Page 73 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
Delaney shifted her weight from one foot to the other, demonstrating something with her arms, stretching them overhead and leaning to the side in one fluid motion. Easy. Coordinated. Graceful. Like her body knew exactly where it was in space at all times.
Tonight she looked relaxed.
Chaos bleated again. Loudly. Clearly not liking the lack of attention on him.
Delaney’s head snapped up in our direction. Her gaze immediately dropped to the goat. One eyebrow lifted. “Well,” she said. “I see we have another animal guest today. So we meet again, little goat.”
“He’s not—” I started, stepping into the room. “I apologize for being late.”
“You brought the crazy goat to yoga?” Cheryl asked, staring at Chaos. Her whole face said:I have questions and I don’t think I want the answers. “I thought you said you needed this to go well.”
“Leaving him at home was more dangerous than bringing him here. Right, Chaos?” I was aware of how that sounded. I had no better explanation.
Chaos bleated, which seemed to confirm my statement.
We made our way over to the two of them. Delaney crouched down and scratched behind his ears. Chaos—who had demonstrated nothing but chaos since his arrival in my life—went temporarily still and leaned into it with the boneless contentment of an animal who had forgotten all its grievances.
I’d tried to scratch behind his ears, and he tried to bite me.
“Hi, Chaos,” she cooed and then looked up at me. “Is that his official name?”
I shrugged. “It’s the only one he responds to.”
“Fair enough.” She stood. “You’re only five minutes late. I’ll allow it.” A sassy smirk tugged at her lips.
“I appreciate your generosity," I said, letting a little sarcasm bleed through, enough so she’d know I was kidding.
She tilted her head slightly, studying me the way she’d been doing since dinner. “So what?—”
“We’re here!” Glamma’s voice preceded her physical body by approximately three full seconds, which was just enough time to know it was coming and not nearly enough to prepare.
I briefly closed my eyes and let out a slow sigh.
She swept in wearing what I can only describe as the physical manifestation of a 1987 aerobics competition: neon pink leggings, a matching oversized sweatshirt cut to hang off one shoulder, and a headband that had absolutely no business being that large. She carried Coco, who was also dressed in bright colors.
After her came Grace, and then my parents. My mother waved across the room like she was arriving at a parade, and my father nodded at everything with cheerful approval. Dad had decided long ago to enjoy whatever happened around him. With Glamma as his mother, I imagined he learned at a young age it was better to just go along with whatever.
“Marc, hello!” Mom called. “This looks lovely, Delaney!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kingsley,” Delaney called back, warm and genuine in a way that warmed something inside of me. My family and I were close, and some part of me liked that Delaney appreciated my family. Even if she didn’t appreciateme.
Then Martha arrived.
Then Gladys.
Then Goldie.
All three of them in matching neon outfits to Glamma’s. Different colors—Martha in electric blue, Gladys in highlighter yellow, and Goldie in a green that could be seen from outer space—but the same unmistakable silhouette. The same enormous sweatshirts. The same headbands. Had Gladys, who owned the antique and secondhand shop, purchased someone’s entire ‘80s wardrobe?
They had coordinated. For a practice yoga session.
I needed a moment.
“You all match,” I said. I really should’ve kept my mouth shut.
“We do crafts on Thursdays,” Goldie said serenely.
I did not ask any follow-up questions.
