The Shape of You Page 18

  They finished up class, and Rebecca bid them all a good weekend, then went off to do whatever it was she did after class. Spencer watched her go. She tried not to, but those pants…

  “What exciting things are on your Friday night schedule?” Lucy asked her, yanking her back to reality.

  “Oh,” Spencer said, shifting her attention. Together, they fell into step and walked to the locker room. “My car’s in the shop, so Marti is picking me up and we’re going to meet some of her work friends for dinner and drinks.”

  “That sounds fun.” Lucy spun the dial on her lock, popped it open.

  Spencer shrugged. “It’ll be fine. I don’t know these people very well and they always end up talking business, even when they promise they won’t. So we significant others will have to start up our own conversations or sit there and twiddle our thumbs.”

  “Well, if it wouldn’t seem weird for your fiancée to bring two people with her, one of whom is a total stranger, I’d totally go with you and chat with you while they talk shop. I owe you for last weekend.” Lucy’s smile was bright, as always, and again, Spencer wondered what it must be like to be that happy all the time.

  “You’re a swell friend.”

  “That I am.” Lucy slammed her locker shut and shouldered her bag. “Catch you Monday.”

  Spencer took her time changing out of her workout attire and back into her work clothes. Eyeing herself in the mirror, her gaze was critical. As usual. Marti’s work friends made her uncomfortable, and Spencer didn’t blame them. It wasn’t their issue. They never tried to make her uncomfortable. It was all Spencer. She never felt on the same level as them, with their designer clothes and seventeen different college degrees. She always felt a bit “lesser than” around them.

  Staring at her reflection in the mirror and scrutinizing her black slacks, white button-up top, and black pumps took much longer than it should have. When Spencer glanced at the clock on the locker room wall, she gasped and muttered, “Son of a nutcracker.” Marti would be getting impatient. When her things were stuffed haphazardly into her gym bag, she fished out her phone and turned the sound back on. Three texts from Marti.

  Coming out soon?

  Where are you?

  We’re going to be late!

  That last one was crucial because Marti hated to be late. It completely stressed her out, therefore, it completely stressed Spencer out. She slammed her locker and headed for the exit as quickly as she could without actually running.

  The sight that greeted her in the parking lot nearly made her stop dead in her tracks. It was only by sheer force of self-preservation that her feet kept moving, because Marti was out of the car, standing at the open car door, her forearms braced across the top of it. She was grinning as she talked to none other than Rebecca McCall.

  “There she is,” Marti said as she saw Spencer. “About time.”

  “Sorry,” Spencer said, as Rebecca turned and their eyes locked. “I got distracted.”

  “What else is new?” Marti asked, her tone light. But Spencer knew she was irritated. “I was just about to come in and get you when Rebecca here came out. I asked her if she knew you. She said she did, very well.”

  Spencer didn’t dare look at Rebecca.

  “She’s my star pupil,” Rebecca said, surprising Spencer.

  “Yeah? Well, that’s quite a surprise,” Marti said.

  Spencer opened the back door to the car and tossed her things inside, slammed the door and stood beside Marti.

  Every single thing about this situation felt weird to her. Every. Single. Thing.

  “Why a surprise?” Rebecca asked, and Spencer did look at her then. Her gaze was riveted on Marti, and Spencer was pretty sure she saw the quick flash of an angry nostril flare.

  “Spencer isn’t exactly the most athletic of women,” Marti said with a chuckle, and there was something about the way she said it, as if it was the most obvious fact in the world, that set Spencer’s teeth on edge.

  “I guess you’ve never seen her in the gym,” Rebecca said, her voice very, very low.

  Marti’s grin didn’t reach her eyes, and that did nothing to help Spencer’s discomfort. “I haven’t. You’re right. But she’s always been a little…soft.” Marti put her arm around Spencer’s shoulder and squeezed her closer. “Don’t get me wrong. I like her that way.”

  Rebecca’s eyes never left Marti, and Spencer could all but see the storm brewing in them. “She’s anything but soft. She works really hard in class and she’s getting results. Visible results.”

  The way Rebecca emphasized the word “visible” sent a flood of warmth rushing through Spencer. The how, the why, the what-the-hell-is-going-on, all of it shot through her like fast-moving water, and she had such a barrage of mixed feelings hit that she worried for a split second she might faint.

  “If you say so,” Marti said, that same chilly smile on her face as she shrugged.

  “We should get going,” Spencer finally managed to make herself say, and ducked out from under Marti’s arm. Her eyes met Rebecca’s as she passed, the storm clouds still gathering in them, and she gave Rebecca’s arm a quick squeeze as she continued by and around the car. “Have a great weekend, Rebecca. See you Monday.” A little wave later, she got into the passenger seat and emptied her lungs in a whoosh.

  Marti slammed her door shut and keyed the ignition. “Jesus, she’s uptight, huh?” She shook her head as she shifted the car and drove them out of the parking lot.

  So many things flew through Spencer’s mind at the moment. So many possible replies, most of which were not gentle or kind or happy. But they were on their way to meet people, and the last thing Spencer wanted to do was walk into the restaurant in a fight with Marti. Nothing would make the evening drag on more.

  She kept quiet.

  In her sideview mirror, she could still see Rebecca. Standing tall like a sentry. Standing up for Spencer.

  A small smile crept its way onto Spencer’s face.

  * * *

  “Ugh. She was just…smarmy. You know what I mean?” Rebecca shook her head in disgust and sipped her club soda. “So fucking smarmy.”

  “I like that word.” Zoe swigged her beer as she leaned an elbow on the bar and regarded Rebecca. “Smarmy. It’s a good word.”

  “I mean, Spencer was standing right there. Right next to her. Who does that? Who calls their partner soft and unathletic in front of somebody they just met?” Rebecca had hoped the boiling of her blood would ease a bit once she got to the bar and met Zoe, once she had some nice, icy cold club soda in her system, but no such luck. She was just as annoyed as she had been an hour ago as she’d watched Spencer sit silently next to her fiancée and drive away. “For Christ’s sake,” she muttered, turning to face the bar and bracing her forearms on it like a regular. She glanced up at Zoe, who was looking at her with what Rebecca could only label amusement, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I mean, she obviously hasn’t looked at Spencer at all lately. Like, at all.”

  “No? What makes you say that?”

  “Because she’s got muscles!” Rebecca’s voice was louder than she’d intended, and she sank her head down into her shoulders a bit and lowered the volume. “Because she’s been working hard and she’s getting results, and how does the person who loves her not even notice that?”

  “Yeah.” It was all Zoe said and when Rebecca glanced her way, she was shaking her head, eyebrows raised as she took a swig of her beer.

  “What?”

  Zoe continued to shake her head slowly, but added a shrug for good measure. “Man.”

  “What?” Rebecca asked again.

  “You got it bad for this one.”

  Rebecca opened her mouth to protest. Her brain scrambled for arguments, sifting through a variety of options. Instead, she inhaled a big breath and let it out slowly. “Goddamn it.” It was true. She did have it bad for Spencer. And she’d been fine until the sex. She hung her head and let out a tiny cry of despair. “Why did I have to
sleep with her? Why did I let that happen?”

  “Because we are weak, silly creatures, my friend.”

  Rebecca groaned, then downed her club soda like it was a shot of whiskey and slid the glass across the bar for a refill. When a new glass was in her hand, she turned to Zoe and said simply, “I want to protect her. I want to stand up for her. Is that weird?”

  “Absolutely not,” Zoe said and signaled the bartender for another bottle. “It says a lot about the kind of person you are.”

  “Stupid and self-deprecating?”

  “Exactly.” Zoe let out a chuckle and touched her beer bottle to Rebecca’s glass. “Nah,” she amended, after they’d sipped. “You’re okay.”

  “I need to get her out of my head, Zo. I’ve got no business messing in there. I need to step off.”

  “You do.” Zoe’s eyes tracked a young, pretty blonde across the bar. “Too bad the heart wants what the heart wants, huh?”

  Rebecca scoffed.

  “Right now, mine wants that.” She pointed at the retreating figure. “Be right back. Maybe.” And Zoe was off, sauntering across the bar toward the pool table where the blonde had stopped to watch the game.

  Rebecca spun on her stool and sat with her back against the bar. She’d been excited to get the invitation from Zoe to join her out for a drink after work. Rebecca’s first client that morning had come in at 5:30 a.m. and she’d gone nonstop ever since. A relaxing drink after a busy day sounded great. And despite how often they texted, she hadn’t seen Zoe face-to-face in quite a while.

  And then she’d walked into the parking lot and been a nice person and veered toward what was obviously a businesswoman who had gotten out of her car and was waving Rebecca over, poised to ask a question.

  Marti Daniels. That was her name. That was how she introduced herself when she shook Rebecca’s hand, but the name hadn’t clicked. She wasn’t unattractive. A little plain, maybe, but neat, well-dressed, great smile. Her dark hair was sleek and expensively styled. Her suit was designer. Her car was a Lexus. Then she asked if Rebecca knew Spencer Thompson.

  Pieces started to snap into place.

  “She’s my girlfriend and she was supposed to meet me out here”—a glance at her gold watch—“fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Oh, you’re the fiancée,” Rebecca had said, before she could stop herself.

  “I am. You know Spencer?”

  “I’m the instructor of the bride class. Rebecca McCall.”

  “Ah, the infamous Rebecca.”

  Rebecca wasn’t sure what that meant, but chose to let it slide by. “You signed Spencer up for the class.” Again, not what she’d thought about saying, but it popped out and, in that moment, Rebecca was very curious to hear some details.

  And then Spencer had appeared, and there went Rebecca’s chance.

  Zoe swaggered back to the bar a few minutes later and sat on her stool.

  “Shot down?” Rebecca asked.

  “Like an intrusive drone,” Zoe answered, with a disappointed shake of her head. She turned to Rebecca. “How’re you doing, my friend? Rehashing the parking lot scene?”

  “Every last word.”

  “Women, man.”

  They sipped in tandem.

  “Women.” Rebecca exhaled slowly. “What am I going to do, Zoe?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “All right. What is it? What did I do?” Marti stood next to their bed in her LSU T-shirt and underwear as she watched Spencer pull throw pillows from it and toss them onto the floor.

  “Nothing.”

  With a much put-upon sigh, Marti flopped onto the bed. “You’ve been quiet all night, and you’ve barely looked at me.”

  Spencer stopped what she was doing and did look at her then. Really looked at her. Marti didn’t appear all that worried. She didn’t seem terribly concerned. In fact, she looked slightly bored, like this was something she dealt with all the time and it tired her. That only fanned the flames inside Spencer’s gut.

  “I am not soft, Marti.”

  Marti’s eyes widened for a moment. That was followed by the furrowing of her brow and some rapid blinking. “What?”

  Spencer threw down the last pillow and yanked the covers down. “I. Am not. Soft.”

  It still took a beat or two before Marti caught up. “Oh. Oh! The trainer at the gym.” She laughed and slid under the covers, reached for a book on the nightstand.

  “‘Oh, the trainer at the gym?’ That’s all you’re going to say?” Spencer stood next to the bed, covers gripped in one hand, and stared at this woman she was beginning to wonder if she even knew at all.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, Spencer.” Marti was clearly frustrated, dropping her book down into her lap so she could meet Spencer’s angry gaze.

  And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Marti never knew what to say to her because she needed to make sure it was what Spencer wanted her to say.

  “You know what? Never mind. It’s fine. It’s whatever.” Spencer slid under the covers and turned onto her side so her back was to Marti. She was being alarmingly passive-aggressive and she knew it, but it was as if all the energy left her like she was a deflated balloon, and she simply no longer had it in her. It was there, the fight, the spark, and then it was gone. Just like that. Suddenly, she was so tired she could barely think.

  “You sure?” Marti asked, and the warmth of her hand landed on Spencer’s shoulder.

  It took everything Spencer had to keep from shrugging it off. “I’m sure. Good night.”

  “’Night, babe.”

  It wasn’t the first time Spencer had silently cried in bed while Marti lay next to her, often awake.

  I’m a mess.

  That sentence played over and over again, ran through her head like a train on a circular track. Round and round, never changing, never altering its course.

  Chelsea had done this to her.

  No.

  She had let Chelsea do this to her. Big difference. Chelsea had mowed her down like a combine over a field of wheat, and Spencer hadn’t been able to get up again. She sometimes felt like she was still lying there, flattened, worthless, completely unable to read any sort of feeling or sign or emotion from another, a failure of epic proportions. Other times, it was as though she’d managed to get to her hands and knees. Or even to a squat. But it had been a disturbingly long time since she’d felt like she was actually standing tall, to her full height. She always felt a little bit hunched. A little bit bent, like she was hiding, flying under the radar so she wouldn’t get called on. Called on to what, she wasn’t sure. To speak? To be seen? To live? Who knew?

  Rebecca saw her.

  Those three simple words bolstered her somehow. In a world where she’d become the background, where she’d begun to feel like nothing more than window dressing, Rebecca saw her.

  And then the bolstering faltered. Because did Rebecca see her? How could Spencer be sure? She’d thought Chelsea saw her as well, but that ended up an enormous disaster because Spencer had wildly miscalculated. Maybe that was exactly what was happening now.

  It wasn’t like she didn’t have options. She did. One choice was to run. She could throw everything away, be honest with Marti, move the very small amount of her belongings she’d brought over back to her house, and be done. She could do that, even though it made her a little ill to think about it. Or she could double down on this relationship, on her upcoming marriage. Stop worrying so much, stop analyzing every aspect of it and just focus. Pour all her energy into being the best wife she could be to Marti. She did care about her. That wasn’t in question. She had been in love with her once, hadn’t she? She could be again, right? She just had to work on that…

  Enough!

  Spencer mentally shook herself. Going around and around about all of this crap was a surefire way to drive herself completely off the deep end, and she’d come close more than once. This wasn’t the first time she’d listed out her options.

  It was just the first t
ime that somebody else had forced her to do so.

  * * *

  Six a.m. on a Saturday was early, but if you’d been awake for most of the night, as Spencer had, it was actually late. By four, she’d given up trying to get anything more than quick dozes in and had hauled herself out of bed. When she glanced back at Marti’s deeply sleeping—and still snoring—form, she briefly toyed with poking her awake. Her snuffling and snorting sounds hadn’t helped Spencer to drift off. But the idea of having to maintain morning conversation with her was more than Spencer could bear, so she snuck into the bathroom and put on her workout clothes.

  She had decided early on that those tight-fitting workout pants were made to shame people like her. Women who weren’t model-thin, who weren’t lean and muscular and curved in all the right places. That’s why she’d started out in loose-fitting sweats. But as she’d attended more classes and had started to feel herself getting stronger, Spencer didn’t mind those pants so much. They still showed many more of her imperfections than she’d like, but they also showed her progress. So she fought her way into them, donned a sports bra and her racer-back lime green tank, and headed for the gym.

  She was going to make this spin class her bitch.

  The Saturday morning crowd at BodyFit was a different mix than during the week. When Spencer came to the bride class on weeknights, the crowd seemed mostly made up of men and women coming right from work. The locker rooms were bustling and the hum of conversation was steady. On the weekends, though, the vibe was different. Mostly women, mostly without their kids (the on-site day care room was nearly empty), mostly quiet. Friendly smiles and gentle hellos drifted around the locker room, but there was little conversation and the volume was kept at a minimum.

  Spin class was almost full. By the time Spencer picked her bike, adjusted the seat and the handlebars to fit her, clipped her feet onto the pedals, and began her warm-up, there were only four bikes left without riders. A quick glance around the room told her the class was mostly women and that a lot of them knew each other. Sherry wasn’t the instructor on Saturdays. This was Amanda. She was tall, lean, annoyingly cheerful, and Spencer was pretty sure she would kick their collective ass.