“I haven’t seen you here before, uh…”
“Jen,” I said, straightening my posture. I split my hair into a part and smooth
ed
it down along both sides of my face. If he hadn’t noticed the hearing aids yet, I wasn’t about to let him now. “Don’t tell anyone, but today was my first workout in… I don’t know how long.”
“You make it sound like you’re stepping into a confessional or something,” he laughed lightly. “In which case, I don’t think I’m allowed to tell anyone, am I?”
“Guess not.” I smiled back at him; I couldn’t help myself, he was just so smiley.
“Well, Jen, I hope I get to see you around here again sometime soon.” He adjusted the duffle bag on his shoulder and tucked his hands into his pockets. “I’m usually here Tuesday through Friday afternoons if you want to sign up for a session with me one of these days.”
“Thanks,” I had to force myself not to giggle. Had he just invited me to sweat in his general vicinity? That had never happened to me before. “I’ll keep
you… uh,
that in mind.”
Noah winked one of his dreamy eyes at me and I tried not to visibly swoon. Winking isn’t something that happened to me very often either, so I found myself staring after him for a full five minutes, long after he’d exited the door, climbed into his Jeep, and pulled away.
“You okay?” I heard Claire say from somewhere nearby. Blinking, I came to and looked up at her. “
Welcome back to earth
.
What the heck was that?”
I rubbed my eyes and stood up. “I have absolutely no idea.”
****
Back at my apartment
,
it took her
less than
an hour to destroy my entire kitchen. In what seemed like seconds,
Claire had fired up the crock pot with something healthy in it to eat for dinner in six hours. The next thing I knew, she was raiding my cabinets
…again.
How rude. I quickly evacuated the kitchen, choosing to hide behind my laptop screen until the dust settled. It was a full ten minutes before I heard another word from her, but the rustling and general clatter arising from my kitchen made me nervous.
Then, suddenly, it was all over. “
Okay, you can come in now!
”
Fearing the worst, I peered around the doorway into my little galley kitchen. I did not want to go in there. Claire knew where I kept the sharp objects. Although I didn’t see any sharp objects from where I was standing, I preferred to err on the side of caution. I could see, however, that Claire had emptied the contents of my cabinets directly onto the countertops. There were three piles, neatly stacked, of all my canned goods, assorted non-perishables, and secret stash of junk food.
How did she find the good stuff?
Especially after I’d re-hidden it in even better spots this time.
“So, here’s the deal,” she said, hands on her hips. She tossed her hair once before she continued, pointing to each pile in turn. “I’ve divided all your food into three categories. From now on, we will refer to these as Green Light, Yellow Light, and Red Light foods.”
I crossed my arms and narrowed my gaze. The pile with all my secret food had just been dubbed “Red Light,” which was either code for “not allowed” or “only acceptable in a special, brothel-heavy part of town.” Neither option boded well for me.
Claire continued, unperturbed. “I want you to start concentrating on eating mostly Green Light foods, like the whole grain stuff and the canned veggies. We’ll need to get more fresh produce to load up your fridge, but at least the canned stuff is a starting point.” She studied the piles for a moment, before turning back to me. “So the Yellow Light foods are ones that you can have
once in a while
and the Red Light foods you should, obviously, avoid.”
I stared at the Red Light pile, which included my hidden Oreo package and a bag of emergency Lays potato chips, before glowering at my very mean, very
bossy
sister. I knew she was trying to help me, but come on. I was a grad student. Junk food was a prerequisite.
And those poor Gummy Bears would never understand why I couldn’t eat them.
“I thought you wanted to get healthy, Jen.” Her words were spoken calmly, not as a question but not with any significant force either. “I’m just trying to help you.”
I studied my sister for a moment, from her gorgeous healthy hair to her perky bosom and down to her smooth, toned legs. If anyone knew what she was talking about in the fit and healthy department, it was Claire. I grew up with her, so I knew her good looks and a toned, fit physique hadn’t just come naturally to her. She’d put in a tremendous amount of work to look this good and it was paying off. I guess I should’ve been paying more attention during my formative years. It might’ve saved me some grief. Looking at her that day, preaching to me about vegetables from my tiny kitchen, I could see how badly she wanted me to be healthy and finally happy with
myself.
Claire knew as well as I did that my cheesecake habit wasn’t making me healthy or happy, and that a good change of pace might do more than just help me drop
down to
a new jeans size.
The one summer during my life when I actually did stick to a diet plan and lose weight, I felt good about myself. It had less to do with the actual pounds lost, or the smaller waistline, and much more to do with being disciplined. Something about sticking to a plan, doing something worthwhile just for myself, and no one else… it struck a chord with me. I had more confidence, I had more patience,
and I
just had
more
. Of everything. Then, to top it all off, when I looked in the mirror, I liked what I saw.
Something upset my apple cart way back then, and I’d never been able to climb back onboard. I think I got lost striving for other thing
s
—grades, friends, higher paychecks, and other such nonsense. But there was Claire—sweet, helpful Claire—willing to get me back on track and hold my hand as long as necessary. To kick my butt in the gym and slap the fork out of my hand if need be. I would be a fool to let any more time go by without listening to what she had to say.
“Hold on a second,” I said, raising one finger. She raised an eyebrow, but let me dash back to my desk. I grabbed my iPad, returned to the kitchen, and dropped into one of the chairs. Finger at the ready, eager for some healthy eating tips, I nodded for her to continue.
Claire gasped,
and then
met my gaze with a smile. “I can’t believe this is happening right now. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I sighed. It was one of those “now or never” moments, and I wasn’t a fan of
never
.
CHAPTER FIVE
Claire was too smart for me. She took all of my Red Light foods to an unknown dumpster between her apartment and mine. I watched her tote my secret feel-good snacks out in a trash bag and had to force myself to stay still. It was just food. It had no power over me. None at all.
Besides, I told myself after she had finally left, there were plenty of other ways to occupy my mind that weren’t related to food. Eating out of loneliness or boredom hadn’t gotten me anything but a bigger waistline and a lot less self-esteem. Instead, I decided to change into some sweats and try one of those fitness programs On Demand.
One hour-long Billy Blanks, Jr. dance-a-thon later, I was both starving and exhausted. I hadn’t eaten a bite of that weird health gumbo my sister made me. Taking a whiff of it, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to. Choking down a few bites, I realized the best way to keep my hands busy was to keep up with Olivia’s exciting social life online. It was, by far, more entertaining than my own.
A
lternating between
the two profiles,
t
he difference in activity was staggering and a little bit depre
ssing
. My place in the social pecking order was becoming quite clear, thanks to this little experiment.
I spent some time
scanning the new friend requests Olivia had received. My “hot” photo was working wonders to broaden
her
appeal, garnering an impressive
50 or so
requests in little more than a day.
Eager to focus on the research aspect and stop feeling sorry for myself, I got out my notebook and started writing.
Lost in thought and furious note-taking, I almost missed the blinking message notification on my computer’s task bar.
Ooh! A message!
As I clicked it open, my entire body went cold. It was Sean.
The
Sean.
I had to close my eyes a moment, take a few deep breaths to keep from passing out, before I could look at my computer screen again. Yes, it was him all right, twelve years later and looking as amazing as he ever had.
Sean O’Dwyer—a man with a name as Irish as mine was boring—had sent me a message.
Well, he’d sent Olivia a message.
I clicked on his picture, pulling up the photo of a normal-looking man who seemed out of place amidst all the model-like shots of my other virtual friends. Sean O’Dwyer is a nice-looking young guy, around my age, and in much better shape than
me
.
But I wasn’t going to think about that just then, because it depressed me.
I examined Sean’s photo, a picture of him with his thumbs hooked in his pockets, standing on a beach somewhere. He looked muscular, but not overly so, and had a carefree posture and light smile on his face. Sunglasses and a backwards hat, paired with a navy blue t-shirt and a pair of board shorts,
made him look like he was
some sort of beach bum or surfer. Don’t those peo
ple get eaten by sharks
?
The thought of Sean getting eaten by a shark made me a little sick, so I took another bite of health gumbo to distract my stomach.
Moving back to his message, I
just took it all in,
one word at a time
.
Dear
Olivia –
I hope you don’t mind me being forward and reaching out to you like this.
You remind me of a classmate I had back in junior high.
I’m terrible with names, but your picture looks really familiar to me. When you popped up as a suggested friend, I figured it didn’t hurt to take a chance and see! If you are her, and we did go to school together, I’d love to reconnect.
Anyway, how are things? Hope everything is going well.
Seems like you’ve been keeping very busy since we last saw one another.
Best of luck with your modeling career!
Sean
A classic case of mistaken identity. It was almost funny: I created someone completely fictional and managed to find an actual, real-life person who thought he knew her. What a special skill I seemed to have.
But then again, he did know her. Well,
me
. Could it be that somewhere in the back of Sean’s subconscious, he remembers me from our days in school together? I never thought he had even noticed me before, but if my altered photo reminded him of a classmate… chances were good it was
me
he was reminded of. Right?
Tangled in my own web of logic, I wasn’t sure what to do, how to proceed. Here’s the boy—now grown to a man—that I had always been in love with, but had never thought to ever pursue. The photo of me, this new person Olivia whom I aspired to become, had attracted him after all this time. What could I do?
I read the message a few more times through, tapping my fingers idly on my desk. I knew Olivia wasn’t real and that I had absolutely no obligation to respond to her messages.
Still, there was no way on earth that I would let a message from
the
Sean O’Dwyer sit unanswered.
I
glanced at my notebook, waiting patiently nearby for more jotted thoughts and observations. Which I could only get if I took the plunge. Besides,
corresponding as my fake identity
could really help me explore a whole new angle of my thesis.
And how else could I keep his attention? It’s not like I could tell him,
Oh this is a fake profile. You really wanted to talk to Jen… here’s the link to her profile.
I’d never hear from him ever again if I sent him to my profile, where my photo was more of a work-in-progress than a satisfying end result.
But was this ethical? I thought about it for a moment, regretting the absence of a cat once more. A cat would know what to do, or at least look like he was listening while I talked about it out loud. Cats have always struck me as very fixed in their morals. Fine pillars of virtue, if you will. I imagined a fluffy orange tabby sitting at my feet, prim and proper, judging me with its beady little eyes.
Stupid cat. Didn’t he know how badly I needed to get an A on this project?
So I typed:
Dear Sean –
I think I remember you from school as well, although it’s been a really long time! I’ve done some traveling since, and met so many
people;
it’s sometimes hard to keep names and faces straight.
Olivia would totally play it this cool, even if she were the one doing mental cartwheels around the house at the mere appearance of Sean O’Dwyer’s name in her message box. So I kept going, as nonchalant as possible. Claire always said it was good not to look too eager when talking to a guy… so here goes nothing.
I just moved
back
to Boston
last year
after hopping from school to school in cities all over the world. With my dad in the military, we never really settled down in one place, but here I am now, trying to make Boston my home
again
. Are you still living in the area?
Olivia
I had to backspace over “Jennifer” two times before I got my fake name right. Amateur. Then I hit send and watched the screen fade back to my profile page... just seconds before I realized my fatal misstep.
Are you still living in the area?
Come on! What was I thinking? The point was to see how he reacted to things, not invite him to have an adult sleepover with me some time.
As much as I might like that, I didn’t think it would be easy to convince Sean that I was actually Olivia, not until this weight went vamoose for good.
Olivia, the giant slut, was already having a bad influence on me!
Sean, apparently, liked to hang out online about as much as I did and so I got his
reply
in mere minutes. I also confirmed my worst fears.
Olivia –
Yes, I’m still living in the area, working with a landscaping company downtown. I love this city too much to move away! Maybe we should get together and I could give you a tour of all my favorite places to visit in Boston.
I’m sure you could use a refresher. Besides,
i
t
would be great to have an exc
use to see the sight
s myself.
If you’re interested, let me know when you’re free next week.
Sean
What in God’s name am I doing? I hit delete so fast, it made my head spin. And then I wiped my sweaty palms back and forth on my pant legs. Back and forth. Like I was trying to start a fire or something.
The point of this experiment was to stay virtual, not arrange fake tours of the city I’d lived in since birth. No more contact with Sean.
No.
No more.
Don’t even think about it.
****
When the time came for my second trip to Tom’s Workout World, I felt more prepared for what was going to happen.
Not only ha
d
I been doing some work at home on my own, but I was also properly dressed for the occasion.
I wore special sweat-wicking clothing, a fancy hair band to keep fly-aways out of my face, and a new pair of shoes. I considered it all an investment
in
my future fitness. Even Claire seemed impressed with this show of commitment.
Tom, on the other hand, was about as impressed as I am when I eat my special
“
diet breakfasts.
”
He screamed and yelled as usual, while Claire went about her business like the guy she liked didn’t have a split personality disorder. I, on the other hand, found myself distracted by that bulging vein and covered in spittle. Just disgusting.
This time, we hauled ass on the elliptical machines for a bit, swung some really heavy ropes up and down, and then did military-style sit-ups. I thought I was going to throw up mid-way through the sit-ups, but somehow, I kept it together and made it through.
I have to admit
,
if I could stand up and walk away from Tom’s workouts,
I felt
damn
good about myself
.
That day, it was rough going for a few minutes, but eventually I found my footing and changed my clothes in the locker room. Claire stayed out on the floor, flirting with Tom again. She didn’t need a change or a shower, probably, since she barely broke a sweat during all of that.
Sometimes
working out with Claire
made me feel
like a lazy
three-toed sloth
when I compared the two of us.
For my own sake, I tried not to compare myself to Claire. Neither in the gym nor anywhere else, for that matter. Life was much happier that way.
In the locker room, I dressed in my sweat-free clothes, a pair of jeans and a
holey
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
t-shirt I couldn’t quite part with, and headed back out onto the floor to find Claire. On my way, I passed a pair of toned, muscly female trainers comparing notes on gym patrons they couldn’t stand. Nearby, there was an older woman working out with a guy that could’ve been Tom’s younger brother, based on his attitude. And then, at the treadmills, I saw Noah again.
He was wearing a plain navy blue t-shirt and a pair of gray jersey shorts—the kind of attire I’m sure most people would love to wear to work. On the treadmill, I saw a scrawny guy struggling to keep up his pace. Rather than take the harsh Tom-like approach, Noah was cheering him on.
“That’s it, Jim. Keep it up! Thirty more seconds. Twenty-nine…” Noah talked lo
u
d enough to be heard over the whirring of the machine, but he didn’t scream.
And instead of wincing, treadmill-bound Jim seemed really motivated to keep moving. They meshed—trainer and trainee. Jim got from Noah the tactics he needed to stay focused.
My trainer, on the other hand, was not exactly gelling with me. Not like
that.
I guess we all have our own way of being reached. If I’d learned anything from my two gym training sessions, it was that “my way” was not to be screamed at.