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Willow
Aday started with yoga, I never do. Now I'm wondering why. This morning’s class is called Yin Stretch Yoga where we hold a position for a very long time, five-to-ten pained-yet-delicious minutes. Muscles I didn't know I had scream then sigh at me. I feel my body waking up. Mind, soothed. I didn't sleep very well last night, so this is exactly what I need.
We were a little childish to go outside, but I just couldn't help myself. The definition of childish, I suppose. I needed to know, that’s why I went with the impulse, but truly it was none of my business. Afterward, I kept waking up wondering if I had overstepped, irrevocably.
Have to make things right.
After class I dodge the others and ask Rachel, “Do you have a minute?"
We leave the exercise room for the main room and she motions to a charming sitting areas with three antique chairs. I’m hoping it stays just the two of us, because this is embarrassing. Maybe it’s easier to ask permission than say sorry? Sure feels like that right now.
"Everything okay?”
I wring my hands, “No,” because I loathe confrontation when I respect someone and feel I’ve behaved badly.
Quickly Rachel says, "I am so sorry about the disruption last night."
I stare, then instantly realize she's worried about how this looks for her retreat. On a nervous laugh I reassure her, “Oh no, that's not what I wanted to talk about. It kind of is, but I'm coming at it from a different angle.” Running a hand through my long hair, I think about how I want to put this, eyes cast down as I begin, "I'm the one who wants to say sorry.” Looking up I dive in, forcing myself to speak slowly. “We shouldn't have come out onto the porch while you were having…family troubles. That was extraordinarily rude, and I’m not normally like that. I’m very polite. My parents taught me manners. So I slept horribly, thinking about how we barged out there onto the porch. It was none of our business, and I'm sorry.” Because I mean it, I repeat, with more emotion, “I am really sorry."
Rachels shoulders relax, and she reaches over to briefly touch my knee in a motherly way. "That's alright, Willow. Honestly, with so much going on,” She straightens up, “I hadn't thought twice about it. I also had a hard time sleeping last night, so I understand. But don’t worry another second. It had nothing to do with you.“
Glancing toward the exercise room I spy through the open door that people are still chatting with each other. We are alone but I keep my voice down just the same as I ask, “Did you want to talk about it?"
Her concerned gaze travels back from the direction I was looking in, and locks with mine. "I'm worried about my son. That woman, I wonder…" She shakes her head, and stops. “This isn’t appropriate."
"Because I’m one of your customers?"
"Because you're a guest in our home. And you came to relax."
"My friends always say I'm very easy to talk to. I'm usually the one people tell their deepest darkest to. Even strangers!”
She exhales. "Well I'm just relieved you aren't upset. I couldn’t help but notice that Dax didn't come down for yoga and I was worried that…"
I shake my head, not wanting to tell her that Dax had quite a bit to drink last night after we got back to the bedroom. I’m no snitch, so I offer, “They said they weren't a morning person."In a way it's the truth. I woke Dax up just in case my suspicions that they wanted to sleep in were incorrect, and got a grunt and an impatient rollover as response. I add, “Maybe tomorrow. But that had nothing to do with what happened last night." A total assumption on my part. However, our brief time together in the arts and crafts room led me to believe that Dax wasn't bothered in the slightest. Painting was on their mind, and only that. “Can I make a suggestion?"
Rachel nods once, curious. “Of course."
The front door opens and in walks Shelby, with a yoga mat. She looks at us and momentarily pauses before walking up, determined gaze boldly on Rachel. "Am I late?"
Our beautiful, dignified host is flabbergasted.
We sit in silence for what seems like hours until I do something a little outrageous. I take over. ”We just finished, but why don't you grab some coffee and join us.”
Pleased, Shelby leaves for the kitchen and when she is out of earshot, I whisper almost inaudibly, “Best to get on his good side."
Rachel's mouth opens slightly, speechless, until she finally nods, “Yes, for Jonny.”
“Jonny?”
“Our grandson.”
Oh that’s right. In all of the chaos, I forgot about when Ben asked where he was. Did I think it was their dog? Of course they have a child. A son. I’ve always wanted a boy…and a girl. Greedy? Maybe. But oof. My heart. Do I even have one anymore? Suddenly it feels like an icy rock slammed into its place. What is wrong with me?
Shelby is returning fast so I straighten my back and wait for her to take the third and final armchair. The one I hoped would stay empty. I need to be supportive. But of who? She’s lovely in pink yoga pants and matching top, blonde hair to her shoulders in curls that make a straight-haired woman like myself say a truthful, “I’ve always wanted curls like yours.”
Shelby smiles and touches them with her right hand, "They were behaving for once today,” the left placing her coffee cup on the round table between us.
The smell of shampoo wafts to my nose. Instantly I’m wondering if they showered together. That’s good, maybe they made up and everything is okay. I can go on with my life and my retreat and act as if nothing rocked my core last night when I saw him.
