I usually did thirty pull-ups in a session. Today I did sixty.
My arms were burning. So were my shoulders, my spine, and my abs. Pull-ups are easier when you keep tension in your legs and core. But my legs were dead weight from the knees down, so every pull-up was harder for me than it would be for someone whose legs worked.
Sweat rolled down my back, my chest. I kept my abs flexed as I pulled, hauling my body up for rep after rep. My hair was soaked. I thought I might throw up.
My front doorbell rang.
I lowered myself off the bar onto the bench beneath it and picked up my phone. Looked at the security monitor. If it was Tessa, this time I was going to ignore her. I was too fucked up right now, too tangled to be near her.
Since her last text to me last night, we hadn’t talked. And after her shift was over, she hadn’t come here to sleep. She’d gone home instead.
I’d monitored the security feed for her, so I knew she’d come home just after midnight last night and hadn’t left her house since. Yes, I was fucking pathetic, but even if she wasn’t coming here I wanted to make sure she got home safe. I couldn’t sleep if I didn’t know.
Even when she was killing me, I had to know she was okay.
It wasn’t Tessa at the front door. It was my mother.
I sighed. My mother didn’t visit regularly. Even though she’d made a sincere effort to get back into my life over the past few years, she still visited at random times, as if she came over whenever she remembered I existed. Donna the wellness therapist said that I had to “put healing energy” into the relationship with my mother. My real therapist, the one with actual qualifications, said I had to “set boundaries.” It was a toss-up to me as to which one of them was more full of shit.
Still, I let Mom in. “I’m back here,” I called to her when I heard the front door close.
Mom came back to the spare bedroom I’d turned into a workout room, with weights and lift bars fitted so they were easy for me to use. She was wearing linen pants and a sleeveless silk blouse, her hair—dark like mine, but streaked with gray—tied up neatly in a bun. My mother was in her mid-fifties, rich, a great dresser, and newly single. Frankly, she was a bit of a babe. It was only a matter of time before some rich, handsome guy snapped her up and married her.
Then there’d be another wedding, another honeymoon. Another person moving on with their life without me.
“Hi,” she said, coming into the room as I mopped sweat from my face and neck with a towel. She kissed me on the cheek and handed me a gift bag. “I brought you something.”
“Really, Mom,” I said, but I took the bag. Since coming back into my life, my mother seemed to feel that she needed to bring me things—a book, a knick-knack, new underwear. She was also paying for Donna’s therapy visits. It was like part of her had the impulse to buy her way back into my good graces. But the thought was sincere, and she really was trying, so I didn’t have the heart to tell her to knock it off.
“You’re really sweating,” she said, lightly touching my hair as I opened the bag. “Are you overdoing it?”
“I’m fine,” I said, though I could feel shaking in the muscles of my arms and back. Thinking about Tessa saying yes to her boss’s offer of a date had made me wish I drank so I could black out my thoughts. Instead I worked out until I nearly fainted.
She was going to go on a date with a guy. A normal, nice guy with legs. She was going to go on a date with him, and eventually she was going to sleep with him. Because that was what normal, beautiful, single women did in the real world.
What did you think would happen, idiot? You should never have invited her over in the first place.
I pushed the thought away and opened the gift bag. It was a set of DVDs—all of the Star Trek movies. “What’s this?” I said.
“You like sci-fi, right?” Mom said.
I did like sci-fi, in fact. I could watch any of these movies online anytime I wanted, but I didn’t say that. She was trying so hard. So I said, “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiled at me. “Do you want something to eat?”
I’d worked out so hard that my stomach couldn’t handle food right now. “No, I’m fine.”
She looked me over, standing in front of where I sat, a frown on her brow. “Are you sure? You look thinner than last time I saw you. Have you lost weight?”
“No.”
“Really? What do the doctors say? You shouldn’t be losing weight, Andrew.”
“I’m not losing weight.”
“I just—”
I reached out and put my hand over hers, closed my fingers gently over hers. “Mom, a glass of water would be great. I’ll change my shirt and come out in a minute. Okay?”