Chapter One
Jessie
“And now downward facing dog,” the yoga instructor says calmly. “Raise your right leg into the air and hold it.”
Another dozen or so drops of sweat fall from my forehead to the mat, causing my hands to continue to slip.
The room is dark, but I look at everyone around me, and they seem to be handling the temperature just fine. Even Eva—my best friend, who just happened to have a baby a month ago—doesn’t seem to be struggling.
“Can you breathe?” I whisper to her as panic begins to build in my body. “I don’t think this is a normal amount of sweat that my body is producing.”
“Shh,” Eva replies quietly. “It’s hot yoga. You’re supposed to sweat.”
There is no way this is normal. I feel like a lobster just placed in a boiling pot. How long has it been? It’s a sixty-minute class, but it must have already been ninety minutes.
I bet the instructor has just lost track of time. I should tell her.
“And let’s bring our leg down to the mat and move to our child’s pose.”
Thank fuck. I nearly fall down to my knees as I let my arms relax above my head. This is not what was advertised on the website, where it boasted about opening your pores, detoxifying your body, and promoting overall well-being.
I fail to see how passing out from a heatstroke promotes anything, except for a medical bill after being transported to the emergency room for severe dehydration.
I drank water before this, but I must have sweat out more than I’ve drunk in the last month.
Eva and I walk outside to the streets of New York City in the sweltering July heat.
“Ah, I feel so refreshed.” Eva smiles. “Wasn’t that amazing?”
I side-eye her so hard; if it were possible to sprain your eyeball, it would happen. “Eva, that was literal hell on earth.”
“Hell on earth? It wasn’t that bad. Maybe you pushed yourself too hard your first time. The instructor said you could always go into child’s pose if you needed a break.”
We open the door to the café next door to Satan’s den. The air-conditioning hits my body like a blanket of sympathy for what I just endured.
“And be the only loser who couldn’t keep up? No thank you!”
Eva sighs as we take a seat by the window. “You’re too competitive.”
I shrug my shoulders. “It works well in my career.”
Eva laughs lightly. “I can only imagine what other lawyers must feel when they realize they are going up against you.”
“They should feel shame. That means they’re representing awful parents who have created an unsafe environment for their children.”
I’m a family lawyer for a small firm in the city. I work tirelessly to guarantee children are taken away from abusive or neglectful parents, or a parent is given a safe space with the children, away from their abusive partner.
It’s not the highest-paying avenue to take as a lawyer, but it’s meaningful. I still make a decent living.
Eva leans her chin on her hand. “I don’t know how you do it. Now that I’m a mother, I can’t imagine seeing abusive parents for work on the daily. I’d be so jaded.”
“It’s not easy. There are some days the environment really sucks me into a negative thought cycle. But we aren’t here to talk about my job. How’s motherhood treating you? It looks good on you.”
Sure, she looks tired. The bags under her eyes are a bit more pronounced. She isn’t wearing any makeup, and her hair is up in a messy bun. But there’s a glow to her. A sense of peace that radiates off her, like she’s finally found her purpose.
“It’s amazing. Exhausting. Perfect. Tiring.”
“That’s a whole lot of contradiction.” I laugh.
