“Yeah.”With help.
“That’s a lot. That’s pretty cool. I couldn’t tell that this was your side hustle. You take it so seriously.”Because of her,I realize. It’s because of Mia that I’m here, doing this.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, picking up my phone on my long walk home from the gym. I’ve been walking home the two miles from Gowanus to Bed-Stuy just to kill time.
“What’s wrong?” she asks immediately, in that all-knowing mother way.
“Why do you think something is wrong?”
“Because you never pick up on the first ring,” she says.
I don’t tell her that I’ve been clutching onto my phone for dear life for a week. Waiting for something that would never come. Or jerking off to mine and Mia’s sexting thread from New Orleans. And all her photos and videos.
“I’m fine,” I tell her, clearly not.
“Did you get that last package?”
I think about how Mia and I chopped up all the brownies and mixed it into vanilla ice cream, but then got extremely distracted, and it ended up as a brownie soup on the dining table.
“Yeah, it was fantastic. It didn’t last three seconds in our house.” This is true, because it ended up melted in a soup. “You’re the best mama of all eternity for sending that.”
I can hear my mom smile over the phone. “You don’t have to charm your mother. I can send you another batch.”
“If you could throw in an extra blondie and oatmeal raisin cookie for Mia, that would be great.” I can keep it in the freezer for her, for when she inevitably comes home. She can’t stay at that prick Adam’s forever.
“Of course, darling.”
I wait at a crosswalk in Park Slope for a light to change, a stroller or three running over my foot.
“How’s life with you, dear? We haven’t spoken in weeks.”
I rub my aching toe on my calf. “A lot, actually. I… I quit teaching.”
“What?!”
“Yeah,” I laugh.
“What happened? Something bad?”
“Nothing bad. No, I quit.”
“What did Mia have to say about this?”
“Mia—” I scrub my face.
“Explain,” Mom orders.
“My gym was… is doing really well. I realized… well, Mia, really, realized that I was taking in almost double my teaching salary from the gym. And then, I, we, put it all online.” I’m determined to give credit where credit was due. “Mia got this small business software that took some weight off my shoulders to get everything organized. I had a lot more time on my hands to take on more clients. Then remember that NBA guy I have? He talked about me to some of his teammates, and five more signed up. That’s really what pushed it over the edge.”
There is silence over the line. Then, a loud, high-pitched squeal. “Holy crap, Elias! That’s amazing!”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I wait for the inevitable question. It comes in the form of a statement.
“Mia must be so proud of you, too,” she says warmly. “That was great of her to help.”
I blow out a breath. “Mia… technically doesn’t know all of this.”
