Page 106 of This I Promise You
“Sure,” I say.
Paul comes up behind me and places his hands on my waist, for support I guess. I do like he said and try to relax my arms, letting the weight of the little dumbbells pull them toward the floor. Then I lift my heels, pushing with my toes.
“That’s not too bad,” I tell him.
“Okay, good. Now let’s do three sets of ten of those.”
“I got this.” I shrug and start on the first set.
This isn’t bad. Feels pretty good actually. Okay, maybe not good. Okay, no. I’m starting my eighth repetition when I begin to feel a burning in my calf, and now I’m rethinking these.
“Good, take ten,” he says, meaning to take a ten-second rest. “You’re doing well. Only two more exercises and you’ll be done for the day.”
He’s taken the most keen interest in my health lately. My relapse scared the shit out of him, and of course it didn’t help that he didn’t have a clue what was happening because I’d been too scared to tell him before. Which in hindsight was so stupid of me. He loves me. He really does, and the last week, being open with him completely—no secrets, nothing held back—has been the best. Even if it did also get me stuck here. Apparently he did a lot of reading on MS while we weren’t talking and found out that exercise and working out can help, so naturally, he was adamant about it. I’d been trying to convince myself running was enough.
“Two more? Like different types?” I ask.
“Yeah. We’re going to do some deadlifts and squats.”
“Squats? Excuse me?” I imagine I look a bit flustered.
“Yeah, you’ll be fine.” Paul pats my shoulder. He doesn’t seem to care if others in the gym see us touch, which is pretty great.
“I hate squats,” I tell him.
“Thought you didn’t go to the gym.” He cocks his head.
“I don’t, but I’ve seen people do those.”
“And…” He’s eyeing me curiously, like I’m not making sense.
“It looks hard,” I complain.
“Well, it is called fucking exercise, not let’s have fun.” Paul shakes his head, smiling at me.
“God, why me?” I pout. I’m about to complain some more, but he interrupts me.
“Okay, Mr. Complainy Pants, you’re well past your ten-second break.” Paul’s grinning massively. And did he seriously just call me Mr. Complainy Pants? How old are we? I can’t help but smile back though. “I love you, but that means I can’t let you slack either. Let’s go.”
I throw my head back and huff before straightening and lifting back to my toes. One. Two. Three. Okay now it’s starting to set in. Four. Five. Ugh. I don’t like this anymore. Is there not something easier? Six. Seven. Eight. I’m struggling to complete the ninth one. My legs are getting shaky and ugh it hurts, but Paul gives me a little lift and I make it. Ten!
“I hate you so much right now,” I laugh at Paul.
“Ten-second break. You’ll get over it tonight.” He smiles back with that mischievous grin.
“Oh, will I?” I start to turn, but he tightens his grip on my waist and keeps me in place. Oh.Remember where you are, Easton.
“Actually there is something I wanted to talk to you about.” He pauses to take a drink. “I want you to meet my family, well, my siblings, out in Kansas City.” He looks me in the eye, his brow lifted. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Now that I finally made things right with them, and I want you to meet them. Especially Felix. I showed him a picture of you and he tried to steal it.”
“Aw, that’s…adorable,” I manage to get it out between repetitions. He told me last night that he’d patched things up with them when we were apart, but it didn’t get much past that.
“Maybe this summer?” Paul proposes. “Like June?”
“June?” I echo, dropping the bar back on its notches. I shove out a long breath and then breathe in. “That’s soon.”
“I know, but I want you to meet them.” Paul pats my back. “We can fly out and spend a week—”
“You mean drive, right?” I pull into myself. I hate flying.
