I never realized how stressed my money situation made me. Sure, I was single and had a full-time job, but not having any savings was like being followed by the Grim Reaper, his scythe ready to drop at any moment. Money really does make life so much easier.
Like staying in this penthouse every day, I feel like I’m auditioning for a reality show. After dropping Paisley off at school, I might run an errand or two, but for the most part, I enjoy my morning cup of tea on the terrace, which is really more like an outdoor living room, and then I might watch said reality shows on the wall-to-wall screen in the media room. Take a dip in the heated pool on the third floor. Or glide across the penthouse bamboo flooring in socks and an oversized shirt just for funsies.
I’ve done it all, but today is the first day I’m daring to enterthe gym. It is everything you’d expect from a gym in a luxury apartment building with a near 360 view, sauna, and personal trainer at your beck and call.
“Hey,” he says, strolling around a small desk toward me to extend his hand out to me. “I’m Brendan. Are you new to the building?”
“No, but I’ve never been to the gym before, so I thought I’d come and check it out.” I’m hesitant to tell him who I work for, although I know the employees know Camden lives in the building.
“Great. Well, it’s nice to meet you…?”
“Nadine.”
He grins. “Nice to meet you, Nadine. There is always a person on staff here to help with whatever you need.” He gestures around us. “For now, I’d be happy to give you a tour. Make sure you’re comfortable with everything.”
An older man is working out in the corner with some kind of machine, and a woman who appears to be in her 30s or 40s is getting in a good sweat on the elliptical. When I shrug in agreement, I earn another friendly smile. “How often do you exercise now? What do you like to do?”
“I’m not much into weights.” I glance around again, mostly interested in seeing if there is some new magic machine that can shave the cellulite off my thighs without my having to do much work. “But I’ve done group classes. I like them.”
He nods, rubbing his hands together as if he’s about to rock my world. With a bit of a farmer’s tan and a gap between his front teeth, he has a Woody Harrelson quality about him that puts me at ease. “Okay. Well, for starters, let me walk you through all the equipment, and you can let me know if you have any questions.”
I agree with a nod, and he spends the next ten minutes showing me the free weights, an array of cardio and weight machines, how to use the sauna, and the small area in the back for personal training sessions. He says all I have to do is make anappointment in the online system, and he’d be able to design a program for me.
Since I have some time, and he seems nice enough, I let him show me a few exercises now, and he makes me feel proud of myself for lifting even the tiniest weight. I never would have been able to walk into a public gym, too embarrassed by my lack of knowledge and intimidated by everyone who actually does know what they’re doing, but Brendan is so relaxed, it’s impossible not to enjoy it. He has an easy smile, a gentle spirit, and a body carved from the side of a mountain, so of course when he asks if I’ll be back, I agree and make an appointment with him right then and there.
Afterward, I head back up to the penthouse to shower and change so I can pick up Paisley from school. While I’m waiting in the car line, my mind drifts to my former students and how my old colleagues are doing. I text Lindsey—another special education teacher there—to check in, and it’s the usual stuff of kids being annoying, a fight over a boy, stress over reevaluations. Until she informs me of a huge anonymous donation that bought all of the supplies every single teacher needed. For the entire district.
Teachers spend hundreds of dollars of their own money for classroom necessities like tissues, hand sanitizer, folders, pens, and decorations. It doesn’t seem like much, but it adds up, and for every single teacher to receive what they need, it had to be at least half a million dollars. I’m not sure who would have done that, but it’s an incredibly generous gift to the students and teachers.
And something about the coincidence makes me start to sweat, even though the temperature has cooled off enough that I’m wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt today. I yank the cotton up to my elbows, exhaling a big breath because it wouldn’t have been…
Camden wouldn’t have done it.
He would have no reason to.
Except me.
And…
When I saw you that night, I thought you were stunning. Took my breath away.
I’ve been replaying those words in my head for the last week and a half, wondering if he meant it. If he still thinks that way. If it’s possible that we’ve been fighting with each other this whole time because my feelings were hurt over a misunderstanding, and I’ve refused to see how judgmental I can be.
I open the text thread with him, to the latest message he wrote, informing me that he wouldn’t be home until the early morning hours. He doesn’t have a lot of Thursday night games, but this one is against Tampa Bay. And when he left yesterday, he once again reminded me to use his credit card to purchase whatever I wanted for the guest bedroom I’ve been using while he’s away. To buy anything I might need.
But ever since our conversation about that night, I haven’t been able to take him up on the offer. Spite purchases? Absolutely yes. Buying something when I know it’s coming from a genuine place? Makes me feel like a shrew.
I don’t want to believe that I was the asshole in that situation, but I very well might have been. It’s even made me view all of his well-reported bad behavior through a new lens. All the stupid stuff he’s done, it’s never involved anyone else. He’s never hurt anyone. At least, not that I know of, and certainly not on purpose.
If I am to believe what he said is true, he never insulted me and only ever wanted to protect me.
Could I have gotten it so wrong?
It’s the question that has been troubling me every day as I enter his apartment and find my tea and the kettle he bought, the guinea pigs he’s become attached to and can never leave the house without saying goodbye to, the bracelet he wears from his sister, the smiles and hugs he offers her, the way his gaze coasts over me from head to toe every time I enter a room he’s in, as ifhe’s making sure I’m all right before ever uttering a single word to me.
I never thought of myself as a particularly prideful person, but it has been a struggle to accept that I was the one who fucked up. I was the one who jumped to conclusions. I was the one to kick off this sparring relationship.Me. I’m the problem.
And I don’t know how to begin to apologize.
