Page 67 of I Wish He Would

“Great, now this time we’re going to do a pelvic curl as we exhale.”

“A pelvic what?” Austin asks.

“Just lift your butt this time,” I whisper back.

“And now stretch as you slowly lower your spine back to the floor.” Felicity has us do this same stretch a few times before moving on to some small leg lifts.

“This isn’t so bad.” Austin smiles at me. I don’t want to kill his optimism by letting him know these are the warm-ups, but he’ll learn for himself soon enough.

“Now you’re going to pull your knees to your chest and wrap your hands around your ankles,” Felicity instructs. “And we’re going to roll like a ball.”

Austin looks over at me, his eyes wide. “Is this lady for real?”

I nod and get in position, following Felicity’s instructions while Austin struggles to follow along.

We do some single-leg circles before Felicity leads us into the corkscrew. Austin looks over at me, sweat dripping down his face. “Morning movement, my butt. They should rename this class ‘Torture Disguised as Fitness.’” He attempts to do the correct position, but fails, landing flat on his back. “This is the kind of class you go to?”

I execute the position perfectly. “Three times a week.”

“No wonder you love my cookies. You need some sugar happiness and carbs in your life after you sweat this much.” He grabs one of the sweat towels and wipes his face. “I’m not sure I’m going to make it.”

Now’s probably not a good time to tell him that I haven’t even broken a sweat. I don’t want to kick him when he’s already down. It’s not like I’d be able to just step in and hit a home run off a ninety-mile-per-hour fastball either.

While Felicity explains the next position for the class, I turn to Austin. “If you could eliminate one thing from the world, what would it be?”

“What does that have to do with me feeling like I’m about to die?”

“I’m trying to distract you.”

Austin sucks in a breath and slowly lets it out. “Right now,” he mutters. “Pilates.”

I laugh and the instructor glares at us. I press my lips together, feeling like I’m back in middle school getting scolded by the teacher for talking to my friends.

“I’m serious,” I whisper as I complete my high scissors.

He works to get into the same position as everyone in the class. His face is beet red, and I’m worried he might pass out for a second, but finally he glances over at me, not at all in the correct position, though close enough to show he made some effort. “Alzheimer’s.”

I know how much watching his grandma change with her diagnosis has impacted Austin and his family. But still hearing him say it out loud tugs at my heartstrings.

“It affects so many people, and it’s so hard to watch the person you love become someone else entirely.” He hangs his head and lets out a weary sigh. “Nothing prepares you for the first time you talk to them and they can’t remember who you are.”

“I’m sorry.” I hate that I brought up the question. It was a stupid idea to try and distract him, and the only questions that seemed to be lingering in my mind were from the “20 Questions to Fall in Love” article, and I couldn’t very well ask him what qualities he values most in a relationship or what his nonnegotiables are.

And, even though I hate that the question might have brought back up difficult memories for him, his answer was validating. My mind wanders back to my recent date with the mama’s boy. He would’ve eliminated something ridiculous like peaches or shellfish. But Austin’s answer is just another reason why I’ve had feelings for him all these years.

He’s not just a talented baseball player or a good friend; he’s a wonderful person. The kind of man who would choose to eliminate something so many people in the world suffer from rather than something trivial.

“Don’t be.” Austin blows out a long breath. “It’s nice talking about her.”

The instructor shoots us another annoyed look. I follow her into the crab exercise and mouth, Sorry. She doesn’t seem placated.

“You’re getting us in trouble,” I hiss at Austin.

“It takes two to have a conversation.”

I turn to tell him I’m whispering while his voice is echoing outside, but the words die on my lips when I spot him looking like a weird combination of a twisted pretzel and a baby giraffe with Rollerblades on who can’t find his footing as he tries to get into the correct position.

A laugh escapes my lips. Felicity clears her throat. Before she has a chance to throw us out, I say, “We’re going.” I grab my sweat towel and coffee and turn to Austin.