The Gravity of Us (Elements #4)(8)

“Death by hot yoga.” Mari sighed, inhaling deeply and exhaling unevenly.

I laughed. “You’re going to have to get up, Mari. They have to set up for the next class.” I held my hand out toward my sister, who was lying in a puddle of sweat. “Let’s go.”

“Go on without me,” she said theatrically, waving her invisible flag. “I surrender.”

“Oh no you don’t. Come on.” I grabbed her arms and pulled her to a standing position, with her resisting the whole way up. “You went through chemotherapy, Mari. You can handle hot yoga.”

“I don’t get it,” she whined. “I thought yoga was supposed to make you feel grounded and bring about peace, not buckets of sweat and disgusting hair.”

I smirked, looking at her shoulder-length hair that was frizzy and knotted on top of her head. She’d been in remission for almost two years now, and we’d been living our lives to the fullest ever since then, including opening the flower shop.

After quick showers at the yoga studio, we headed outside, and when the summer sun kissed our skin and blinded us, Mari groaned. “Why the heck did we decide to ride our bikes here today? And why is six AM hot yoga even a thing we’d consider?”

“Because we care about our health and well-being, and want to be in the best shape of our lives,” I mocked. “Plus, the car’s in the shop.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is this the point where we bike to a café and get donuts and croissants before work?”

“Yup!” I said, unlocking my bike from the pole and hopping onto it.

“And by donuts and croissants do you mean…?”

“Green kale drinks? Yes, yes, I do.”

She groaned again, this time louder. “I liked you better when you didn’t give a crap about your health and just ate a steady diet of candy and tacos.”

I smiled and started pedaling. “Race you!”

I beat her to Green Dreams—obviously—and when she made it inside, she draped her body across the front counter. “Seriously, Lucy—regular yoga, yes, but hot yoga?” She paused, taking a few deep breaths. “Hot yoga can go straight back to hell where it came from to die a long painful death.”

A worker walked over to us with a bright smile. “Hey, ladies! What can I get for you?”

“Tequila, please,” Mari said, finally raising her head from the countertop. “You can put it in a to-go cup if you want. Then I can drink it on the way to work.”

The waitress stared at my sister blankly, and I smirked. “We’ll take two green machine juices, and two egg and potato breakfast wraps.”

“Sounds good. Would you like whole wheat, spinach, or flaxseed wraps?” she asked.

“Oh, stuffed crust pizza will do just fine,” Mari replied. “With a side of chips and queso.”

“Flaxseed.” I laughed. “We’ll have the flaxseed.”

When our food came out, we grabbed a table, and Mari dived in as if she hadn’t eaten in years. “So,” she started, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. “How’s Richard?”

“He’s good,” I said, nodding. “Busy, but good. Our apartment currently looks like a tornado blew through it with his latest work, but he’s good. Since he found out he’s having a showcase at the museum in a few months, he’s been in panic mode trying to create something inspiring. He’s not sleeping, but that’s Richard.”

“Men are weird, and I can’t believe you’re actually living with one.”

“I know.” I laughed. It had taken me over five years to finally move in with Richard, mainly because I didn’t feel comfortable leaving Mari’s side when she got sick. We’d been living together for the past four months, and I loved it. I loved him. “Remember what Mama used to say about men moving in with women?”

“Yes—the second they get comfortable enough to take their shoes off in your house and go into your fridge without asking, it’s time for them to go.”

“A smart woman.”

Mari nodded. “I should’ve kept living by her rules after she passed away—maybe then I could’ve avoided Parker.” Her eyes grew heavy for a few seconds before she blinked away her pain and smiled. She hardly talked about Parker since he’d left her over two years ago, but whenever she did, it was as if a cloud of sadness hovered above her. She fought the cloud, though, and never let it release rain for her to wallow in. She did her best to be happy, and for the most part she was, though there were seconds of pain sometimes.

Seconds when she remembered, seconds when she blamed herself, seconds when she felt lonely. Seconds when she allowed her heart to break before she swiftly started piecing it back together.

With every second of hurt, Mari made it her duty to find a minute of happiness.

“Well, you’re living by her rules now, which is better than never, right?” I said, trying to help her get rid of the cloud above her.

“Right!” she cheered, her eyes finding their joy again. It was odd how feelings worked, how a person could be sad one second and happy another. What amazed me the most was how a person could be both things all within the same second. I believed Mari had a pinch of both emotions in that moment, a little bit of sadness intermingled with her joy.