Tumble (Dogwood Lane 1)

“The girls would love that. You’re kind of a legend around here.”

“They’re going to be so disappointed.”

“Hardly,” she says. “I bust out your Finals tape every year as motivation.”

Memories from that epic night flicker through my mind, raising goose bumps across my arms. The roar of the crowd, the electricity floating through the air, the excitement rolling off my teammates as I stood in the center of the mat and waited for the music to start.

“I haven’t thought about that in a long time,” I admit.

“If I pulled out a perfect routine on national television, I’d think about it every day.”

“I’ve had a lot of other things to think about, you know. Like rent.”

She laughs with me.

“Trials of adulthood,” she says.

“I’m really not enjoying adulthood as much as I once thought I might. It’s freaking hard, Aerial.”

She smiles softly. “It doesn’t get any easier. But at least you’re home for a bit. How does it feel to be back in God’s country?”

It’s not a loaded question, but it certainly feels like one. By the contented smile on her face, I know she expects an answer full of sunshine and roses. That coming back seems like a perfect fit and akin to a warm robe on a cool evening. Truth is, it’s not. Not completely.

I struggle with how to explain that my adult memories take place on the streets of the city. How I love a good play in an antiquated theater and street food that may or may not make me sick. The museums brimming with history, the way you can sit in Central Park and lose yourself in the throngs of strangers, are my new normal. I miss them. I love them. I love them as much as I used to love the quiet streets of Dogwood Lane, especially when the streets here are filled with people who have lives and experiences I know nothing about anymore.

“It’s strange,” I say, tossing out the closest word I can find that gets near how I feel.

“Strange?”

“Yeah,” I admit, shrugging. “I’m a fish out of water. I drive through town or wake up in my old bedroom, and for a split second, it feels like that’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. But then I talk to people, even my own mother, and things aren’t like I remembered them. How could they be? I mean, I’m not the same person I was when I left, so why would they be? Does that make any sense?”

“Absolutely. But I bet you won’t feel so ‘fish out of water’ here long. You’ll find your stride.”

“I don’t know.” I cringe. “I’m used to being able to get a latte on every corner and Chinese at three in the morning. It’s like I’ve gone back in time.”

“No one needs Chinese at three in the morning.”

“When you’re putting together a piece that’s due at six a.m., you need Chinese at three,” I insist. “Trust me.”

She leans back and assesses me. Arms over her chest, eyes narrowed, she sweeps her gaze over my face in a way that makes me squirm. “So, Neely, why are you really home?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you here? And don’t give me the crap answer you’re giving everyone.”

Fidgeting in my seat, I shrug. “I’m visiting Mom.”

“Remember when you used to fall off the balance beam,” she says, “and I’d ask you girls why and you’d say you slipped. And I’d ask you why you slipped—what were you thinking?”

“Yes.”

“What were you thinking that made you want to come back after all this time?”

“I quit my job,” I say, shifting my weight.

“Maybe, but that’s not why you’re here.” She stands and leans against her desk. “Shouldn’t you be there job hunting?”

Scrubbing my hands down my face, I feel the weariness settle in my muscles. I should be there doing just that, but the thought of fighting that battle today is overwhelming. Being here, in the gym, at Mom’s, seems weirdly more palatable.

“Have you ever become so tired you felt like you were running on autopilot? Like you go through every day in survival mode and you hope tomorrow is better?” I ask.

“I’m a mom. So yes.”

I grin weakly. “I’m tired, Aerial. And not just from this whole job-loss, job-hunt thing—although I’m not enjoying that. But I’m just exhausted from life.”

The words aren’t a revelation, but saying them out loud seems to ring a lot truer than I even realized. I feel so much more run-down than I did when I ran in here, like verbalizing it to Aerial somehow gave me permission to feel it. As I wrap my brain around that, I imagine starting all over again—working my way up the ladder at a brand-new company—and I want to cry.

“Exhausted from life? How so?”

I suck in a deep breath and feel it fill my lungs. My chest is tight, too tight, almost, to fit all the oxygen I try to take in.