Jay Walking (2 page)

"Did you get invited to Ryan's Labor Day party?"

Ryan Davis sits two aisles over, and if an office has a class clown, he takes the crown. At thirty, he lives alone in a place his rich parents bought for him, and he spends most nights having people over and drinking. He always manages to come to work on time, and, even if hungover, his mood is perky. He's cute in a boyish kind of way. Even though he's two years older than me, he comes across as younger. I'm sure the drinking contributes to that. At twenty-six, I became a mom, and his nights are all his own. He gets along with everyone in the office, and Amber's crush on him grows every day.

"I didn't hear about the party." Summer hasn't even started yet, and Ryan is already planning an end of summer bash. "Are you going?" I shouldn't even ask the question. Amber jumps at any chance to spend time with Ryan.

"Totally, and you should, too."

I laugh as I log into my phone. "I doubt it. I'm not going to ask my parents to watch James so I can go to a party. And, I'm not going alone." My mom babysits James all day. I'm not about to intrude on her evenings, too. That's my time with my son.

"You can go with me."

I smirk at her. "Yeah, right. You're going to try and hook up with Ryan."

She shrugs. "Perhaps. But fine, still come, bring a date."

"A date?" The thought seems impossible. "Where am I getting a date?" No man is going to want to go out with me unless I lose fifteen pounds stat. And with a two-year-old son, well, that doesn't help my case. It would take a miracle to find a man interested in me. I'm not aware of a lot of guys my age anxious to jump into a relationship with a single mom.

"Yes, a date. You can get a date, Chelsea. I'll help you find one."

"So, what, I'm a charity case now?" I don't need someone finding me a date. I'm not a fan of set-ups. They never end well.

"No, I didn't say that." She puts her finger up as she answers her phone.

Even though Amber didn't flat out call me a charity case, the implication is present. Of course, I want a date, someone in my life. I always thought it would be my ex, Daniel, but I came to my senses and realized my stupidity. Daniel will always be an asshole, plain and simple. The man maintained a relationship with me and married someone else, taking off the second I got pregnant. James is my priority now, and the only man I need in my life.

Glad my phone isn't ringing, I open up the Internet and log onto my online store. I ran out of time to check my orders before leaving for work, and don't want to miss a day as to not upset my customers, how few there are. I wish I did something more physically challenging in my free time, but I'm good at scrapbooking. My kits sell for ten dollars a piece, and I sell around twenty a month; nothing huge, but the materials only cost me about half, so I make an okay profit.
 

No orders came through the night prior, which is fine. This weight loss plan should be my focus now. I leave the comfort of my order screen and begin browsing the web. I can't believe how many gimmicks flood the Internet. I don't want to take any pills (are they
really
FDA approved?). I'm not forking over a load of money for some drink guaranteed (with an asterisk!) to quicken my weight loss. The more I click around, the more it seems getting off my butt and walking is the best option. I can work my way up to running, and, with the right training, run a marathon one day! Okay, I'm months ahead of myself, but I'm thinking of all the things I can accomplish. Trying new things often scares me. In grade school, the kids called me Chelsea the Weiner. Hell, if they found out I'm a single mom and kicking ass at it, maybe my new nickname can be Chelsea the Winner. Or they would look down on me for my poor decisions. I suppose it can go either way.

"Whew," Amber says as she hangs up her phone and peeks her head over my cubicle wall. "That lady was a piece of work. I don't know why we do this sometimes."

Honestly, a lot of times, I don't either. This job offers so many rewards, but some days I'm on a roller coaster ride of emotions. I spend half my day helping people realize they can afford their dream home, or, at least, something close to it. The other portion of the day, I tell people I'm sorry, but they're trapped living in their closet-sized apartment due to either bad luck on their part or their own foolish mistakes. Those conversations often end like Amber's did, with an upset client blaming me, and giving me a what for. Still, it's eight and a half measly hours, thirty minutes of which I spend at lunch. Not a bad deal.

"So, anyway, back to the Labor Day party at Ryan's. Say you'll go. Come on, Chelsea."

She stares at me with her bright blue eyes. Amber, the thin, olive skinned, blue eye, light-brown-haired girl, begging with her eyes. I remember being that beautiful once. "The party is an entire summer away, Amber. I have plenty of time to make a decision."

"Then say you'll go. You can pull out last minute."

Somehow I figure she doesn't mean that. Come September, if I try to change my mind, I'll never hear the end of it. But, I always give in. I'm a doormat. I know this. I don't want to focus on finding a date, though. The first thing I need to do is lose some weight. "Fine," I agree through gritted teeth.
 

The one negative of trading in my car for legs to get to work is walking back. The walk back is much easier, though, probably because the incline goes down instead of up. I arrive home in slightly quicker time than it took me to get to work and enter the house to James running toward me and wrapping his arms around me. "Mama!"
 

"Hey, honey. Did you and NaNa have fun today?"

He doesn't respond except stare back at me with his huge brown eyes, but the smile on his face tells me everything.
 

"Did you eat dinner yet?" I ask my mom. Usually, I'm home by a quarter to five, but my slow legs put me at fifteen after. We stay for dinner most nights, and occasionally they come downstairs to my place and I cook something. Since my mom stays home all day with James, this is an easy arrangement.
 

"No, but it'll only take a few minutes to make. I'm making James' favorite."

I love my mom's grilled cheese sandwiches, but if I plan on seriously losing any weight and eating healthy, I need to change how I eat, too. I already avoided donuts at work, which will be a daily battle. "I think I'll pass and make a salad with some lemon juice."

My mom opens the refrigerator and pulls out deli cheese. "Excuse me? A salad?"

Okay, so salad isn't something I normally enjoy. Why someone wants to eat leaves is beyond me. I can learn to like something so blah, and I won't
live
on salad. Once I get a chance, I can research some recipes online, nutritious ones that don't make me want to gag. Healthy foods with a spectacular taste must exist. I need to start somewhere, and, today, that means respectfully declining my mom's awesome grilled cheese. "I made a decision to eat healthier. I'm going to lose some weight and get in shape."

"Is this a repeat from our conversation this morning? You look fine, honey." She pops a stick of margarine in the microwave.

"I don't want to look fine, Mom. I want to
feel
amazing
. I'm tired of moping around and forcing my body into my old clothes. I'm so uncomfortable." The snap on my khakis press into my belly. Years ago, I wore skirts to work every single day. Now, I won't even wear shorts on my day off.

"I think you're being ridiculous." The microwave beeps and she takes the melted margarine out and starts swiping it on the bread. The spread soaks into the grain, and she adds garlic salt. Mmm. So. Good.
 

I put James down and tell him to go play in the other room. "No, I'm not, Mom. I want to be healthy for James. It's only me. I need to be here as long as I can. I
want
to be here as long as I can. This isn't only about losing weight. I want to be in shape." I hate she won't make eye contact. "I want to take a walk after dinner. Can you keep an eye on James while I do that?"

"It'll be starting to get dark, honey."

"I'll be okay, Mom. We live in the city. The streetlights are on, and I won't go too far. Promise." Even though I have a child of my own, my mom still treats me like I'm a kid.
 

The pan sizzles as she tosses the first piece of bread into the pan. "Why don't we go together? We can put James in the stroller and get ice cream."

Ice cream. Another lovely food item I'm forced to scratch off my list of indulgences. "Don't think less of me, Mom, but I want to do this on my own. If we all go, I won't get the workout in I want. We'll go too slow. I'm serious about this." She thinks I'm talking without intent. I plan on going through with my walking program and yielding results. "Please, help me out?"

The placement of cheese on the bread is near perfect. Every sandwich boasts not two, but
three
, slices. My mom makes a special one for herself with only one slice, since she is still pretty health conscious. I'm a tad surprised she cooks such fattening dishes for other people, and then eats lighter herself, but I don't want to get into that argument now. "Okay. But be sure to take your cell phone, and don't be too long. Eat something first, though."

"Thank you." I join her making dinner, wishing I could inhale the hot, gooey grilled cheese and not my minuscule meal made of plants.
 

•••

As I step outside, the cooler air slaps me in the face. Amazing how much the temperature dropped since dinner. Thankfully I changed into yoga pants and a long sleeve shirt. I stick my phone holder on my arm and hit my playlist. I require some good music if I plan to walk, and Justin Timberlake never disappoints. My route is simple — fifteen blocks to the local coffee shop, get myself some black coffee no sugar (I eliminate the calories this way) and enjoy a piping hot cup on my way back.
 

By the time I get three blocks away from my destination, my body starts breaking down. I crave caffeine and a chair. The temperature dropped at least five more degrees since I left, and I wish I thought to bring gloves. My sore legs need a break, definitely proving I'm in anything but impeccable shape. My breath collects in front of me, and I can't wait for the warmer weather to arrive. In April, snow still spots the ground, although not a ton. The snow from the last storm melted, but puddles of water and some slick places scatter themselves on the sidewalk.

The amount of people out and about at six surprises me. City buses whip past me, and I spot the first motorcycle of the season. A lot of people walk their dogs, and they check their phones as they wait for them to do their business. A few runners pass me. Runners never give up, despite the cold. They run regardless of temperature. Every time one sprints past me, I think about putting my leg out and tripping them. I hate how easy they make it look.

A block from the coffee shop, I pick up the pace, my fingertips almost numb. Yes, warm air settled in here and there — only a few days ago a heat wave of almost fifty degrees graced us - but I'm still cold. I laugh as a runner approaches me, a dark hat on his head, wearing shorts and a tee shirt, clothes which I think are completely inappropriate for the temperature. I reduce my speed for a second to get a glance at this odd combination when my feet lose balance on a slick spot on the sidewalk. As if in slow motion, I slam into the ground. Any padding I grew on my ass over the years certainly doesn't cushion the fall.

"Dammit!" I yell and a young mom nearby covers her child's ears. "Sorry." I quickly take back my words.

"Are you okay?" I glance up and the gentleman I secretly joshed is standing above me. His ear buds hang out of his collar, his hands on his waist, and he's out of breath. "That was quite a fall."

I grab his hand he so gratefully holds out to me and let him help pull me up. I wipe the back of my yoga pants, afraid the wet from the ground will be mistaken for pee.

"I'm fine. Embarrassed."

"As you should be," the man laughs. His smile is wide, and his cheeks are bright red from the cold. Mine are flushed from humiliation, and my backside probably matches. A tuft of almond hair peeks out from under his hat, which I now see is dark blue with a Milwaukee Brewers logo.

"Excuse me?" I retaliate in shock this stranger agrees with me.

"I'm joking. Kind of. I'm sure you
are
embarrassed, but I don't doubt you're in pain as well."

"It doesn't feel good, that's for sure."

His shirt clings to his body, outlining the clear definition of his chest. He more than likely runs every day. If I plan on walking every day, I wonder if I will run into him again. This is a big city, but there's always a chance. The first guy I meet in ages, and I make a fool of myself.

"Are you headed somewhere?" He rearranges his ear buds.

"Well, um, I planned on getting a coffee. I'm on my way to Grounds Works." The small cafe opened a little over a year ago, and I love the ambiance of the place. I want to do my part to support local businesses.

"Cool. I'll join you."

"You will?"

He flips his cap around so the rim is in the back, and it's off his head long enough I catch a glimpse of his full head of wavy hair. "Is that okay? If you prefer, you can go ahead and I'll stand back about ten minutes."

What's happening? Do I care if this guy — hot guy — accompanies me to the coffee shop? We can exchange a few words during our walk, I'll get my drink and be on my way back home. Tomorrow, I'll go the opposite direction, and in the morning instead. I can even put on some ankle weights and really work up a sweat. Of course, I must buy ankle weights then. Yeah. I'll do it. This way, I can drive to and from work so I'm not drenched in perspiration when I arrive. I don't think anyone wants to encounter me after a mile long walk.
 

"No, it's fine."

"Great." He waves me along. "Let's go."

We begin in silence, my chest pounding both from the energy lost while walking, and the fall I took. My butt sure hurts, too. I want to rub it but not the best first impression. Granted, falling on my ass isn't either. Am I crazy I imagine this guy rubbing it? Wow, I suppose years without physical contact with a man will do that to you.