A lone car sped past me as I speed-walked down the block, shivering in the chill of the early morning. Streetlamps illuminated the thin layer of frost glimmering on the windows of vehicles left parked overnight. The neon green sign of Spinfinity Cycle Studio at the end of the block glowed, beckoning to me like a sanctuary.
All I wanted was to throw myself into a strenuous workout and forget the whole week had ever happened.
Better yet, erase it altogether. If only I could.
I pulled open the glass double doors and exchanged hellos with the receptionist, Pamela, before heading for the women’s locker room. The comforting, familiar eucalyptus aromatherapy greeted me as I changed out of my joggers and tee, yanking on my black sports bra, black racerback tank, and black leggings.
Then I plopped down on the bench and slipped into my cycling shoes, fighting my ten-ton eyelids. My fingers slipped, accidentally tying a knot in my laces instead of a bow. I cursed under my breath, pulling the knot out with my fingernails. I’d already been awake when my alarm went off at five AM this morning. In fact, I’d been awake most of the night, because as soon as I turned off my bedside lamp, my mind had latched on to one inescapable fact: I was screwed.
After my slip of the tongue at the fundraiser, I’d planned to lay low while things blew over. In time, I figured I could simply pretend that my nonexistent boyfriend and I had broken up. A week or two of hiding at home, dodging calls and invitations, and I’d claim we’d gone our separate ways. Irreconcilable differences, incompatible lifestyles, infidelity on his part, something like that. Preferably something that painted me in a sympathetic, but favorable, light.
But things weren’t blowing over. Not even close.
What I hadn’t accounted for was the serious lack of interesting gossip circulating within our social stratosphere. No one else was newly dating, mating, or doing much else of interest. For lack of other things to focus on, my friends and family were far more interested in my pretend paramour than I had expected.
It was like a breaking scandal on a slow news day. Ever since the gala, my phone had blown up with texts: Who’s your new boyfriend? When can I meet him? How did you two meet? The attention was overwhelming, not to mention a little insulting. Just because I hadn’t had a boyfriend in few years didn’t mean I couldn’t get one.
But that didn’t change the predicament I was in now, solidly without a boyfriend or an escape plan. At this point, joining the witness protection program seemed like the only option. Maybe there was a for-profit division where you could pay to disappear after making humiliating, life-altering mistakes. Surely, there had to be a market for that kind of thing. Then I could start over on a white sandy beach somewhere, selling coconuts filled with colorful tropical cocktails. It would be money well spent.
“Sorry I’m late!” Lola breezed into the locker room, tossing her lavender Lululemon duffle onto the teak bench beside me. She rummaged through her gym bag, yanking out her clothes. “Pearl threw up on the floor because she found a hair elastic and ate it again. Cats, am I right? Then there was construction on the freeway, and I couldn’t find the valet to come park my car…” she trailed off.
After more than fifteen years of friendship, I’d accepted Lola for who she was, tardiness and all. I wasn’t sure why she still bothered making excuses or apologizing, but I guess it was the thought that counted.
Glancing at the stainless-steel clock on the wall, I checked the time. “We’re good. Still have four minutes to spare.” I stood up, closing my locker and securing it with the digital code.
“Phew.” She yanked off her baggy white t-shirt and stepped out of her hot pink flannel pajama pants, cramming them into her bag and standing before me in nothing but her purple underwear.
Unlike me, Lola had zero qualms about her body or anyone else seeing it. She also literally rolled straight out of bed and came to spin class, sleepwear and all. Personally, I needed an extra fifteen minutes to caffeinate beforehand.
“I’m thinking we should hit Riverside Bistro this weekend,” I said. “Carbs and mimosas?” If there was ever a time for emergency pancakes, this self-inflicted crisis was it.
“Sure,” Lola said, yanking on a pair of black leggings. “Hey, how was the fundraiser the other night?” She shimmied into a neon orange sports bra, followed by a lime green crop top, both of which glowed against her tawny skin. Gathering her dark, gold-streaked ringlets, she secured her hair into a high bun with a spiral elastic. “I know you said you got cornered by some of your mother’s friends, but you never filled me in.”
Cornered was putting it mildly. Shortly after my mother learned about my newly invigorated love life, the entire hospital fundraising board waylaid me near the women’s’ bathroom, drilling for details about my new ‘suitor.’ I’d complained about it to Lola in my quick recap text before bed, without thinking about the fact that she’d want to know why I’d been cornered.
“It was fine.”
“Fine?” She wrinkled her nose, tossing her belongings in the locker and locking the digital keypad. “Those parties are never ‘fine.’ Mixing alcohol with that crowd is like lighting a stick of dynamite; something always explodes. That’s why I let you take one for the team and tell me about it later.”
Lola’s father was heir to the Van Sant fortune and worked in Swiss banking. Her mother was a reclusive semi-famous artist, but neither cared for the pomp and circumstance of the society pages. This provided Lola the freedom to enjoy her generous trust fund while also embracing her inner hippie. The perfect unicorn scenario.
Her parents did force her to attend our stuffy prep school for K-12, but the moment we graduated, Lola headed straight for a tree-hugging, pot-smoking small liberal arts college in New Hampshire. She’d threatened to stay there after graduation, too, but that only lasted a couple of months. After a disastrous one-week marriage to a lumberjack named Phil while she worked as a barista, she got an annulment and moved back to the city.
Now she was an art curator at a ritzy boutique gallery downtown and had a rotation of hookups on speed dial. In other words, she was my polar opposite, and that’s what made our friendship work.
“It was pretty uneventful, that’s all. Boring as usual.” I shrugged, following Lola down the hall to the fitness area. Pulsing pop music tumbled out of the dimly lit spin studio as she pulled open the door. We grabbed our familiar two bikes off to the left, setting our water bottles in the holders and spreading out our gym towels across the handlebars.
Lola clipped her feet in and began pedaling. “Did something happen that you don’t want to tell me? You always come back with at least one good story about a handsy senator or a drunken television personality.”
Trepidation swirled within my gut, low and uneasy. I hadn’t yet decided whether to tell Lola the truth. Objectively, it seemed like the logical thing to do—best friends should tell each other everything, right? And unlike most people in my life, Lola never judged me. But pride was a powerful thing, and it was difficult to own up to my humiliating lie even to her.
“Slow night, I guess.”
She shot me a sidelong glance. “You’re acting off.”
The problem with having the same best friend for nearly two decades? She could read me like a book. Better than my own sister could, even.
“What?” I took a sip from my white S’well water bottle, avoiding her eyes. “No, I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
“Not.” I pedaled faster, wishing I could outrun my lies.
“Are too,” she insisted.
Our instructor, Celeste, walked in and hopped onto her bike at the front, facing the rest of the class. At six feet tall and ripped, she could have passed for a professional volleyball player or a fitness model. With a Disney-princess voice and a sadistic streak a mile wide when it came to hill climbs, she was a confusing combination of drill sergeant and perky cheerleader. The result was both motivating and terrifying, which made for brutal workouts.
“Good morning, everyone! Time to get going. Let’s begin on a flat road, aiming for 90-100 RPM to start.” The loud pop music got louder, bass reverberating through my body.
“Something is up,” Lola whispered loudly, “and you’re going to tell me.”
A blonde girl in the next row glanced over her shoulder, shooting us a dirty look for talking. Lola shot her a sickly-sweet smile in return.
We pedaled along without speaking for the rest of the five-minute warm-up. Lola reached down, grabbing her water bottle and taking a drink. Courage seized hold. Now was the time; if I told her what I’d done, we could laugh it off and by the end of class, it would be old news. Then, she could help me concoct a way out of this mess. Lola was no stranger to unusual predicaments.
“Well, I kind of—” I started to come clean, to tell her the truth, but my self-preservation instincts kicked in and my throat clamped shut.
“You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?” Lola turned to face me, watching my reaction.
“Um…yes.” As much as I hated lying, it did seem easier to play along. Plus, this way I wouldn’t have to worry about the truth getting out by accident.
Her eyebrows shot up. “I knew it! Millie’s dirt is never wrong.” She snapped her water bottle shut, placing it back in the holder. “That’s awesome, Thay. I’m happy for you.”
“Ladies!” Celeste shouted over the mic. “If you can chit-chat, you’re not working hard enough!”
“You knew, but you were waiting to make me tell you?” I hissed, facing forward so Celeste wouldn’t call us out again.
“Obviously.” Lola wiped a trail of sweat off her brow with her white gym towel, shooting me a mock-offended look, but beneath it lay genuine hurt. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I’m your best friend.”
“Let’s turn it up now! I know you came to work,” Celeste boomed, which felt a lot like a dig at us.
“It’s been moving fast, and I needed some time to wrap my head around it.” I increased my resistance and stood up out of the saddle for our first hill climb. That wasn’t untrue; one minute I was single, the next I had a fictional boyfriend. Wham.
Lola nodded, breathing heavily from the exertion. “I didn’t mean to give you a hard time. Who is it?”
Before I could formulate a reply, Celeste’s voice carried over the mic again. “What did you come here for today?” The throbbing bass got louder, nearly rattling my teeth. “Results! Hit that dial and turn up your resistance some more. Come on, everyone! Halfway through our a two-minute standing hill climb.”
Looking down, I adjusted the dial on my bike to avoid Lola’s prying eyes. “We can talk about it later,” I huffed, thighs starting to burn as we climbed the hill. It was unfortunate that the spin bike was fixed in place, because riding away seemed like the only solution.
AFTER CLASS, we headed for the studio’s steam showers and got dressed for work, primping at the makeup station by the sinks. Lola leaned over the white quartz counter, gazing into the mirror as she carefully filled in her eyebrows with a pencil. She worked quickly, using short, feathery strokes until her arches were sculpted perfection.
“Are you going to make me guess who it is?” She caught my eyes in the mirror, pursing her raspberry pink lips in thought. “Is it that Devon guy you went out with last month?”
“No…” I rifled through my makeup bag to find my liquid eyeliner, trying very hard not to think of Devon, who’d hinted at a threesome with my sister at the end of our first date. Like I said, the dating pool was a swamp.
“Sebastian from your stepfather’s company?”
“Definitely not.” Steadying my elbow on the counter, I carefully traced a thin, inky line along one eyelid, followed by the other.
“Really? He was super hot. Definitely had that boss daddy energy.”
“He took that energy a little too far,” I said. “He basically told me how lucky I was to be out on a date with him. And he ogled the woman seated at the table next to us the entire time.” Admittedly, she’d been gorgeous, but if that was Sebastian’s idea of wining and dining me, it was a hard pass.
“Ugh.” Lola made a face. “It must be that guy from the dating app, then. Vince.”
“No. He was vegan.” I tilted my head back, carefully wiggling the black mascara wand up from the roots of my lashes. Lola shot me an exasperated look in the mirror, and I held up a finger, silencing her. “Judgy vegan. I already knew where my bacon came from, I don’t need to be reminded over dinner.”
My phone buzzed in my purse on the counter. It was still early, so it was probably Quinn with some sort of ’emergency’ at one of the stores. Her definition of emergency was pretty liberal. Last time, she’d spotted a spider on the roof that she couldn’t reach with a broom. I was pretty sure she didn’t even try.
When I checked the screen, it was even worse.
Bennett: Four days. Tick tock….
Insufferable jerk. I quickly locked the screen, cramming my phone back in my bag. I’d handle Bennett—or try to handle him, at least—later.
Lola huffed a sigh. “Fine, I give up. I guess I’ll find out when you send me a wedding invite.”
“Look, I’m not trying to be difficult,” I told her. “I just need a few more days to fully vet him.”
Or decide whether to go along with Bennett’s scheme, thereby making a deal with the devil. One or the other.
I tossed my mascara back into my gold makeup bag, zipping it shut and examining my reflection in the mirror. Even with a full face of makeup, the lack of sleep showed. Full-coverage concealer and clever contouring could only do so much. I’d disguised the purple circles and highlighted to hide my pallor, but sadly couldn’t magically remove the undereye bags I was sporting.
Maybe it was time for some injectables. Then again, I was going to die alone, so why bother?
“I’d say I need to vet him for you too, but anyone who passes your test will pass mine with flying colors.” Lola laughed, but we both knew there was truth to it—she had a defective bullshit meter.
Combined with her heart of 24-karat gold that she wore on her sleeve like a Hermès bracelet, it was a recipe for heartbreak. Repeated heartbreaks leading to emergency girls’ nights with pints of her favorite chocolate almond-milk ice cream, organic Sauvignon blanc by the bottle, and Netflix marathons. I didn’t mind being there for her, but I found the whole cyclical aspect perplexing. Having your heart stomped on seemed like an experience you’d want to avoid repeating.
Yet, despite that, Lola was never deterred from her search for ‘the one.’ As endearing as I found her oversized heart to be, I knew the one didn’t really exist. It was a fictitious concept fabricated to sell books and movies. Just look at my mother—first she thought my father was the one, then her second husband, then her third husband, and now her fourth husband, Charles. Each and every time, she was convinced.
It completely violated the entire premise. You’re only supposed to get one.
Which brought us to the second problem with this concept: Planet Earth, population 7.8 billion. Are we really supposed to believe that out of all the people around the globe, there’s one person solely meant for us? That out of billions of human beings on the planet, a single one could fit you like no other? It’s statistically impossible. Not to mention, if that was the case, the odds were not in your favor of ever finding them.
