Page 84 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
“Is it almost over?” I ask Angela.
She simply shakes her head, delicately mopping her hairline with a small white towel.
“Okay, people,” Ace shouts. “Inchworm jump!”
The woman on Angela’s other side utters a small scream. Ace demonstrates the move: from a wide-armed plank position, he sticks his butt up and then propels himself into the air, landing back in plank position with the grace of an acrobat. What fresh hell is this?
I’m not alone in my sentiments: There are a few audible groans.
“Would you rather do jumping spider?” Ace asks threateningly.
Whatever jumping spider is, it must be scary, because everyone immediately lurches into the inchworm jump.
We go through a few more animal walks, each more torturous than the last. I have to sit out the last exercise (angry piranha). My limbs are jelly by the time the class ends. And yet, for some reason, when everyone has rolled up their mats and trooped off in small groups to hit the sauna or jump in the pool, as I’m sitting on my towel unable to move, I find myself laughing. Once I start, I can’t stop. I’ve just completed what was simultaneously the hardest and the most ridiculous workout of my life. I might not be able to walk tomorrow. And also, I might have to come back next week. If Ace’s animal workout class isn’t making the most of my time here, what is?
As expected, I can barely walk the next day. I mostly hobble. But the kernel of energy inside me isn’t dimmed by my physical limitations. There’s one thing I haven’t tried yet that I suddenly can’t stopthinking about. Over breakfast, I waver back and forth. Things feel strained with Daniel right now. He hasn’t reached out again since canceling on me on Tuesday, and I haven’t, either. But I have to at least ask—if I don’t, I know I’ll regret it.
I want to ride bikes before I leave.
After I send it, I hurry to add:As friends.
He replies minutes later saying that I can borrow his spare as long as I want. To my delight, he offers to meet me this evening.
Chapter 28
I go through my new daily routine: a post-breakfast swim that feels heavenly on my sore muscles; a walk with Gramps and Wally; a couple hours of work at Paradise Coffee; and some manual labor at Pebble Cottage. I almost can’t manage painting, given how sore I am from the animal workout, but I can’t afford to lose a day working on the house. How embarrassing would it be to have to leave before it’s finished, to have to ask Daniel to finish it for me? Or to hire someone else after all the effort I’ve put in? No, I’m determined to finish it, even if my limbs ache to the point where I can barely lift a paint roller. Anyway, I’m almost finished with the walls—tomorrow I start on the floors.
At six, I stop work—putting an “Away” message on Slack—and head over to Daniel’s. It’s my first time seeing where he lives, and I’m strangely nervous as I drive up to the modest white building, standing on stilts like so many of the beachfront buildings around here. It’s only three stories and has a tidy little garage underneath.
I park in a visitor spot and then dither at the call box. It’s in front of a locked door that leads to an elevator and stairwell. He didn’t tell me whether I should text him or buzz from the call box, so I scroll through the residents’ names on the ancient machine until I find M—McKinnon.
“Hello?” Daniel’s voice crackles through the speaker.
“It’s Mallory! Mallory Rosen? I’m here!”Very smooth.
“Okay, I’ll come down.”
This comes as an unexpected disappointment. I thought this might be my one and only chance to see his place, but I suppose—since we’re justfriends—the garage is as far as I’m going to get.
A minute or two later, he bounds through the stairwell door, a grin plastered on his face. He looks like Wally before Gramps takes him on a walk.
“Hey.” I almost laugh at the excitement on his face.
“Mallory, how are you? I’m so glad you decided to bike!” He’s wearing his black-and-yellow biking onesie that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, holding a helmet under each arm.
I’m taken aback by his open enthusiasm. Maybe I misinterpreted things when he bailed on me the other day. Maybe I should have taken his words at face value, that something came up unexpectedly. On top of my surprise at his attitude, I’m just not used to the stark contrast between the people here and the people back home. Seattleites don’t express their enthusiasm—they might twitch their mouths upward in a pseudo smile, but that’s about it.
“I couldn’t leave without trying it.” I reach for the spare helmet. “You talked it up enough. Where should we go?”
He leads me over to his bike, which is chained up next to a few others. “We can ride around here. There’s a trail along the bay.”
“Sounds pretty.”
“And, like I said, you’re free to take the bike for as long as you want. Until you leave, I guess.”
“Oh, thanks.” I can tell that my skepticism comes out in my voice.
“What?”
