“Amazing. Did you work already this morning?” She asks a question that she knows the answer to.
“Only a couple hours.” I answer like we’re not cautiously walking snowy sidewalks at 7:30 AM for a Saturday yoga class.
“Ivy. You need more sleep and regular meals. Let’s do better this week, yeah?”
I know Holland keeps in touch with Viv, which means they probably compare notes about my bad days. At first, it made me feel like I didn’t know how to take care of myself but I’m lucky to have people who love me like they do. They mean well.
“Okay, Holland, I’ll do that.” I say it with a wink so she knows I’m joking.Well, sort of.
We reach the yoga studio, Viv runs to pull the door open, slipping a little before steadying herself with the handle. Her eyes are so wide they could fall right out of her head.
“I would’ve laughed so hard if you fell, after I figured out you were okay.” I put my gloved hands on the side of my face and giggle, my brain playing the scenario out the other way.
“You’re the one who makes me walk,” Vivian whines. “Get your ass inside.” She pulls the door open for me.
No matter how many yoga classes I go to, I swear they are equally hard. It’s like I can’t get my mind and body to cooperate. The days my muscles are long and pliable are the days my brain is running its own marathon, or vice versa.
This morning, both parts were difficult. I’ve spent most of my week huddled over my laptop, tensing my shoulders, and clenching my jaw—it’s not surprising that stretching and lengthening wasn’t easy. My brain kept thinking of all the things I needed to accomplish, which to be fair, is better than the mantra of “fuck, this is so hard."
I’ll take what I can get.
“The best part of yoga is the coffee and treats after,” Viv says, while holding a steaming mug of black coffee. She’s dramatic and still wearing her scarf, claiming she’s still cold.
We’re at one of our favorite coffee shops, just a block from yoga. There’s no way I could’ve convinced Viv to walk any further than that.
“I don’t disagree,” I take a drink of my cinnamon latte; the warmth of the coffee plus the pleasant spice of the cinnamon is perfect for a winter morning.
“Are you excited to go home for a quick visit before the event?” Viv asks, while ripping part of a cinnamon roll from our shared pastry plate and putting it in her mouth. "I'm sure Holland will be extra grumpy for you."
I roll my eyes at Viv before answering. “A thousand times yes. I can obviously take my laptop, and wrap up whatever is going on here, but—”
She leans over and puts my face in her hands, and thankfully she just wiped the cinnamon roll crumbs off her fingers. “Listen to me. You’re going home, to your man, to have wild and hot I-missed-you-sex. I don’t want to hear about your fucking laptop.” She lightly shakes my head for emphasis.
I smile, bunching my cheeks and she lets me go.
“I’m serious! This is the old you. I thought workaholic Ivy was dead and buried. Did we resurrect her and I missed it? I thought I was clear—I want to join any and all resurrections.” She points her finger at me, giving me a proper scolding.
“Sheisdead, but this event means a lot to me. It’s a solid opportunity with an even better cause. I just want to do a good job.” I’ve never been able to explain this well. It’s like I know some of these habits aren’t healthy but I’d take that over falling even an inch short.
“No, you’re trying to be superhuman. The cause might be great, but your mental health is not something you should sacrifice. I’m just saying,enjoy the visit. You need a break.” She lifts her hands up like she’s waving the white flag.
“I will. This is the longest we’ve been apart, except for when I left the very first time.” I cross my arms, daydreaming of our teary goodbye in the airport. Someone offered to take our photo, Slate included, and it’s one I have framed at our place at the lodge.
Viv sighs out a breath, looking around the room, dramatically, before she lands her eyes on mine. "You know, when you told me you were moving out of the city, I barely believed you. For someone who has been an indoor cat most of her life, gotta say, the lodge life looks good on you."
I grin at my best friend, one of the souls closest to mine. "I know. Life's so unpredictable sometimes."
She's not wrong and this is a thought I've had myself. If you would've told me that I'd end up falling in love, on a work trip, in a place where there are mountains and trees but no Uber, or a Target, I would've never believed you.
"I mean, you used to listen to stock sounds of traffic, like city white noise to fall asleep. Do you ever still do that?" Her brows raise with her question.
"Sometimes. Mostly when I'm missing you." I wink at her and she shimmies her shoulders in response. "I sleep a lot better when I'm with Holland and Slate. I still do my deep breathing and stretching routine before bed, but it mostly settles me. Before, it felt like I was grasping at anything that could help me sleep."
I'm still an anxious millenial but my sleep has drastically improved in the last year. Maybe Jack, the horrible ex, was so toxic that his vibes actually were ruining my sleep schedule. Probably not, but every once in a while Jack deserves a mental dig—even if I'm the only one who canhear it.
“Anything I can help with while you’re gone? I know it’s just a few days,” Vivian offers.
“Actually, would you mind doing a drink tasting?” It’s barely a favor because I know how this is right up her alley.
