“Hmm…”
She smacks my hand away. “This is actually a compliment, so listen.”
“What compliment?”
“I think it’s really, really cool that aprofessionalathlete found or heard of your services, tried them, and decided they were good enough to keep doing it.” She smiles at me, and I rub my thumb across her top lip.
“Pretty cool.”
“Don’t professional athletes have, like, an entire team of trainers they use? That come with their team, or whatever? He circumvents them and comes toyou.”
What is this warmth? This is notjust sexwarmth. “I guess it is pretty cool. He also said something cooler to me today.”
“What?”
“Some of his teammates might be interested in joining my gym, too. On their off days.”
“That’s fucking incredible,” she says, and I look down at her, perplexed. She really does think it’s incredible. “What days are their off days?”
A strange feeling runs through me. “I think they’re school days. I’m not sure yet.”
“Like, during school, or after school?”
“I mean, the whole day, so presumably during school and after school,” I tell her.
“Hmmm…” She purses her lips in thought. “So you’ll have to make a decision when it actually happens.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty exciting,” I say lamely.
She sits up, familiar with my tells. “Why don’t you look like it’s exciting?”
“It is,” I mutter.
She X-rays me with her crazy blue eyes. “You look like how you looked when you got into state school after knowing Leo got into Ivy League Light.”
“That was exciting, too,” I say, suddenly very uncomfortable.
Mia looks at me silently, patiently waiting.
“I don’t know,” I finally burst out, or she finally rips out of me. The dam breaks, flooding the valley of this kitchen floor. “I guess I feel weird because this was just a small hobby. Not a real job. Just to supplement my salary. It’s just helping people work out, lift weights. Being a glorified weight spotter.” I parrot what basically everyone in my life has been telling me about my “personal training thing.”
“This is a very real thing, Elias. Not just a hobby,” she scoffs. “How much are you taking in from the gym compared to your teaching salary right now?”
“I think it’s more than my teaching salary,” I mumble.
She smacks me. Hard. “Then how dare you call it a hobby? This is a real fucking job. You did it and built it and kept it up all by yourself. All while working another full-time job.” She kisses me on the cheek. “You’re annoyingly competent at everything you do, remember? I’m proud of you.”
Memories of Mia at every single one of Leo and my soccer games, baseball games, basketball games, cheering us on. Sometimes she had signs. For both of us. Sometimes she brought a book. But she was always there. I remember the ear-piercing whistle she perfected by high school.
“I’m going to need some help, soon, I think,” I admit quietly.
“With what?”
“It’s getting a little too big for me. Too many clients, too many things to keep track of. So many numbers. And forget about taxes. I’m dreading April.”
She hums, thinking for a moment. “Sounds to me like you need to delegate. Maybe there’s a bookkeeping or accounting software you can get. Or maybe you can hire someone part time.”
I nod, agreeing. “But I don’t know where to start.”
