The Other Side of Someday (10 page)

A chiming from my laptop caught my attention, indicating a FaceTime call. I folded my mother’s list and placed it back in her journal, then clicked on my laptop. I was greeted by my uncle’s comforting eyes that reminded me of pulled pork, cornbread, and sweet tea.

“Uncle Monty,” I breathed. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too, kiddo.” He wore a pressed suit over a crisp, white shirt and designer tie. Based on his wardrobe and the large glass windows behind him, I knew he was at his office. I didn’t think he had taken a day off from work since my wedding. Even then, he was constantly on his cell phone “putting out fires”, as he called it. “How’s everything going out there? I’ve tried to get in touch with you a few times, but kept missing you.”

“Sorry about that. I’ve been pretty busy.”

“Making some friends, I assume?”

“A few,” I answered, then proceeded to tell him everything that had happened since leaving North Carolina. I asked if he had heard any news from back home, to which he said he hadn’t. I didn’t expect him to. He rarely spent time in my hometown, apart from paying me the occasional visit. Now that I was gone, I doubted he had a reason to leave Charlotte. I knew
I
wouldn’t.

As I was about to close out our video chat, I remembered the list I had discovered hidden between the pages of my mother’s journal. I knew if anyone could tell me about that list, it was my uncle. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Uncle Monty replied.

“Did you know about the list my mother made of all the things she wanted to do before she died?”

His face fell just slightly before his eyes brightened, as if recalling some rather fond memories. “Of course. Hell, I helped her write it.”

“I found it in her journal. She never got around to a few of the things, so I was toying with the idea of seeing if I could finish the list for her.”

Taking a protracted breath, he closed his eyes briefly before returning them to me. “I think your mother would like that. She’d be happy to know that, regardless of the fact you don’t remember her, her legacy can live on through you.”

A small smile crept across my face and I nodded. I didn’t know why I needed my uncle’s approval to complete my mother’s list, but I felt better knowing he liked the idea. “Thanks, Uncle Monty.”

“You bet, kid. What are you going to start with?”

I pulled the sheet of paper out of the journal and scanned it. Nothing shouted out to me. My mother had my father to join her on this journey. Who did I have? My brain went to the first person I could think of — Sebby. I could just envision all the fun we would have checking items off the list, but I didn’t think it was right to share such a personal journey with someone who had a girlfriend, despite his assurances that men and women could be friends. Maybe that was the point of this. Maybe I didn’t need someone at my side to finish the task my mother set out to complete.

My eyes falling on one item that seemed fairly straightforward, I smiled at my uncle. “I think I’m going to learn yoga.”

A laugh bellowed from my laptop. “Now
this
I’d pay to see.”

~~~~~~~~~~

L
ATER
THAT
AFTERNOON
, I pulled up in front of a yoga studio I had found online. Even though it had amazing reviews, I was a bit apprehensive about leaving my condo and driving the few short miles to the studio. Back home, I was never the shy girl. Hell, I knew everyone in my small town. But out here, I only had a handful of friends, being in unfamiliar territory for the first time in my life. I didn’t know why, but I was nervous about walking into that yoga studio, everyone turning to stare at the new girl. I had to keep reminding myself that my life wasn’t some cheesy, coming-of-age,
Mean
Girl
-esque movie.

As I parked my car and fed the meter, I checked my watch, seeing I had time to kill before class was slated to begin. I took in my surroundings, my eyes falling on an adorable little coffee shop right next to the yoga studio.
Kismet
, I said to myself. Perhaps a few shots of caffeine was exactly what I needed at the moment.

The aroma of coffee met me the second I opened the door and walked into the small café. It was fairly busy for a Friday afternoon. There were people set up with laptops, typing away. Some tables were filled with women in workout gear, and I assumed they had just left the yoga studio. I simply rolled my eyes at their perfect makeup and hair with not a strand out of place. That had always been one of my pet peeves — women who viewed going to the gym as a beauty pageant. For me, working out was a release. If my makeup hadn’t melted off by the end of my workout (on the off chance I banged my head and was idiotic enough to even put makeup on before heading to the gym), I clearly didn’t work out hard enough.

Navigating my way around the tables, I ordered an espresso, found an empty table, and sat down, leaning my yoga bag against the wall. I pulled out my e-reader and got lost in the romance novel of the day. I was so immersed in the book, I hadn’t heard anyone sit at the table next to me.

“Coming or going?” a voice asked, which I ignored. “I said, coming or going,” the voice repeated, louder. I tilted my head up to see Mr. Tall, Dark, And Handsome
smiling at me, taking me by surprise. The last thing I expected was to have a charming, attractive, muscular man strike up a conversation with me. I could tell by the way not one piece of hair was out of place that this was a man who cared about his appearance. It was completely different from the beer-drinking, football-watching guys I had grown up with back home.

“Excuse me?” I asked, checking over my shoulder to make sure he was, in fact, talking to me and not someone else or, God forbid, was on the phone. I could just picture myself holding a conversation with him, only for him to be talking to someone on his hands-free unit.

He gestured to my bag. “Yoga. Did you just finish a class?”

“No. I’m signed up for one at two.”

“New to town?”

I nodded. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little bit, but don’t worry.” He leaned in toward me, lowering his voice. “Your secret is safe with me.” He pulled back, his eyes bright. “I’m Dennis.” He held his hand out, beaming.

“Baylee,” I said, shaking his hand. “Do you do yoga?” I raised my eyebrows as I surveyed his loose tank top, exposing incredibly toned biceps and pectorals.

“Sure do. It’s a great release, don’t you think?”

“Really?” I tried to hide the disbelief in my voice. You wouldn’t catch any of the guys I knew back home doing yoga, even if their life depended on it. Our small town didn’t even have a decent gym. Combine that with the abundance of fried food, most people refused to put any effort into maintaining a healthy lifestyle. I was the odd bird out. I had always been pretty healthy and, quite possibly was the only person in my hometown who owned a pair of running shoes. I refused to fall victim to the cycle. Much to Will’s dismay, I ate healthy. If he refused to cook for himself, he could eat what I did.

“It’s great for flexibility,” Dennis explained, winking. I couldn’t help but think that there was a double meaning to that. “What class are you signed up for?”

“Mat Pilates.”

“Me, too. Come on. I’ll walk with you and show you around.”

“You don’t have to.”

He stood up from his table and held his hand out to me. My eyes bulged when I saw how tall and ripped he was as he stood in front of me with his hand extended, his eyes beseeching me to take it. You know those guys you see on covers of romance novels? The ones with the ripped muscles whose veins were visible? Well, that was Dennis. He probably had zero percent body fat.

“Come on, Carolina. Walk with me.”

I slowly raised myself from my chair and bent to grab my yoga bag.

“I’ve got this,” he said, taking the bag from me and slinging it over his broad shoulders. If this fine specimen wanted to carry my yoga mat and walk with me to class, I wasn’t one to complain.

“How did you know I was from Carolina?”

“Your accent,” he started, holding the door of the coffee shop for me. “In a town of struggling actors, I guess we can all pick up on dialects fairly easily.”

“I see. Can you do accents?”

“Yes, ma’am. I surely can,” he said in a Texas drawl, tipping his imaginary cowboy hat toward me.

“You’re really good at that! It sounds so natural.”

“Actually, truth be told, it
is
natural for me. I was born and raised in Texas, so I grew up speaking like that. It wasn’t until I moved out here that I started to lose the accent.”

“I like the Texas drawl.” I smirked at him as I sauntered into the yoga studio. I could feel him surveying my body, my hips swaying flirtatiously as I walked through the quaint reception area. The aroma of lavender and honey invaded my senses. I was barely a few feet inside, but I already felt more relaxed than I was just seconds ago.

“Dennis!” the bubbly blonde at the front desk said as we approached. “Who’s your new friend? Are you trying to make me jealous?” She pouted, her expression playful.

“Never, Ashley,” he crooned. “This is Baylee. We just met next door. It’s her first time here, so I thought I’d make your job easier and show her around.”

She typed at her computer, then returned her attention to us. “Here you are. Baylee Morgan. You’re booked in the two o’clock Mat Pilates class. Dennis is taking that, too, so go ahead with him. We give all our new clients the first class for free, but if you enjoy it, come back and see me afterwards. We’ll get you signed up with a bundle. Have fun!”

“Thanks.” I smiled politely at her.

“This way.” Dennis placed his hand in the middle of my back and led me from the front reception area down a long hallway decorated with miniature water fountains, the sound of soothing meditation music echoing in the corridor. I inhaled deeply, feeling all the craziness and stress of the past few months melt off instantaneously. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” he whispered.

“I’d come here just to sit in the hallway,” I replied.

“They have a meditation room that’s even more soothing. No class, just a room you can go into and relax.”

“I’d never leave.”

“It is kind of hard.” He narrowed his gaze at me, as if he were trying to focus his eyes on my face and not the bit of cleavage visible from the tight, yellow yoga tank top I wore.

My uncle always said that when God closed a door, he opened a window. Being here and deciding to check things off my mother’s list filled me with the freedom I’d been looking for since leaving North Carolina. I was channeling my mother’s spirit, and she would tell me to leave myself open for something new. Maybe Dennis could be my something, or
someone
, new. Marcel kept insisting I needed to get my rebound relationship out of my system. Dennis would do quite nicely.

“Follow me. Class is about to begin.” He gestured with his head toward a room and I followed him inside. Several people nodded to him as we entered, and he made polite introductions. I was surprised at how friendly everyone was. I had a preconceived notion about everyone in LA — rude, self-centered, in their own bubble — but I was finding it wasn’t true at all. The few people I had met here were welcoming and inviting.

Dennis and I set up our mats side-by-side and I sat down, stretching in preparation for the beating my body was probably about to endure.

“Have you done yoga before?” Dennis asked, his voice low, trying not to disrupt the quiet ambience in the room.

“A few times,” I answered, “but only videos. In my small town in North Carolina, they didn’t even have a gym, let alone a yoga studio.”

“This will be fun then. And this is a great class to start out with. It’s more of a mixture of yoga and Pilates, so you’re not holding the poses for what can feel like hours on end. It’s more motion-based. I think you’ll like it.”

“Do you come here often?”

A breathtaking smile crossed his face, his teeth bright against his tan skin.

I cringed. “That sounded like a cheesy pick-up line, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I’ve heard them all. Believe me. You can’t imagine some of the lines I’ve heard at the clubs out in West Hollywood. Based on experience alone, I could write a book on how
not
to pick up a guy.”

“I don’t think I want to know.” I rolled my eyes.

“You probably don’t.” He winked just as the instructor stepped up to the front of the room and got our attention.

During the forty-five minute class, a flash of heat spread through me whenever I stole a glance at Dennis and saw his eyes glued to my body, causing sweat to bead on my brow. Or it could have been the intense workout I was getting from the Marquis de Sade of yoga instructors. Regardless, it had been years since anyone gazed at me in such a way that made me feel attractive. If nothing else, that was what Dennis did for me. He made me feel desirable again.

After the class finished, I gathered my things, wiping the sweat from my face.

“So what do you think, Carolina? Am I going to see you again?” Dennis asked in a seductive voice that nearly took my breath away.

I gave him a flirtatious smile over my shoulder. “You know what? I do believe you will.” I sauntered down the hallway and toward the lobby of the studio.

“Baylee, wait!” he shouted, running up to me as I walked out the door. I stopped and turned to face him, a sly grin crossing his face. “Can I get your phone number?” I raised my eyebrows at him, taken aback by how forward he was. “Just in case something comes up and I can’t make it to class, or if I want to switch to a different one,” he floundered. “That’s all.”

Biting my lower lip, I entered my phone number into his cell and then retreated from him, swaying my hips more than usual. Once I was settled in my car, I pulled the yellowed piece of paper from my mother’s journal and crossed
Learn how to do yoga
off her list.

C
HAPTER
N
INE

May 2

I saw the Pacific Ocean today. Santa Monica, California, is just as beautiful as I imagined, apart from the homeless people and the fog, which everyone out here calls a “marine layer”. It’s the most peculiar thing I’ve ever seen. Perry and I woke up this morning and looked out the window of our hotel. We could barely see ten feet in front of us, the fog so thick and heavy. After a few hours, the sun was shining brightly. When I mentioned the word “fog” to our concierge at the hotel, he just laughed and knew we were from out of town, as if the country accent didn’t make it obvious. So that’s what I’ve learned today. In California, fog is called a marine layer.