Michelle came in, awkwardly took off her shoes, dumped her purse, and flopped on the couch, one arm trailing on the dusty parquet. She experimentally raised her head, then dropped it again with a low, long, groan.
Rolling onto her back, keeping her ankle raised, Michelle stared at the ceiling. She shouldn't be surprised that Dolores took the job offer. She had been helping out Creampuffs, and they'd been paying her under the table for it, but it wasn't enough to live on. Bryan did shifts at Douchebag Derek's; all the money from personal training—far and away the most profitable part of the operation—he sank back into the line of credits that they'd used to pay for the renovations. Michelle herself lived very frugally off the savings she hadn't mentioned to Bryan. She'd thought it foolish to put all her eggs in one basket, financially-speaking. But that basket was emptying.
She should probably go back to work as well. Shift the hours around, maybe scrounge up some freelance web clients. Work from home or even while sitting at the card table in the evenings. But then they might need someone else in the gym—and money to pay them with. She rubbed her face. Maybe she should take some lessons from Uncle Gary on finding 'innovative revenue streams'.
Something chimed.
She reflexively pulled out her phone but no new notifications and anyway was set to silent/vibrate. Another chime. She craned her head over the edge of the sofa to stare, confused, at her desk where her tablet lay half-buried under printouts. What could be working on her tablet that wouldn't be on her phone—
—Skype.
She scrambled, ignoring the pain in her ankle, bringing the half-charged tablet back to the couch. When she flipped it on, the Skype logo flashed: someone was trying to contact her.
Uncle Gary!
"Hello?" She held the tablet up so that her face swam into view. Gary's camera wasn't working. It was just VOIP. "Uncle Gary? Hello? This is so weird, I was just thinking about emailing you—"
Something like a rooster crowed audibly in the background.
Her uncle's voice sounded scratchy and tinny and far-away. "Hi hon, how are you? Good?"
She tried not to show her surprise, then remembered she could switch off the camera on her end and treat it like a phone call. She did, and rested her elbows on the couch arms. "I'm... good. Uh... was that a rooster?"
"A rooster? Why would there be a rooster, hon?"
The crowing started again; definitely a chicken. Michelle tried to bring forth explanations but failed. "Uh... How are you? Where are you?"
"Oh, you know, around," Uncle Gary replied, breezy. The sound of a door closing, quieting the chicken noises.
"Are you coming home?"
"Oh, probably not for a while." He took a moment to cough: a horrible wet long-term-smoker's hack. "Sorry about that, hon. How's the gym coming along?"
Recoiling from the ghastly horking, her nose wrinkling, Michelle managed: "It's coming along. I don't know if Bryan thanked you enough for sending Leo over to us. He's been a godsend with repairs."
"Oh yeah, Leo's real connected." Gary agreed instantly before lapsing into another round of coughing. "He's a great guy. Real salt-of-the-earth."
"Yeah, so's his sister, Marietta, she's been coming out too—"
"That's great, real great. Listen, hon, is your brother around?"
Affronted, Michelle scowled. "No. Why would he be?"
"I've been trying to get a hold of him for a couple of days."
"This is my Skype number you called..."
"I know, but I thought you might—anyway. It doesn't matter. I just thought that maybe you two should take a break. You've been working pretty hard."
Confused, Michelle peered at the screen, wishing Gary had left his camera on to spot that Haley guilty expression. Very slowly, she replied: "We can't do that. We're on a really narrow budget, and things are only starting to get steady."
"Yeah, heard that," Gary replied, with another hack.
"Are you okay? You sound terrible."
"Oh, you know what it's like when you first get up, everything's been lying on your chest all night."
First get up? Michelle peered out the window at the lengthening shadows of early evening. "Where are you?"
"Around. Like I said. Anyway, I think you and your brother should treat yourself. Take a break, maybe go north and sit by a lake for a few days. I know a cottage you can rent for cheap."
The hair on the back of her neck rose. "Why would we do that?" There was no response; not even coughing. "Uncle Gary? Why would you tell us to get out of town?"
"Just thought you could use a break, is all. Leo's told me how hard you've been working." Another slow creak of a door in the background, then: "Honey, I gotta go. Say hi to your dad for me and think about what I've said." Then the Skype session ended.
Michelle lay back on the couch, her mind whirling. She put down the tablet and reached for her phone to text Bryan. A part of her hesitated: she was still mad. But on the other hand, Uncle Gary was being sketchier than usual and sending out more red flags than a slalom run. She sent a brief text message that their uncle had called, asking that Bryan call her ASAP.
The daydream of the evening—home-cooked meal; bath; television—dissipated, replaced by a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and a long night of worry ahead of her.
Michelle greeted the Java Jones with relief akin to salvation. She swung the door open, praying to any listening caffeine deities that Justin was behind the counter and not that horrible teenager. She didn't particularly want Justin to see her sweaty, rumpled clothes or the deep bluish bags under her eyes, but she couldn't handle Cathy's snide remarks this morning. "Oh thank God."
Justin flashed her a grin. "It's funny how often I hear that since I started opening early."
"More that your horrible assistant isn't here." Michelle dropped her bag into its seat of one of the chairs in the window. "Could I get a double shot americano, please?"
He raised an eyebrow. "No iced brew today?"
"No. No, I need something stronger." Michelle rubbed her face with her hands. "I haven't slept and I have to have a fight with Bryan. So I gotta be on my game."
"Ah." Justin's face stayed curiously blank while he finished putting away freshly sanitized glasses. "Storm keep you awake?"
"It didn't help. My upstairs neighbour also decided to take up bowling at 2am. So I woke up and stayed up. Couldn't get back to sleep."
"Oh, late-night bowling. I'm so glad I don't live below anyone any more." He paused, considering. "How awake do you need to be?"
She deliberated. "How awake you got?" His response was a sly, cheeky grin, and her overtired heart made an effort to leap. "Should I be worried that it's illegal?"
"Oh, it's perfectly legal." He disappeared behind the counter into the small fridge. She peered over.
"What is?"
"It's perfectly legal," he repeated, "just disgusting." He held out a small bottle of thick, dark green liquid—a health food brand she recognized from the supermarket. "Smoothie and espresso. Caffeine, protein, vitamin B. In one drink. My secret weapon back in school."
She pulled back. "How disgusting are we talking? Slightly yucky or nose-pinching?"
"Full-on cough-syrup-drink-it-it's-good-for-you." He gave the bottle a little shake.
She pantomimed mock horror, but was already decided. "Let's do this."
"You might regret it," he said, cheerfully, glopping out a half-bottle of smoothie into the glass.
"Aren't you supposed to say I won't regret it?"
"I could, but that would be a lie. I've seen God on this stuff, asked questions. Gotten answers."
A tired laugh started as a series of giggles, growing from her belly until she hunched over, wheezing, eyes scrunched shut, ignoring the stares from the ghouls and regulars. When she recovered, wiping her eyes free of tears, Justin poured in the second shot of espresso.
He slid it across the butcher block, bartender-style. She half-expected the liquid to burn and sizzle where a splash hit the counter.
She rested her elbows on the counter, level with the sinister drink. "I'm afraid."
"You should be."
The giggles threatened again. "What do you call it?"
He thought for a moment, head tilted, his black bangs falling into his eyes; he flicked them out of the way. "Call it 'the Monolith'," he decided.
"What, like 2001: A Space Odyssey?"
He gave a nod. She reached for her wallet in her backpack, but he waved her away. "On the house."
"The first one's always free, huh?"
"Something like that." He smiled. "Go on."
Michelle eyed the glass. Dark brown swirls in the green foam marked the warm espresso's descent into the chilled smoothie. The glass was cool under her hand. "Sip it or... I'm guessing this is a chug drink."
"Try not to taste it, if possible," he agreed, easily, returning to unpacking glasses from the sanitizer.
She took a deep breath, remembering techniques from her university days. She tapped the glass on the counter once and then opened the hatch, drinking the contents in five or six glugs. Then slid the emptie back to him.
Justin watched, impressed.
"It's been a while since I've needed to do that," she admitted, wiping smoothie foam from her top lip, fighting the urge to thump her esophagus.
"Big drinker in school?"
"No. Actually, just the opposite. I'd chug one making sure everyone saw me and then I'd sip another for the rest of the evening. People assumed I was refilling when they weren't paying attention—oh my god that is disgusting."
"Told you," he said, brightly.
"How long until it kicks in?"
"Not long."
She concentrated inwards, wondering what would happen. All she felt was the vile concoction butting up against the worry in the pit of her stomach. Justin offered a glass of water but she shook her head; the aftertaste was mostly the smoothie's cloying sweetness, and besides, there was already enough liquid sloshing around her insides. He went back to work and she took up her chair in the window, watching people on the sidewalk, the regulars in the cafe.
She did feel more relaxed just from the laughter. The banter. She'd decided to stop at the cafe on her way less for the caffeine—although she certainly needed that—but more to see a friendly, cheerful face. She missed Dolores. Dolores had that way of seeing the good in the ordinary, complementing Michelle's jump-to-worst-case thinking. Dolores's face wasn't as nice as Justin's, she admitted freely—well, maybe it was, to other people; she'd never really considered how other people might feel about Dolores' face—just her own preference in faces—it was not about Dolores' face particularly—or even faces in general. Faces were so personal a preference that—
She blinked, looking over at the bar. "You know, I think it might be working."
Justin flashed her a thumbs up from behind the espresso machine. "Have fun. Try to remember to breathe and maybe don't operate any heavy machinery."
Michelle hobbled in through the front door, tossing her shoulder bag to the side wall, while announcing to the warehouse at large: "I can see through time."
Bryan, startled, twisted in his chair at the card table to stare at her. "What?"
"I've seen the edge of the universe," she declared, boldly, as a vague voice in the back of her mind urged her to put spaces between her words. Forming each syllable distinctly took effort and skill. "I have tripped the light fantastic. Seen attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. How does the rest of that speech go? 'I watched something-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate—'"
"You are seriously weirding me out," Bryan replied, blinking, turning back to his phone. "Good morning to you too."
"It isn't a good morning." Michelle rested her palms flat on the table in front of him. "It's a shitty morning. It's been a shitty night. I haven't slept. Guess who had a cryptic-as-fuck conversation with Uncle Gary last night."
"I'm also guessing someone had some extra cups of coffee this morning," Bryan retorted, putting down his phone. "What is up with you?"
"What the hell is up with you, Bryan? That's a better question."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
She slammed her palms down again, enjoying that he jumped, even just a little. "You told Mom and Dad that this was your gym. That I was hanging off of you, playing Big Sister, getting in your way."
"This is my gym." Bryan tensed. "It was supposed to be, until you started wading in and making all the decisions."
"I 'waded in'—" Each tongue and lip movement felt exaggerated to her, as though in pantomime, while rejoinders sparked through her brain faster than she could articulate. "—because you had no idea what you were doing." Bryan grew red, his jaw tightening. "You blew our seed money—our seed money—on rent. In one conversation."
"You emailed me the money, I figured that meant you approved."
"Yeah, I did approve the transfer—because you hadn't told me what it was for! I thought you just wanted to keep the money in one place! Not give it all to Uncle Gary!"
Bryan stood, while Michelle stayed hunched over the desk; for a moment before she straightened, he glared down at her. "Uncle Gary has been helping us out a lot. We couldn't do this without him."
Uncle Gary is using us, you moron. "Did you tell Dad about that part too?" She enjoyed watching the guilt flash across his face. "Of course you didn't, because you knew Dad would flip the fuck out if you mentioned Uncle Gary." She jabbed a finger at his chest. "So don't pretend that you were telling the whole story like some poor martyr."
Bryan threw up his hands. "What difference does it make?"
"What difference does it ma—" Michelle clenched her fists. "Thanks to your editing, Mom and Dad now not only think I'm a jobless spinster, but I'm also a jobless spinster loser who hangs over her brother while he succeeds—"
"And you think they don't judge me!" Bryan roared, red in the face. "They've been at me to start my own business since I was in high school! Never mind what I wanted! You were always the smart, career-oriented one that jumped through all their stupid hoops and I was the dumb musclehead that could barely spell my name!"
"I wasn't—" Deep breath. "So that justifies throwing me under the bus?"
"I didn't throw you anywhere. I didn't talk about you at all! I just mentioned how things were going from my end because I figured that's what you were doing when you talked to them!"
Both siblings huffed, staring at each other.
"I haven't been," Michelle admitted. "Talking to them much, I mean. I don't visit as often as you do."
Bryan looked away. "I didn't know that."
"Douchebag Derek's is right around the corner, so that makes sense that you drop in all the time, but it's not as easy for me."
"He's not a douchebag—" Bryan started to retort, still in the heat of the moment, but then trailed off. "He is a douchebag."
Michelle nodded vigorously. "He may be the worst human being alive."
"He may be worse than Hitler," Bryan agreed, rubbing his face. "But I like the gym. And he's a good boss."
"As long as you're male."
"Urgh, you don't know the half of it..." He sighed and sat down, resting his arms on the card table. "Look, I... I didn't know you weren't talking to them."
"I'm not not talking to them, just not as often."
"I figured you were on the phone with Mom all the time, telling her what a shitty partner I've been, so I was trying to, like, spin that back so they'd see that I'm trying to pull my weight."
"You are pulling your weight." Michelle ran her hands through her hair. "I never said you weren't. Planning was... rough, but since then we buckled down. I couldn't have done any of this without you. I don't know the first thing about, well, anything to do with gyms! Owning your own place was always your dream, not mine."
"I couldn't do it without you either," he mumbled, scratching at his head. "You were right before. I didn't have a plan. And I did let Uncle Gary walk all over me." He straightened and held out his hand. "Are we cool?"
"Cool," Michelle agreed, giving him a very firm, businessy handshake. "Just watch what you tell Mom and Dad, okay?"
"Yeah. It's just... I feel like this is the first time they've actually been talking to me like an adult, you know?"
"I do not." She pulled the other chair over. "I won't reach that point until I'm married with children."
He winced. "I'm getting my share of that too, you know."
"Have you been getting it since prom?"
"...no."
"Well then."
They both sighed, Michelle resting her chin in the crook of her hand, elbow on the table. The Monolith sloshed uncomfortably against her ribs and she felt like she was forgetting something, but she felt better at least that she and Bryan were speaking again.
Her brother, meanwhile, slid the iPad off its stand and held it out. "I've been doing some number crunching."
"Yeah?"
"I think we're losing out on potential clients because our work-outs are too easy. Even though they're... like, scalable, or whatever, it's still super basic."
"That's the point though, isn't it?"
"Except we're not filling out the afternoon or evening slots the way we could be. So I was thinking—" he held out his hands for patience, then pointed at the mission statement taped to the wall "—and I haven't forgotten that this is a gym for beginners—but we could do like, intermediate- and advanced-beginner classes. Still the same idea. Still scalable. Still the whole 'people who hate gyms' thing. But some classes for people who aren't—"
"—aren't creampuffs?"
"—starting from scratch." He spread his hands. "I have to admit, I thought the idea was stupid, but after talking with a lot of people, I can see that there's a need. But we can bring in more regulars if we offer a variety of classes." He sat back, waiting for her response.
Michelle smiled. "I think that's a great idea."
He raised an eyebrow. "I figured you'd hate it."
She shook her head. "I see how people come in, try a class, and walk out disappointed." She shrugged. "We don't have anything to lose by offering a variety."
Bryan grinned. "That's awesome. I figure you could do the afternoon session, warmed up after your walk and all that, and Dolores could stick with the morning sessions while I do more personal training—"
Michelle sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Dolores took a job back at Pixelimited."
"What?" Bryan's face fell.
"We can't really blame her. We weren't paying her enough to live on."
"We're not paying ourselves!"
"Right, but it's our gym. It's different."
He sighed. "I guess."
"I'll do the morning and afternoon routines. Basic-beginner, intermediate-beginner." She paused, thinking. "Maybe we should give them cute names. Like, Creampuff, and then... I don't know, Strudel or something."
Bryan mimed vomiting.
"Or maybe not."