Chapter 13
Willa could hear James, in his bedroom, reading to Pete from her favorite of the kids’ books, “The Legend of Rock Paper Scissors,” by Drew Daywalt and Adam Rex.
“Even though he had won, Rock was still unsatisfied. So he journeyed on, to the mystical tower of Grandma’s Favorite Apricot Tree. There he was met by an odd and delicious fruit,” James bellowed from his bed, in what sounded like his best impression of Gandalf the Grey. “’You, sir, look like a fuzzy little butt!’”
“Can it, Janet!” Charlie yelled from his room across the hall. “I’m trying to read!”
“Kindness!” Pete called back.
Willa slipped into the bathroom to drop some Visine into her eyes.
“Mommy, is that you?” Charlie called out.
“Can it, Janet,” James mocked.
“Kindness!” Willa yelled back. “And yeah, it’s me.”
“Come to my room and say goodnight to me!” Charlie yelled.
She tucked him in, explaining that her eyes were red because she’d petted a cat, and then gave James the same story before kissing him goodnight.
In the kitchen, where she mixed up a protein shake for dinner, Pete asked: “What’s going on?”
Willa thought she detected a slight hint of irritation, an almost what-is-it-this-time tone. But she also knew she had trip-wire sensitivity about fluctuations in his voice, always worried that she and her emotions were too much of a burden.
“I had a rough time at FitFams. Dee wasn’t happy with my performance,” Willa said, picking the cuticle on her left ring finger. “I thought I was doing well, but it turns out I wasn’t.”
Pete reached for that hand and held it. “You really don’t have to go through with this. It’s not your real job.”
“I know,” Willa said, gently taking her hand back. “I’m not going to stick with it if it continues to stress me out. I’m gonna see how I feel after the first real day of teaching.”
“OK,” Pete said.
“You seem annoyed. Are you annoyed?” Willa asked.
“What? No, not at all,” Pete said. “I will be, if you keep asking me that.”
She stepped into a hug. Chicken tried to break it up, standing tall and leaning on Willa and Pete with her front paws while rowr-rowring her awful breath into their faces.
“So romantic,” Willa said. “I need to go finish that magazine layout.”
She went into her home office and shut the door. Instead of opening up the Adobe InDesign file for the project, she grabbed the thick workbook from group therapy. The dog-eared book included tips on how to better handle anxiety, sadness, and irritability. She flipped through the pages, noting where she’d absently doodled “is this really a thing?” because Stella would not stop yammering about her husband’s bird-watching addiction. On another page Willa had drawn the word “fuck this” in big bubble letters. Underneath it were some notes to herself, including: “determine what my values are and then live by them,” “learn to how to feel ‘excited abandon’ without alcohol,” and “decrease shame spirals.”
Be Effective, one of the pages preached. In the margins she’d written: “If you don’t use skills, you are making a choice to be miserable. You’re used to being miserable. So try something different.”
She put the book back on her desk and got to work.
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It was opening day, and Willa was anxious as she pulled into the parking deck. She was dressed in a white, company-approved muscle shirt and FitFams leggings (total cost of outfit: $135) and had her long, blonde hair in a company-approved ponytail with a pale-blue bandana to hold back any wisps that dared attempt to escape.
There was a line of about 30 women in similar gear, and one guy in black running shorts and a red T-shirt with sleeves too small for his biceps, outside of the studio, all looking at their phones. Willa went to the back of the line.
Tara poked her head out of the door. “Willa! Come here! You’re VIP.”
She felt the urge to look behind her for a Willa who weighed 20 pounds less and had walked for Gucci in New York Fashion Week.
“Come on!” Tara yelled. Then, as she ushered Willa inside, Tara said to the people in line: “Thank you for being here, and for being part of the FitFams journey. The studio will officially open in five minutes.”
“Dude, coaches don’t have to wait in line,” Tara said, fist-bumping Willa. “Go put your stuff away, get some shoes, and grab a machine.”
Willa did as she was told, and took a machine in the second row. Jamie, Ashley, and Jen were already clipped into machines in the front row. All three wore FitFams crop tops, leggings, and the messy topknots depicted in the training manual. Jamie twisted her body to rotate the pedals so she was facing Willa.
Damn you and your young obliques, Willa thought, as she crouched to adjust the Velcro straps on her shoes. How do you get them to pop like that?
“Hey!” Jamie said. “Aren’t you so excited?”
“Oh, yeah. For sure,” Willa said. “I mean, I’m a little shell-shocked after my evaluation. Dee was not happy. How did you recover from that?”
Jamie looked confused. Or her mouth did. Her brows did not move. “What do you mean, ‘recover?' My evaluation was totally fine. Her notes really helped me.”
Jen turned around in her pedals next. “Y’know, it’s a big deal that Dee is teaching today. She’s usually too busy. She’s always jetting off to Banff or something. I hear the waiting list for this class today is 25 people deep.”
“Wow,” Willa said. That’s a big waiting list for a 20-person class that costs $35 a pop.
“Thank God coaches get to take class for $10, or I’d never be able to afford it,” Ashley said over her perfectly tan shoulder.
The doors opened and the clients poured in. Willa watched Dee as she made strong eye contact with each person, putting an arm around every set of shoulders, giving every person a warm smile. Tara was the perfect sidekick, with her fist bumps and don’t-worry-I-got-you nods. When Dee looked up and saw Willa, Willa quickly looked away.
Tara leaned out the door to address the people still in line: “I’m so sorry, but we are full. There are zero no-shows today. Please take a look at the schedule for this month, and sign up for classes with all of our great coaches!”
Then she locked the door.
Dee breezed into the main part of the studio, pulled on her headset, and cued her music. She was impossibly smooth, magnetic, and masterful as she delivered the introductory script. And was it possible she’d developed more abs? Jesus — no wonder she made millions.
Then Dee stopped.
“Have you taken a FitFams class in one of our other markets?”
She was speaking into the mic, her words directed at a woman who had clipped in to machine #4 in the front row. The three coaches next to her exchanged looks.
“No,” the woman said. “I haven’t.”
“Then you can’t be in my front row,” Dee said. “Willa, switch machines with this nice person.”
Willa hesitated. Was this for real? Wasn’t Dee worried about upsetting the client?
Dee crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows at Willa, so she moved. The client, sheepishly, took her spot in the second row.
“Willa is one of our coaches. She is amazing. Seriously, a bright and shining star,” Dee sang out. “She’s adorable, her playlists are bangin’, and she will kick your ass like nobody’s business. I can’t wait for all of you to see her in action.”
Jen gave Willa a thumbs up. Jamie mouthed something along the lines of “yassss, queen!” Ashley smiled, though it looked a little bit pained. Willa was baffled. Had Dee forgotten what had happened during the evaluation? Had she forgotten who Willa was?
“Alright, everyone. Watch Willa for good form,” Dee called out. “Get ready!”
Willa felt her face flush, like it did when that tattooed bike messenger bought her several beers at the Corner Tavern before dedicating Usher’s “You Make Me Wanna” to her during karaoke.
Dee cranked up “Bad and Boujee” by Migos. She bobbed her head to the beat, every movement seeming to raise the temperature and the energy in the room. “Are you ready to change your life? Are you ready for me to kick your ass? Are you ready to be better, stronger, happier than you’ve ever been?” she screamed. “I said, ARE YOU READY?”
The clients’ howls and hollers were almost feral. If Willa had been standing outside the window with the dancing man who was closely watching class with his hand in his pants, she would have wondered what drugs the people inside had taken and how she could get some. But she wasn’t watching, she was screaming too.
It was unlike anything she’d experienced in her entire life.