Page 82 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
He squints at me suspiciously.
“I know, weird, right?” I still haven’t told him that I’m being summoned back to the Seattle office. “How about a beach walk?”
I watch as he and Wally eat their breakfasts—even with my newfound energy, it’s too early for me to eat—and then the three of us troop downstairs.
“Wow.” I stop in my tracks, halfway down the grassy path that leads to the beach. “Look at the sky.”
It’s awash in color, gentle pastel shades that remind me of orange sherbet and farm-fresh butter. Gramps places his hands on my shoulders and steers me around to face the other direction, away from the beach. I gasp. The eastern sky is swathed in fluffy pink clouds, the horizon gilded with sunlight.
“Sunrise, my dear,” Gramps says. He sounds amused but also pleased.
“It looks different than sunset.”
“Indeed, for it is the exact opposite.” With that, Gramps turns and leads the way toward the beach.
It’s the absolute perfect temperature, warm but not yet humid or blazing hot. We walk in silence for a few minutes, nodding hello to the other early beach walkers: people walking their dogs, joggers with earbuds in, and one middle-aged couple walking barefoot and collecting shells at the water’s edge.
Gramps stops to let Wally sniff a clump of seaweed.
“You know,” Gramps says suddenly. “I was wondering if you might do me a favor.”
“What is it?”
He coaxes Wally forward. “If you would attend one of Angela’s aerobics classes, it would mean a great deal.” He sees the stunned look on my face and continues, “She’s mentioned a few times that she would like to get to know you better. And I know how much you enjoy your—” He waves a hand as though he’s forgotten the word.
“Yoga?”
“—so I thought it might be the perfect combination.”
“Um, okay. Sure, Gramps.”
“They meet at eightA.M.on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, under the gazebo.”
We turn around to head home; Gramps’s endurance still needs some work.
“Will you be joining me?” I ask, giving him a sly look.
“Oh no, I will have already done my kickboxing training before then, so no need.”
“Of course.” I laugh.
Okay, so on top of everything else I want to do while I’m here, I need to add Angela’s workout class. I should really make a list.
On Tuesday, Gramps successfully drives himself to his therapy appointment and home again. He seems more chipper this time, so I take that as a good sign, although when I ask how it went, he just says, “Fine,” and shuts himself in his room with a book, Wally trotting at his heels.
My calendar is snarled with meetings, but I have the evening to look forward to: Daniel and I are planning to meet at Pebble Cottage to paint. Or we were. Around three in the afternoon, he texts me, saying he needs to reschedule. He sounds genuinely apologetic, but a gloomy part of me guesses what this is: It’s regret and awkwardness about what happened between us last weekend. My mood is dismal for the rest of the day, but I force myself to go to the house that evening anyway and paint without him.
Wednesday morning, my primary concern is that I’ve agreed to go to Angela’s workout class. I’m so used to doing my workouts alone—my virtual yoga class back home, and now my solitarybeach-walks-turned-swims—that I feel apprehensive approaching the gazebo. I still got up early for a swim in the Gulf, because I only have nine more morning Gulf swims. But even those endorphins don’t calm my nerves entirely.
“Mallory, you came!” Angela flings her arms wide, and I don’t know if she’s expecting a hug or just expressing herself in the most energetic way possible. I give a little wave in return. This doesn’t seem to faze her.
“Everyone, you know Mallory, Leonard’s granddaughter.”
I’m greeted by a chorus of “Hello, Mallory”s from a group of startlingly tan and scantily clad senior citizens. The men are dressed in sweat shorts, T-shirts, and white sneakers with tall white socks. The ladies are all dressed like Angela, in little brightly colored skirts and tank tops. I’m wearing copper-red bike shorts and a matching crop top, and I’ve brought a beach towel, because I noticed they all have a yoga mat during these classes and a towel is the best I’ve got.
“So, what is this class, anyway?” I ask.
In response, they laugh. I mean, theyalllaugh, as though I’ve made a hilarious joke.Okay…
