make it—like last year and the year before. But imagine if Icould? It might just save our withering friendship.
I’d have to see Nate, though. He’s surely going home for the party.
Doesn’t matter. It’s a ludicrous idea. If I leave for three weeks, Tracy may realize I’m dispensable. Walking away from the mess I’ve made is too big of a risk. “I’d rather push through it,” I say. “Don’t worry about me.”
She sighs. “Please, Quinn. Of course I’m going to worry. I feel responsible for all of you, and your well-being is my priority. But honestly, it’s what’s best for the brand too. By the time you come back, people will have forgotten about the personal drama.”
Ah. So it’s not just for my benefit. Well, she has a point, and I need to do whatever it takes to keep her happy. “Sure,” I say meekly. “Whatever you think. Thank you.”
“Try to relax.” She brings her phone to her ear and steps away. “Get some clarity.”
Clarity. Ha. When was the last time I felt clarity? Maybe that week I spent driving out here when I got this job, a little over two years ago. I was about to start any spin instructor’s dream gig. I was going to live in an amazing city. Nate was the only person I knew here, and I was finally going to have a chance with him. I knew what I wanted and was taking the steps to achieve it. That drive, the endless horizon in front of me, the feeling like I was moving forward. I felt like me.
I miss that.
A hand wraps around my wrist, startling me. It’s attached to an arm tattooed with a full sleeve of foliage.Michelle.The tension in my shoulders eases, but at the same time, the sight of a friendly face sucks all the adrenaline out of me. I’m not sure if I want to lie in the fetal position or burst into tears.
“I grabbed your bag,” she says in a low voice. “Let’s get you out of here. We’ll talk at home.”
I nod wordlessly, and she steers me to the exit. Before I follow her out the door, I turn back to glance at the studio. Just in case it’s my last time here.
Chapter 2
Michelle is quiet on theride home, giving me space to process what happened, but my mind is blank. It’s only when we’re inside, setting out the ingredients for smoothies on the kitchen counter, that she asks, “What did Tracy say?”
I shrug and toss a few frozen banana chunks into the blender. “It was fine! I’m fine.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I knew you wouldsayyou were fine, which is why I didn’t ask whether you were fine. I asked what Tracy said.”
Unsurprisingly, Michelle’snicheis “cool, wise older sister who takes no shit.” At least she feels likemyolder sister, after two years of living together. A few weeks after I joined CycleLove, she offered to rent me a room in the house she and her husband, Tim, own in Mar Vista. He’d recently gotten a big job in New York, so they were mostly long-distance. My online hunt for a stranger to live with hadn’t been going well, so I was grateful.
We made the leap from roommates to friends a month in. One day, I came home from work to find her lying on the floor outside the bathroom, staring at the ceiling.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. Then she went quiet. It didn’t seem like an end-of-conversation quiet, though. It seemed like a this-is-hard-to-talk-about quiet.
I dropped to the floor and lay down next to her.
This was the right move, apparently, because she spoke again. “I got my period.”
Well, that was an easy problem to address. “Do you need…” I glanced toward the bathroom.
She rested a hand on her abdomen. “I thought this would be the month it happened. Tim was in town at the right time and everything.”
