Tumble (Dogwood Lane, #1)(17)

I struggle with how to explain that my adult memories take place on the streets of the city. How I love a good play in an antiquated theater and street food that may or may not make me sick. The museums brimming with history, the way you can sit in Central Park and lose yourself in the throngs of strangers, are my new normal. I miss them. I love them. I love them as much as I used to love the quiet streets of Dogwood Lane, especially when the streets here are filled with people who have lives and experiences I know nothing about anymore.

“It’s strange,” I say, tossing out the closest word I can find that gets near how I feel.

“Strange?”

“Yeah,” I admit, shrugging. “I’m a fish out of water. I drive through town or wake up in my old bedroom, and for a split second, it feels like that’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. But then I talk to people, even my own mother, and things aren’t like I remembered them. How could they be? I mean, I’m not the same person I was when I left, so why would they be? Does that make any sense?”

“Absolutely. But I bet you won’t feel so ‘fish out of water’ here long. You’ll find your stride.”

“I don’t know.” I cringe. “I’m used to being able to get a latte on every corner and Chinese at three in the morning. It’s like I’ve gone back in time.”

“No one needs Chinese at three in the morning.”

“When you’re putting together a piece that’s due at six a.m., you need Chinese at three,” I insist. “Trust me.”

She leans back and assesses me. Arms over her chest, eyes narrowed, she sweeps her gaze over my face in a way that makes me squirm. “So, Neely, why are you really home?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you here? And don’t give me the crap answer you’re giving everyone.”

Fidgeting in my seat, I shrug. “I’m visiting Mom.”

“Remember when you used to fall off the balance beam,” she says, “and I’d ask you girls why and you’d say you slipped. And I’d ask you why you slipped—what were you thinking?”

“Yes.”

“What were you thinking that made you want to come back after all this time?”

“I quit my job,” I say, shifting my weight.

“Maybe, but that’s not why you’re here.” She stands and leans against her desk. “Shouldn’t you be there job hunting?”

Scrubbing my hands down my face, I feel the weariness settle in my muscles. I should be there doing just that, but the thought of fighting that battle today is overwhelming. Being here, in the gym, at Mom’s, seems weirdly more palatable.

“Have you ever become so tired you felt like you were running on autopilot? Like you go through every day in survival mode and you hope tomorrow is better?” I ask.

“I’m a mom. So yes.”

I grin weakly. “I’m tired, Aerial. And not just from this whole job-loss, job-hunt thing—although I’m not enjoying that. But I’m just exhausted from life.”

The words aren’t a revelation, but saying them out loud seems to ring a lot truer than I even realized. I feel so much more run-down than I did when I ran in here, like verbalizing it to Aerial somehow gave me permission to feel it. As I wrap my brain around that, I imagine starting all over again—working my way up the ladder at a brand-new company—and I want to cry.

“Exhausted from life? How so?”

I suck in a deep breath and feel it fill my lungs. My chest is tight, too tight, almost, to fit all the oxygen I try to take in.

Standing, I pace a small circle around the office. “Do you ever feel like there’s more for you out there? Like you love what you do and you find satisfaction in it, but like there’s something else you could be doing that’s important and you just can’t quite get there?”

“Go on . . .”

“I thought the promotion I didn’t get was that, and now I feel like I have no freaking clue what I’m supposed to really be doing.”

She watches but doesn’t respond.

“I love what I do,” I insist. “I’ve done it for years, and the longer I do it, the months just add up and I expect to feel more validation, maybe, from it and it’s just not coming. Not like I thought.”

“You don’t feel fulfilled. That’s what you’re saying.”

“Maybe I don’t. I don’t know how to describe it.” I shrug. “But when things went to hell, for the first time, I didn’t overthink it. I came home.”

She walks around the desk and places a hand on my shoulder. “And we’re glad you did. But can I give you some advice?”

“Please?”

“There are some things in life you can’t find outside yourself. What you’re looking for is one of them.” She drops her hand. “My mother-in-law taught me that after I had my second child. I kept thinking this perfect little baby was supposed to complete me, you know? That’s what movies and books tell you. I had the house, the husband, the two cutest little girls, and yet I wanted something else. What I wanted, I found out, was to find me in the midst of all the things that make up me.”

I nod, mulling that over.

“I am my family. My house. This gym,” she says. “But I’m more than that, and it’s easy to forget who you are and what you want and need and love when you’re driven like we are. We want accolades. Trophies. Championships. Proof in tangible ways. That means we’re worthy. But it’s important, Neely, to reevaluate sometimes and be okay with wanting things you don’t get a trophy for.”