The Secrets of Attraction (34 page)

“You can't miss my first class,” Jazz said.

They both flopped down on the foot of my bed while I put a pillow over my head and screamed into it. It was forty-five minutes before class started and I had no interest in finding inner peace, no matter how bad I needed it. I'd broken the cold-shoulder routine with my mother and begged her to let me take a mental-health day from school—from life, really. Playing the I-just-found-out-who-my-father-is-and-he's-leaving card might have been a bit dirty, but she'd agreed on the condition that I put my portfolio together and attended yoga class that night, since it would be her first time assisting and she needed the moral support.

I'd finished my portfolio, but I was waffling on the class, which had more to do with being in the vicinity of Mugshot than anything else. I sat up and pleaded my case again.

“I don't know myself anymore. Why would I angry-kiss Jesse and pick a fight? I can't be trusted to be within ten miles of the boy.”

“C'mon, Mads, you're going through an insane amount of stuff, you're allowed to act a little crazy. And angry-kissing is kind of hot. I'm sure he got over it,” Jazz said.

“Is that Jazz or Diara speaking?” I asked.

She blushed. “I'll never tell.”

I flopped back down onto my pillow and stared at the ceiling. They were breaking me down about yoga, but there was something else I hadn't told them—something that had me even more unsettled than my father leaving or the whole Jesse situation. After I'd put together my portfolio, I researched summer programs in the Bay area. I'd been doing it for fun, on the off chance that there was something interesting.

The tuition was ridiculous and it involved transcripts and letters of recommendation and it was totally, totally insane, and I hadn't even book marked it or anything.

And yet I couldn't stop thinking about it.

That
would be an experience. It wasn't much more than Pratt. And Paul had offered to pay for Pratt. I could do the father thing with him and my mother could
live her yoga
without me under foot for a while. It could be a win-win sitch all around. Maybe she could even come out and visit and we could fly home together. Could he handle living with me under the same roof for a month? Could my mother?

“So you got jealous, and had a pissed-off make-out sesh. You're human. And you both promised me celebratory chais, so I'm holding you to that. Besides, you have to wish Jesse good luck, or break a leg, or whatever it is you say to someone before a battle,” Wren said.

She stood up and rummaged through my dresser, pulling out my favorite pair of yoga pants—the ones with the daisies up the side that made me smile every time I was in down dog. She tossed them over to me and they landed on my head, one leg draped over my face. I grabbed them and playfully narrowed my eyes at her.

“If that's not enough to convince you, I saw on the calendar that Leif is focusing on inversions tonight. Which means his shirt will be flipping up a lot. Which means a one-way ticket to abtopia.”

“Does Grayson know you lust after Leif?” Jazz asked.

“I don't lust after him. . . . I'm just admiring the view.”

“Yes, every time Wren catches a glimpse of Leif half-naked she thanks the universe for creating such perfection,” I said. Maybe going to class to drool over Leif's abs would be a good start on the road back to normal. It wouldn't be the worst way to spend an hour.

“Right. As long as he doesn't assist me, I'm fine.”

“Then she turns into a melting lust puppy.”

“Wait—assist? He might touch me?” Jazz asked.

“Melting lust puppy is exaggerating,” Wren said. “And Mad's mom is there tonight so you only have a fifty-fifty shot of being assisted by Leif. No worries.”

“The lust-puppy thing sounds fun, though,” Jazz said, grinning.

My mouth dropped open. “I'm liking this side of you, Jazzabelle.”

“Okay, then are you in or not? We've got, like, fifteen minutes to get there for decent mat space,” Wren said.

Showing up for my mother was the right thing to do—she wanted me there, and it would be an olive branch, a small step in the right direction, especially if I was going to run the study-in-Cali idea by her. We couldn't turn back time to change her decision not to tell us, but Paul was right—my mother wasn't a vindictive person. I had to keep telling myself that; her choice not to tell us was not out of spite, even if I didn't fully understand it. I sat up and grabbed my yoga pants.

“All this talk of lust and abs, fine, you win, I'll be ready in ten.”

Leif introduced my mother, and another student who would be assisting, at the beginning of class.

Mom looked almost shy, hair back in a tribal-print headband, standing to the side and giving us a modest wave before snapping into serious yogini mode. We started the class with a meditation. Leif's voice was practically an opiate.

“Take everything that's bothering you, all the dreck that makes you crazy, roll it together like a big ball of clay and put it to the side of your mat. I promise it will be there at the end of class and you can pick it up again, but for now, feel how much lighter you are without it.”

The ball of dreck I collected was the size of Jupiter. My mother, Paul, my new idea of a summer program in Cali, Jesse . . . I put them all away for a moment and focused on me. Hearing Leif's calm, even voice made it all seem possible, to step away for a moment and just exist on my mat.

My hamstrings were so tight that I could barely touch the floor in forward fold. After a few rounds of sun salutation, my hands were wrapped around my toes. My breathing propelled me. I imagined I was slicing through the air during swan dive, focused on putting my forehead to my shins, enjoying how each move made my body more open and relaxed.

“We're going to open up with trikonasana—if you need a block, raise your hand.” My mothered distributed blocks to those who wanted them as Leif talked us through setting up our alignment.

I prepped for the pose—after five months, I didn't need to listen, could just feel what was right with my body. I reached out, tipping at my waist, placing my hand on my shin.

I felt warmth on my lower back. A hand.

“Your hip is tilting slightly forward, here.” My mother placed a firm hand on the point of my hip bone and gently nudged it back, causing a muscle I hadn't even known existed in my lower back to smart. I snapped to standing so fast, I nearly knocked us both over.

“What are you doing?”

She shook her head slightly, blinked. I hadn't meant it to sound so snotty. I'd been doing the pose for months without anyone adjusting me, why all of a sudden did she think I was doing something wrong?

“Your hips were out of alignment.” She demonstrated the first part of the pose herself, showing me how to square my hips. Why was she calling me out? If she could so easily point out what was wrong with my pose, why couldn't she use that same focus to figure out where she went wrong in her own life?

Olive branch . . . olive branch . . .

“Sometimes when you reach too far, you compensate by rolling your hip forward, and your hips go out of whack.” She demonstrated by overreaching and turning her body in such a way that her butt stuck out. The woman on the mat in front of mine stopped mid pose and watched my mom. Jazz was suddenly behind me, observing too. The tips of my ears were on fire.

“I don't do that.”

My mother stood up, and held out her arms as if she were gathering me up.

“Try the pose again.”

“Mom, stop.”

The woman in front of us resumed stretching. My mother took a deep breath, eyes on me, looking like she wanted to say more. She nodded, though, and backed off. Jazz, ever the peace-maker, asked her a question about foot placement and the unpleasant moment passed.

Leif moved on to inversions. My heart was not into it.

“Inversions are challenging because most of us are afraid of going out of our comfort zone—and being upside down is about as out of your comfort zone as you can get when you're a biped. But reversing gravity's pull helps the body eliminate waste, improves circulation and,” Leif said, putting his hands on the floor and bringing his legs in the air in one nimble move that made the room go silent, “it's just kind of fun to see things from a different perspective.”

His gray shirt flipped up, displaying his washboard perfection as he walked on his hands a few feet across the studio floor before landing on his feet again. I could practically hear the collective cougar-roar from the class, but I didn't peek over at Wren or back at Jazz to see their reaction. When it was time to partner off to practice headstand, I feigned a coughing fit and left the room.

“Madison.”

I turned to see Leif right behind me, pulling the door to the studio gently shut.

“Oh, hey.”

“Are you okay?”

I coughed into my fist to continue the charade. “I have a tickle in my throat, wanted to get some water.”

“I noticed you seem to be a little overwhelmed today.”

“Nope.”

“Because it's understandable to feel that way.”

The last thing I wanted or needed was some catch all yogic wisdom, but I was curious. Did he know my situation? My mother couldn't have possibly blabbed about our personal stuff to him, right? That would have been weird.

“What way?”

“It's hard to adjust, to see a person in a different light. There's no rulebook for how to handle change.”

I wasn't sure if I was relieved to hear someone acknowledge my feelings or ticked off that my mother had shared what was going on with Paul. All I knew was that I was sick of hiding behind my angry face. Being pissed off at the world had become a real energy-suck. I didn't feel totally comfortable talking about it with a stranger, but if my mother had trusted Leif enough to tell him, maybe he could offer some objective insight.

“I am a little overwhelmed, actually.”

“Yoga training can really shuffle a person's beliefs, kind of rock them to their core—so it's natural to maybe feel threatened by the changes your mom is going through. When I started—”

He hadn't been talking about Paul at all.

“Wait, you think I'm threatened by my mother?”

His dark eyes went blank, lips pursed to the side. I'd never seen him look puzzled. It made him less mystical yogi, more human. “‘Threatened' might be a strong word. I saw things got a little tense when she adjusted you.”

I hadn't realized it was that obvious. “Oh, um, yeah.”

“I know you started practicing together, so it's probably hard to see her as a teacher, and that's fine—I just wanted to make sure you know it's okay to feel that way. Your being here at all is great support for her.” He stepped back toward the studio door. “I have to get back to class, see you in a few.”

I nodded and watched him reenter the classroom, feeling slightly off balance again after I'd assumed he'd been talking about something different. My face felt hot, I needed a cool splash of water—something,
anything
, to reboot.

The bathroom was the same peaceful shade of sage green as the studio with a soundtrack of bubbling water and nature sounds playing softly in the background. I sat on a small bench along the wall, pushing down the sudden inexplicable urge to cry. What the hell was wrong with me? Was I really so infantile that I couldn't handle a simple correction in a yoga class? Had Leif been right? Did I really feel threatened by my mother?

I'd started taking the class as a fluke and I liked it, looked forward to it, even, but it was different for my mother. She was beyond that—it was more than a class for her. It was becoming a way of life for her—a way of life without me.

The realization hit me so sharply.

Was that why I was thinking of studying in California? Was it less about living with Paul and more about leaving her because I could feel her leaving me? No, not totally—I did want to make my own way, separate from her, but I also wanted to know Paul better than just sporadic visits. Even though they weren't together, I could never separate Mom and Paul. They were their own unique pair, connected by their shared history and now, me. I'd have to find a way for both of them to be in my life.

By the time I got back to the studio, the class was in final meditation. I didn't want to interrupt, so I waited in the reception area. There on the counter was the same kind of Buddha statue I'd accidentally knocked off our mantelpiece. The girl behind the desk was busy working on what looked like next month's class schedule. I cleared my throat.

“Excuse me, do you know where I can get a Buddha like this one?”

“This guy?” She picked up the statue. I anticipated some exotic locale, or Zen.com or something, but she looked on the bottom and smiled. “That home-accessories place on the back highway.”

Sure enough, the sticker on the bottom was from the home store, and it was $10.99 to boot.

“Thanks.”

When the final meditation was through, I went back into the studio to collect my mat. Mom came over to me. I spoke first.

“That was a great class. Nice adjusting.”

She smiled. “Are you okay—you left, I thought—”

“Nope, just had a tickle in my throat,” I said.

“Ready?” Wren and Jazz sidled up to us.

“How did you enjoy your first class?” my mother asked Jazz.

“Very relaxing. I'll be back.”

“Great. Maddie, I'm assisting with the next class, too—you do have a ride home, right?” she asked.

“Grayson's picking us up,” Wren said.

“Yep, guess I do,” I said, rolling up my sticky mat. “See you later.”

“Let's go, chais on me tonight,” Wren said.

“Why don't we get them from Quick Chek?” I asked, semi-dreading the apology I owed Jesse.

“You can't be serious, Mads.”