Do I Know You?(59)

Hey Graham! I hope you’re having a nice trip. Just texting to get your meal preference for Michelle’s wedding. Fish or chicken?



I blink. This message is incomprehensible to me. Not literally, of course, but in its very presence. As far as I know, we never received an invitation to Michelle’s wedding. With her and Eliza on the outs, I figured we weren’t going. If Laura’s hitting me up while I’m celebrating my anniversary with her daughter, wondering if I want the fish or chicken, then I’m missing some key details.

Furthermore, if she’s asking me instead of Eliza, it’s probably because, for whatever reason, Eliza’s not responding. Laura has turned to me just like we’re planning dinner while Eliza is in the studio.

Or Eliza is responding, but not the way Laura wants.

Of course.

This, I realize, was the whispered phone call Eliza took in the bathroom this morning. The reason for her strained demeanor when she came back out. Eliza struggles with her relationship with her mom, I know from having listened supportively to impassioned accounts of my wife’s insecurities and resentments on plenty of car rides home from evenings with her family. I remember now the times I’ve seen the rattled, drawn, deer-in-the-headlights look she had this morning.

The implications of this suck some of the spirit out of me. Eliza is evidently going through something, something she doesn’t yet have the heart, or the strength, or something, to share with me.

I type out my reply, telling Laura I’ll check with Eliza, then stare out over the hills. This means we have more work to do, I realize with the inching illumination of the sun climbing up the hills. I have more work to do, becoming not just someone who can charm her into my Jacuzzi, but someone who Eliza feels she can confide in. Helping her recognize we can be completely real with each other, even while playing these parts. It won’t be easy, but I’m not giving up.

In fact, after last night, I’m more determined than ever.

“Hey, ready?”

I look over, finding Eliza walking up to me, dressed in athleisure and heartbreakingly pretty. Everything about her is relaxed, content.

“Ready,” I say, and I am.





35


    Eliza


MY STOMACH FEELS uneasy when we walk into couples’ yoga. It’s not just from the quantity of preserves I tasted on little toasts, either. The preserves, for the record, were delicious.

What’s upsetting me is the lingering echo in my head of the call this morning with my mom. Right now, I feel like the wonderful synchrony I’ve found with Graham these past few days is sculpted out of sand, not stone. One gentle push could send it collapsing into nothing.

One push like the prying reminders of one relationship I can’t seem to fix.

Graham, fortunately, has been wonderful—if he understands something is up with me, which the shadow flitting over his expression when I left the bathroom in his suite said he maybe does—he’s been nothing but boyish bravado and eager reassurance this morning.

Still, I’m nervous. I want to just stay with Graham in the private climate of this getaway. The problem of my sister’s wedding is threatening to pull me out. No delectable boysenberry spreads could distract me from what’s waiting for me outside this hotel.

I hate how much it scares me.

The yoga class is being held outside, on one of the grassy slopes. Impulsively, I reach for Graham’s hand.

He entwines his fingers with mine. It’s impossibly reassuring, like he’s somehow literally wrung the toxic tension out of me.

“You good?” he murmurs, leaning toward my ear.

“Yeah,” I reply, feeling it for the first time since the call.

Right then, a woman in a Treeline Resort yoga top approaches us. “Please take a mat and find a seat wherever is comfortable,” she says, smiling. “I’m Trish.”

“I’m Eliza. This is my—this is Graham.” I catch myself.

Graham notices. I’m undoubtedly the only one who can read the meaning in the slight movement of his head. His smile catches the hint of knowing humor, like he wishes I’d blurted out This is my Graham instead. I nearly laugh myself.

“How long have you two been together?” she asks.

I grab on to the chance to restore some of the spontaneity between me and Graham, to take the pressure off. To return myself to the private world where I feel comfortable, not the one pervaded by the pressure of my family.

“We just met here on vacation, actually,” I reply.

Trish brightens. “Oh, how romantic. Most of our participants have been together for years. I love that you two are only just finding your connection.”

Graham squeezes my hand. It’s one of those moments where the simple, quick gesture says something words can’t. He reaches for two mats, then walks a few feet away to unroll them while Trish glides past us to greet the next group.

I join Graham right in the middle of the class. He’s stretching, clearly taking this yoga thing seriously. Part of me wonders if he’s trying to invite me to do the same—saying, whatever’s on your mind, let’s get distracted together.

“Partner yoga not only can help with stretching and strengthening,” Trish explains, coming to the front of the group. “When done with a romantic partner, yoga can help deepen a couple’s connection in communication, trust, grounding—even sexual desire. Exercise and arousal are similar physiological experiences, after all.”