If the following week’s classes didn’t have any dropouts, she’d be able to make Pops’ full payment this month at Golden Years Assisted Living. That would be amazing if she didn’t still have the three-figure deficit from last month and the text from the pharmacy about his new prescription not being covered by Medicaid. She’d built her business on optimism, but the math refused to cooperate.
“Feel your belly rise as you inhale and fall as you exhale.”
Her mind was busy calculating what she would need to bring in as she closed the class on autopilot. Thankfully, she’d be able to do it in her sleep, which might just end up happening because lately every time she went to bed, she stared up at the ceiling wide awake, willing herself to fall asleep. Most nights, she was lucky if she managed three hours.
Class ended, and the students unfurled from their poses like human origami, rolling up mats and visiting with their friends and newcomers. The first time Tiana had taught, she’d expected people to leave in silence, floaty and content, instead, the end of class was always a burst of voices as friends connected and commiserated. She waited by the door, saying goodbye and making herself available if anyone had questions or concerns. She wasn’t able to do it every class, but the last one of the day afforded her that luxury. She was sipping from her dented Hydro Flask when the last trio of women drifted from the oak cubbies in the far back wall.
Cathy Palmer, whose leggings always matched her headband, beelined toward her, iPhone at the ready.
“Tiana, honey, I know that you haven’t been the luckiest in love.”
Tiana didn’t respond. She never knew what people expected her to say to comments like that. After going through a highly publicized divorce from a professional football player who used his publicist to push a narrative that painted her out to be a gold digger and whore, when she wasn’t the one sleeping around or hiding money in offshore accounts, it wasn’t really a topic Tiana enjoyed discussing.
“My son is single,” Cathy stated as if that was the answer to all of Tiana’s problems. She thrust the phone at Tiana, displaying a photo of a dazzlingly handsome man in a suit. “Jonathon. He’s a lawyer. Played hoops for UCLA. No tattoos. Isn’t he adorable?”
Tiana smiled at the photo, because yes, Jonathon was objectively adorable, with white teeth, kind eyes, and the rare male smile that wasn’t a flex. For a flash she tried to imagine herself holding hands with him, debating whether to stay in or go out to dinner, maybe showing up at a friend’s wedding with a boyfriend who could explain his job without using hand gestures. But even the thought of entertaining the idea of a relationship made her feel trapped, sick to her stomach, and panicky.
She smiled widely, feigning surprise and delight. “That’s a great photo! He looks just like you.” An obvious lie. Still, Cathy beamed.
“So, can I give him your number? Or maybe you could add him on ‘the socials’?”
Tiana shook her head gently and repeated the same response she’d given no less than ten times that week already. “I appreciate it, but I’m not really… dating right now.” She let her gaze drop to the floor for emphasis, hoping to make the boundary gentle but unambiguous. Even if the thought of beingin another relationship didn’t put her body into fight or flight mode, she promised herself no more athletes. One had been more than enough.
Cathy pushed on, undeterred. “You’re too pretty to be single, darling. But I get it, you’re focused on your thing. Just don’t be surprised if Jonathon ends up in your class next time he’s in town.” She winked.
Tiana politely laughed as if Cathy were joking, even though she knew she was not.
Once she was able to corral Cathy and her friends out of the studio, Tiana locked up and went around doing her normal cleanup. She disinfected the mats, floor, mirror, and cubbies and herded the straggling socks and water bottles into the lost-and-found basket.
After completing her chores, she checked the tally from the morning to see if she’d done the math correctly in her head. She then went over the studio costs again. Four months ago, her rent on the yoga studio space had increased. Not by a little. It nearly tripled, which was what had put a big dent in her finances. She’d expected some increase after her initial lease had expired, but not by the amount it had. The winter had been particularly cold, so the heating bill was killing her. And she’d had a few other unexpected expenses. It would be tight, but she’d scrape by, she had to.
She could add another class in the evenings and maybe even a children’s class in the afternoon. She’d tried to stay away from kids’ classes, only because it was a totally different energy. It wasn’t the kids that she had issues with, it was the parents watching the classes. Maybe she’d do a mommy and me, or whatever the equivalent of “mom or dad and me” is to be inclusive. Parent and child—that way the parent was occupied as well.
Tiana made an internal note to herself to look into the popularity of inter-generational classes and maybe even put up a social media post to take a temperature on the interest for that sort of class. That’s what she’d done for her hip hop yoga class, and it was now her most popular class, it always sold out weeks in advance and had the lowest dropout rate.
She pulled her backpack out from the locked cabinet beneath the desk, after turning off the computer system, she slid her arms into her jacket and placed her scarf around her neck. As she lifted her bag and ducked her head, the crossbody strap slid into place.
Her mind was already twenty to-dos ahead as she walked to the door and set the alarm. Before she typed in her code, she forced herself to stop and look around the studio, to take a moment and appreciate what she’d built.
The space gave her an immediate sense of calm, which was by design. Soft sage green walls gave the space a clean, cozy, and welcoming first impression. A tall potted fiddle-leaf fig was positioned in the corner beside the check-in counter next to a bamboo bench in the waiting area. There was a wall of mirrors opposite large windows overlooking the river that flowed through Hope Falls, adjacent to Main Street. The back wall was lined with white oak cubbies, and in the corner sat an oversized wicker basket with coiled yoga mats in it. Succulents, along with a variety of candles and incense were scattered about on various surfaces creating a soothing ambiance.
This was her studio. She’d built this on her own. No help from anyone. The first years of businesses were usually difficult, and it wasn’t just Om Sweet Om, she also had Pops. It was a lot, but she was doing it. Barely, but she was doing it.
She set the alarm and headed out.
“Hey there, Miss Tiana!”
Tiana looked across the street and saw the postman, Mr. Henley, pushing his cart.
She smiled widely and waved. “Hi, Mr. Henley, hope you’re keeping warm.”
It was the last week of November, and it was in the low thirties. Tiana hated the idea of Mr. Henley, who had to be in his seventies with a very thin frame, out in the elements all day, freezing. He’d been delivering mail for over fifty years in Hope Falls, so he clearly knew what he was doing. Maybe she was being overprotective or projecting her concern for Pops onto him.
“My Maribel takes care of me.” At the mention of his wife, Mr. Henley smiled widely, revealing his deep dimple in a right cheek covered in a salt and pepper five o’clock shadow. He lifted his arm, and with his gloved hand, tugged on the bottom layer of one of the sleeves of his shirt. “She makes sure I’ve got all my heated thermals on.”
“Well, just…be safe.”
“You too, young lady.” Mr. Henley gave her a quick salute.
