Breathe: A Novel (15 page)

“Or a potted plant for good company.”

She laughed. “It sounds like you’re keeping rather more exciting company than that, Alex.” She put her hands on her hips.

“What? Oh, you mean Andy. He helped me out. That’s all. No intrigue. No servicing.”

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Nancy! I keep telling everyone. He is a friend. There is nothing going on. Really.”

“If you say so.”

Exasperated, I changed the subject.

“Okay, let’s see those crutches.”

We decided to take them for a spin around the neighborhood, walk Billy, and get some lunch. Although it took about ten minutes to get down the stairs, my reward was a burst of brilliant blue sky and warm sunshine. The crutches were slow going, but Nancy and Billy were patient as we strolled along 17th Street toward a bright, outdoor cafe with “sublime panzanella.” Nancy ordered our salads and two glasses of Miner chardonnay.

“A perfect pairing,” she coached. “My treat.” She patted my hand.

The panzanella was indeed sublime, as sublime as a salad can be anyway. Even more so was the wine. After a second glass, I was scattered and evasive as Nancy pressed me for information about Andy. Finally, I got my wits about me enough to change the subject again.

“Hey, did you know Galen is gay?”

“Well of course, sweetheart. Didn’t you?”

Well, no.

“But didn’t you say how much you loved him? And how enchanting I would find him?” I was confused. Had she not wanted to distract me from my broken heart and my broken home with the pleasure of ‘physical instruction’ from another man? And all those other women, his students, they were obsessed, right? Did they know?

“It is true, there is something magical and utterly captivating about Galen,” she said, staring off into the distance. “But I find that his magnetism is completely energetic. Spiritual. I find myself wanting to swim in the pool of his serenity.” Closing her eyes, she shook her hair back and tilted her face to the sun. I squinted at her.

“And his obscene hotness has nothing to do with it?”

“Oh, well, of course I enjoy his earthly beauty. But it makes no difference, Alex. Our teachers come to us by different means and inroads. If physical attraction serves as your initial intrigue, so be it. My stars, was I in love with my first yoga teacher.” She sighed. “Summer session at UCSB. His name was Harvey.” Again, her gaze shifted to something behind me. I turned around to look and saw nothing but sidewalk.

“Nancy?”

“What? Oh yes. Sorry, darling. My point is that our teachers ignite something within us that
feels
like love. It’s because we are recognizing the divine in ourselves, and the closest thing we can compare it to is the ecstasy of romance.” She carefully pressed her fork into a crouton before elegantly putting it into her mouth.

“So, you didn’t think I had gone off the deep end?” Nancy laughed and clapped like life was delightful.

“But I’m serious,” I said earnestly. “You saw me. I blew practically every penny of my settlement on private lessons.” I shook my head. “And books. And DVDs. And clothes.”

“Darling, the way I see it—” She pushed her plate away and leaned on her forearms, fingers interlaced. “—You were on a sort of honeymoon with yoga, passionately and fearlessly throwing yourself into it. We all do it. Then we find balance.”

“So
that’s
what it was. A mad crush on yoga, not Galen.” This, at least, was less humiliating. A waiter took our plates and smiled sympathetically at me. Apparently, he knew just who I was talking about.

“There’s nothing wrong with infatuation, Alex. It’s like a signal, how we know something special is there. What seems at first to be superficial might deepen if given the chance. You shouldn’t walk out on your relationship with yoga just because you got hurt,” she said, gesturing to my leg. Then she reached for the adorable waiter who stood waiting patiently and said, “Luigi, due cappuccini, per favore.”

And with his hands pressed together at heart center, he bowed, and said, “Prego.” Yogis were everywhere.

I hobbled into work the Monday after my accident and tried to prove I could still do kennel duty. But when I slipped on the freshly mopped concrete floor and landed in a heap, Simon sent me home. “I appreciate your dedication, Greene, but you gotta know when to say when. Take the week. Maybe two. You can do a lot of your work from home anyway.”

Over the next few days I had little time to be lonely with visits from Andy, Jenny, Nancy, and even Galen. Apparently, Andy had given him my number because he wanted to make sure that I was okay. I wondered if he’d shared some portion of my meltdown with him, because his visit made no sense at all to me. He had thousands of students.

“Knock, knock,” Galen said from the hall. He opened the door carefully and peered in, the way someone enters a hospital room.

“Hey! Come on in,” I called from the kitchen. He stepped in the door and held up a modest bouquet of daisies.

“These are to cheer you up.”

“Aw. Thanks, Galen. They’re beautiful.” I gave him a one-armed hug. “You really shouldn’t have. I certainly don’t deserve any special attention. Don’t you know an animal trainer’s number one rule? Never reward bad behavior; it’ll just create more.” I balanced on one leg and filled a jar with water.

“If that’s the case, then I can’t wait to see what you do next,” he laughed.

“I was thinking a few back-handsprings and maybe a tree pose on the elephant you have in there.”

He laughed, removed his messenger bag, and said, “I’m thinking you might need a new plan. Ever heard of Karma yoga?”
Karma yoga?
What kind of Karma did I have in store after plotting revenge sex with my guru and attempting to dominate of my fellow yogis?

“Hm. Sounds fun. Although I have no idea what Karma yoga is, and if it means I have to meditate, I can already tell you the outcome.”

“Well, here. I brought something that might help.” He opened the canvas bag.

“Galen, really, this is so nice of you.”

He looked up at me and smiled. “I try to check on injured students when I can. And you’re a friend of Andy’s. Honestly, I was afraid he might hunt me down if I didn’t.” He was still sifting through his bag.

“Yeah, Andy does seem like a very scary guy. I’ll remind him to leave the brass knuckles at home when we come for dinner.” It slipped out. I hadn’t even talked to Andy about dinner.

“Oh, good! You’re coming.”

“What? Sure. I mean, if that’s okay.” I started rearranging the flowers.

“Ah, here it is.” He held out a package wrapped in brown paper. “This has seen me through times of suffering and joy, and I wanted to share it with you. My first yoga teacher gave it to me.”

I leaned my crutches against the wall and carefully tore open the package. Inside was a book called
Be Here Now
, by someone named Ram Dass. The cobalt blue cover was tattered and creased, with a circular pattern etched in white.

“It’s one long meditation, written like a free-form poem. I think this could be the perfect moment in your life to read it.”

I opened the book and flipped through its pages, turning it sideways to read the snaking, spiraling print. “It’s beautiful,” I said, then added, “Really. Thank you.” He smiled and set the flowers on the coffee table. “Are those from your garden?”

“I can’t take any credit for these beauties.” He reached out and touched a petal with his fingertip. “Marco’s the one with a green thumb. Wait ‘til you hear him and Andy get into it about plants.” He grinned at me. “So we’re on for Saturday night. Don’t forget it’s Halloween. Marco and I will be going out afterwards if you guys want to join us.”

“Sounds great,” I said. Or surreal. I passed my hand across the cover of the book, still unsure of how I felt about anything.

“I think it will be,” he said. “Now, let’s take a look at that leg.”

***

I hadn’t felt so well taken care of since Charmer tossed me from his back in the sixth grade. Then, it had been Mom, Dad, and Jackson who took care of me, feeding me graham crackers and reading
Harry Potter
aloud. This time, with Jenny and Nancy overseeing my recovery, the diversions were more sophisticated. On Wednesday, Jenny arrived for an overnight with a brand new Italian Vogue still wrapped in plastic. We pored over it, propped on pillows and sipping a ‘Super Tuscan’ wine from Tucker’s client. The next morning, Nancy arrived with Trixie, her feng shui consultant, to help us “arrange things.” I watched from my seat on the kitchen counter as they moved furniture here, there, then back again, trying to find the right place for everything.

“Don’t worry, Alex. We’re just playing here.” Nancy waved.

“You can put everything back how you want it,” Jenny whispered.

“I heard that,” called Nancy.

Once the apartment was staged to satisfaction and Trixie had left, we three stood together, arms folded, appraising the place.

“It looks great,” I said. “Thanks, guys.”

“Well . . . “ Nancy shrugged. “Jenny is right. You most certainly should feel free to reinterpret what we’ve done here. It’s just to give you some ideas. Oh, and isn’t it wonderful that your bed is already oriented to the magnetic North? You have very good instincts, darling.” She straightened my comforter.

“Thanks.” I nodded, looking around. Not much had been changed, in fact. Things were straighter, more centered. A little mirror had been hung on the window latch to deflect negative energy. Overall, it looked nice. Balanced. Like a blank canvas.

“You still haven’t hung your dad’s paintings,” Jenny commented.

“I know. It just seems like such a commitment. To this space, you know? Like, I really live here, and this is really my life.” Somehow the yoga posters had seemed acceptably transitory. Like dorm room decorations. “I guess I’m still in denial on some level.”

“Oh, darling.” Nancy gave me a hug, then pulled back and looked at me. “The house is on the market.”

“What house? My house?” I don’t know why I was surprised. Did I really think I was going back there?

“In fact, I believe that Louise has accepted an offer,” Nancy said.

I looked at her and felt Jenny’s hand on my back.

“Tucker told me that Tripp is moving to LA.”

“What about Lauren?” My heart was beating fast now.

“I don’t know.” Jenny shook her head. “I don’t know what’s going on. It’s all so weird. Tucker never sees him anymore.”

“Ugh, like it matters,” I said, throwing my hands into the air. “Let’s move on, okay?” I limped toward the kitchen and looked over my shoulder. “Ladies?”

They stood watching me, their faces wary and sympathetic.

“I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting to—” I swallowed. “To go there right now. But it’s perfect, right? I mean, isn’t it amazing how everything unfolds? There goes my house, and here I am, in my little apartment, all feng shui-ed just in time.” Did I sound as hysterical as I felt?

“Alex, that house was
empty
. It was totally devoid of creativity or personality or joy. It was Louise’s house, not yours,” Jenny said emphatically.

“Just let it go,” said Nancy.

I took a deep breath, and another, and said, “Just let it go.”

They waited while I breathed.

“Okay?” Jenny asked.

“Okay.” I smiled and nodded.

“Picnic then?” Nancy’s hand was light on my arm.

“Yes,” I said, doing my best to deflect that negative energy right out the window like Trixie instructed.

***

When we reached Dolores Park, I leaned on a crutch while Nancy spread the cashmere “picnic blanket” (another hilarious “essential” she insisted I take from Marin). Jenny laid out our lunch. We were working on a list of possible Halloween costumes for my upcoming dinner date. Madonna was the overwhelming favorite, but we were torn between eras: English-aristocracy-wielding-horse-crop, or Morticia-Addams-with-henna-on-her-hands.

“Oh, definitely the henna. I know a woman in Berkeley who does the most exquisite designs.” Nancy unwrapped a small wheel of cheese.

“I don’t know. I think the whole riding crop thing sounds pretty fun. And kinky.” Jenny smirked.

“No thank you,” I said, handing out the napkins. “Nancy, henna it is.”

“Perfect. Should we all go together and get painted?” Nancy asked.

Jenny and I shrugged. “Sure.”

Nancy clapped. “Oh, goody. I’ll call Padma and book us for Saturday morning.” She picked up her phone and dialed.

“She has a henna artist in her personal contacts?” I whispered to Jenny.

She nodded, leaning on her elbow. Suddenly she sat up. “I know. You should wear my black Jil Sander maxi dress. Very Goth. It’d be perfect.” She tore off a piece of baguette.

“Are you sure? That’s a really expensive dress,” I replied.

“Of course! And doing your hair will be really easy. Just part it down the middle and iron it straight.” She looked at me thoughtfully. “Would you ever consider darkening it?”

“Don’t you think that might come off as trying a bit too hard?” I asked.

“Just a thought.” She cut a wedge of St. Andre cheese, took a big bite, and smiled. Nancy finished her call.

“We’re all set.” She reached for a grape and caught me staring into the middle distance. “What is it, darling?”

“Oh. Nothing. I was just thinking about Saturday.”

“She’s contemplating going big. Committing to the role.” Jenny swigged Pellegrino from the bottle. “Do it, Alex. Go dark. Chocolate brown. Like the ‘Frozen’ video.”

I pulled out my ponytail and tousled my hair. I liked the idea of ditching my highlights; their costly maintenance was way out of synch with my new life’s budget. But how would it look? I hadn’t had dark hair since high school. The night of our graduation, Haley and I bought a couple of Clairol paint-on kits. (She ended up looking like Cameron Diaz. I, on the other hand, resembled an orange Gwen Stefani. She put red lipstick on me and told me to go with it.)

In Marin, my locks had been tended by Ferran of Tiburon. His salon was a place to gorge on tabloids and gossip while he created my elaborate headdress. “Sheryl Crow after a day of surfing. Salty and sunny,” he had declared. I hadn’t been to see him in such a long time. Could I really afford it now? I thought of Andy. I did have a little extra cash since I wasn’t doing yoga . . .

Nancy and Jenny walked me home.

“That salad was delicious,” I said limping up the stairs, step by slow step, with my friends ascending patiently behind me.

“Zest in the dressing. That’s the secret,” Nancy burbled. Inside, my phone was ringing insistently. It paused for a moment then continued.

“Somebody really wants to talk to you,” Jenny said as I opened the door. She set the basket down in the tiny front hall, and Nancy handed me Billy’s leash.

“I’ll call back,” I said, reaching out to give them hugs. “Thank you so much. That was really fun.”

“Call us if you need anything?” Nancy squeezed my arm.

“Absolutely.”

We said goodbye, and I watched them float down the stairs.

“Bye,” they chimed as they looked up and waved one last time.

I turned around and hobbled back into the tidy apartment. Afternoon sunlight flooded the room, the little mirror gleamed, and the worn hardwood floors glowed warmly. I limped around and took a mental inventory: large, solid window frames with original glass panes; charming, vintage, four-burner stove in a bright, scrubbed kitchen; comfortable bed; table stacked with books; floor lamp, dog bed, and two mismatched chairs. It was modest, but it was mine.

The phone beeped shrilly. Curious, I reached for it.

Three messages, one text. I scrolled through the numbers and smiled, holding the phone to my ear.

Andy:
Hey, wanna get pizza tonight?

Galen:
Hi, Alex. I’m teaching Sunrise Vinyasa tomorrow morning at six o’clock. I think it’d be wonderful if you could make it. You can just sit and breathe.

Andy:
Hey, also, there’s a great documentary at the Red Vic tonight.

I couldn’t stop smiling. Pizza and a movie with Andy? Definitely. Sunrise yoga with Galen? Maybe not yet, but it sure felt nice to be invited. I sighed happily and navigated to my inbox.

omg-call asap-total fucking crisis!!!

Haley.

My contentment was instantly replaced by the urge to call her back. Historically, I would have been her “ear” for hours. When Lane Martin dumped her for Courtney Hoover she sobbed and complained, listing all of their miserable qualities while I told her that she was so much prettier and cooler than anyone in Sisters. She’d said “You don’t have to tell me that.” I had admired her conviction, just as I had Tripp’s.

Inner Traditions of Yoga
said to notice people’s energy and its effects. Maybe I wouldn’t call her right back. I texted instead and felt a little guilty.

can’t talk this minute. had an accident. am fine but things are kinda crazy. call you soon. xo, a

I set the phone on my bedside table and carefully lay down, sore after sitting on the ground for three hours. I was just drifting off when that piercing beep made me jump again.

leaving karl. cant deal. need to talk.

What?

I had to call her. Did I have to call her? As I looked at the text, I felt anxious and unsettled. I wanted to stay centered, but she was my best childhood friend. I thought of the solace I’d found in Jenny and Nancy, picked up the phone, and dialed.

Haley started right in.

“I can’t take it anymore. I’m suffocating. He never wants to go out. And he is talking about kids!”

“Oh, Hay. Have you been able to talk—”

“Wait! There’s Kristy Trumbull. I need her advice. Call you back? Thanks, Allie! Love you, bye!” Click. I sat there, stunned and a little hurt. But this was Haley. Why did I expect anything different? I looked over at Galen’s book on my bedside table. If ever there were a moment to get centered, this was it. Time for some meditation. What was I supposed to do? Oh, right. Be here now.

My feet are planted on the floor
.