Page 58 of Fun at Parties
“Don’t sound so thrilled.” I wrap my arms around myself. He doesn’t have to buy a pair of cycling shoes and commit to six classes a week, but I want him to respect it. “Which part? The sermon?”
“All of it,” he answers. When he hands back my phone, his fingers brush mine.
“Is that all you have to say?”
“I wasn’t sure what it would be like. After what you’ve said this past week, I didn’t know what you enjoyed about it. If you enjoyed anything about it. But you clearly do.” He almost soundsdisappointed.
The app is now recommending that I “try this ride next!” Of course it’s me in bright lipstick and metallic fuchsia, offering cadence work, resistance work, and a bonus nervous breakdown. I do a double take when I notice the view count in the corner. It’s an unfathomable number, five times as high as my average. I turn the screen dark and set the phone facedown in my lap. “Of course I like it. There are thousands of people who would trade jobs with me in a millisecond.”
Thehmmhe lets out gives away nothing.
“What I do is actually really difficult.”
The sharpness in my voice gives me away. I see it on his face, the realization that I want his approval. “Oh. Quinn. I know it is. I mean it. You’re incredibly talented, and I know how hard you’ve worked.”
“You hate it, though,” I say quietly.
He sighs. “I don’t hate it. I—look, I just want you to be happy. Okay?”
I nod.
Two muffled thunks follow. He’s toed off his shoes. I open my mouth to protest, but he says, “Just for a minute. The rain hasn’t stopped, anyway.”
“Okay. But in fifteen minutes, we’re going no matter what.”
“What about the day-to-day? You said you were bummed when they got rid of the people taking the class in person?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I feed off their energy, you know? And I like connecting with people face-to-face. Not that it isn’t incredible to think about how many people I’m connecting with through the app. It’s just different.” I fiddle with the seat belt. “There’s plenty I like. Picking music, making people feel good. Actually, something you said a long time ago about why you like your job has always stuck with me. Do you remember?”
He shakes his head. “I mean, I know what I usually tell people, but you say it.”
“You told me you like knowing that when you teach a kid to swim, you’re doing a good thing. Always. That you have a simple, clear purpose. And I relate to that.”
Teaching a spin class is a good thing in the most straightforward way. I demonstrate proper technique, I help people improve their fitness, I give them an opportunity to clear their minds. But it hasn’t felt so straightforward lately.
Nate’s mouth curves, and his eyes are the only brightthing in the dark car. The air thickens, and it’s not just the ninety-nine percent humidity.
“What?” I say. “I think that’s what you told me. Right?”
“I’m sure you’re right. It’s just that what I tellmostpeople is that I like my job because I like the water.”
I breathe out a tired laugh. My arm is stretched out along the center console, and he gives it a playful nudge with his own. Afterward, he doesn’t move it away, just lets it settle next to mine. I’m already disinclined to move, and this only makes it harder. The feel of him next to me, the sounds of the storm, the abstract shapes and periodic movements of people through the rain-speckled windshield—the combined effect is hypnotizing. My eyes glaze over.
“I’m not sure what I’ll do if I don’t get the camp,” he says eventually.
The old reflex kicks in, the one that scrambles to evacuate at the first sign of trouble. It delivers the words right to the tip of my tongue:Think positive. You’ll get the camp.
It’s like when Mom used to invite over a woman who was considering giving up on Jolee. She’d sit them in the front room of our house, where they could see the purple Range Rover and Dad’s Porsche through the window, and leave her Neverfull bag on a chair—tossed there, like she didn’t care about it. When they said it wasn’t working, they weren’t making money, that they hated hounding their friends and family to get in on it, she’d cross her legs, frown, and tell them it sounded like they weren’t trying hard enough.
There was no space for fear or criticism. It was howMom had been trained, and it was effective. If a Jolee girl dug too deep, they’d realize the business model was fatally flawed and they were never going to succeed. To prevent them from doing that, Mom relied on social pressure and flipping around the blame.
It bled over into the rest of our lives too. If I said I was afraid of doing poorly on my math test, or worried that we’d lose our next lacrosse game, she’d say,Well, with an attitude like that, of course you will.
Positive thinking has gotten me far, but it feels useless right now, with our bumbling failure to catch Logan across three time zones. And Nate will shut down if I tell him to close his eyes and visualize success.
So let’s try it his way. We’ll sit with the negative feelings.
“You definitely wouldn’t move back to L.A.?” I try uncertainly.
