The panic rises in me and while I am quick to quieten it, I am not as effective as the note I find on the bedside table.
GONE FOR MY RIDE WITH DAD. BACK FOR COFFEE AT 10. CALL ME IF NOT GOOD. P.S. YOU ARE FUCKING AWESOME.
Again, he leaves his number below the message. I didn't put his number in my phone yesterday, but I did keep hold of the note he left, folding it into my purse behind one of my credit cards. I hold this piece of paper, staring at the slightly forward slope of his handwriting, not at all surprised that he writes in all capital letters, and I know I'll never throw his notes away.
After glancing at my phone and realising I've slept in later than I have all week - until 8:45 - I sit up and acknowledge the sharp ache between my legs and a light sting on the skin of my butt cheeks as I slip out of bed. I smile about both as I brush my teeth and scroll through other notifications that have come up, including five new messages from my brother checking I’m still alive.
I look lazily at the bath, thinking a soak would do my aching pussy good, but I realise I have too much nervous energy for that and before I can talk myself out of it, I'm changing into a clean set of gym gear and pulling my hair into a ponytail. I grab a banana from the fruit bowl and eat it as I march up the path to the outdoor gym, my headphones on and my tried and tested playlist filling my ears. I get my phone out and send Jake a quick message to let him know I'm still breathing butif he doesn’t hear from me again by the end of the day it’s because I have died and my cause of death is to be listed as “Fucking A Young Irishman”.
Focused on my phone, I'm already in the gym when I spot who else is there. It’s Marty's sister, Maeve, with an older woman that has the exact same colouring as Marty. And when she stands up straight, coming out of a yoga position I'm not sure I could do, I see her side profile on full display complete with a familiarly commanding nose, albeit bump-free, and a very recognisable angular bone structure.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath but keep walking, albeit a little slower.
They appear to be doing stretches on the mats together and by the look of Maeve's slightly pinked cheeks, I have a small hope that they're cooling down rather than warming up. Maeve is the first to spot me and I hit pause on my playlist as she lifts her hand in a meagre wave.
“Oh, hi,” she says, and I see her glance at her mother once, twice, before putting her eyes back on me. Maeve has a careful but impish smile on her face, as if she's considering what would be the best outcome in this scenario for me but she also can’t resist contemplating the most fun outcome for her.
“Hi,” I say, and keeping my head down, I walk past them to the machine section. I hope Maeve receives my brevity as the invitation it is to absolutely not introduce me to her mother.
I am standing on the treadmill and finally breathing somewhat normally when I hear muttering behind me. I make the mistake of glancing back and I see Maeve’s mother - Marty’s mother - looking directly at me with her hands on her hips.
I smile at her, possibly a little disingenuously, then turn back to my workout, punishing myself by increasing the incline and the speed a little. I hit play again on my music.
“Let’s go, Ma.” I hear Maeve's voice clearly despite my playlist. I patiently keep my eyes forward and wait for the song to finish before I look back, relief sinking my chest when I see they have gone.
“Thank fuck for that,” I say to myself and then, lowering the incline, I increase the speed and my music volume. I start to jog.
After a surprisingly easy twenty-five minutes of running – possibly a consequence of my boosted levels of endorphins after all the many orgasms I’ve enjoyed the last few days - I switch the machine off and turn around to go take my position at the weights.
That's when I see her walking back up the path.
Marty's mother.
I cover my face with my towel, wiping away the sweat and hoping against all hope that it will also wipe away the image of his mother walking towards me with a very severe frown on her face, but when I drop the towel I see she and her scowl are still very much on the approach.
“I forgot my water bottle,” she says, a little too loudly.
I nod and smile as she goes to retrieve a purple bottle I hadn’t noticed on the floor. I pick up a pair of 5kg dumbbells and stand in front of the mirror.
“So, you’re Jenna?” She looks at me using the mirror's reflection.
I sigh and I know she will have seen my shoulders sink. But surely she can’t expect me to want to have this conversation, even if she does.
“Yes,” I say.
She nods and her lips curl up more on the right side than the left. It’s definitely not a smile. “I’m Cynthia.”
“Nice to meet you, Cynthia,” I say and nod at her in the mirror. Then I start to pump my arms. I may as well use up all this nervous energy.
“You were with Aiden yesterday,” she says and then lowers her voice. “And last night.”
“Yes,” I say simply. I remind myself that Marty is twenty-four. I don’t need to apologise or be ashamed of sleeping with him.
“I have to be honest and say I'm a little surprised,” she begins but I'm not about to wait to hear what she has to say.
“Because I'm older? Yes, I can understand that.” And it's the truth. It's been surprising me since I met him.
“And you’re English,” she says, and my spine straightens, tingling a little. I hadn’t even thought of that being a problem, and my oversight is as sobering as it puzzling.
