Page 33 of The One Where They Fall in Love

“You don’t sound happy about that.”

“No, it’s not a great feeling when you’re doing a job you don’t feel like you deserve to be doing,” he says, drumming his lips. “I like to earn things. I’ve had to earn my father’s approval all my life.”

“So all these extra hours…?” I ask, trying to read between the lines.

“Well, those are just part of being a resident,” he rebuts. “But yes, I want to prove to myself that I deserve to be here.”

“Because your mind is constantly telling you that you’re not?”

He looks at me in a way that tells me no one has ever said that to him before. “Exactly.” He pauses for a moment. “Sometimes my brain gets in a cycle of negativity that I can’t get out of.”

“I get that,” I say with a nod. “It makes sense that since you’ve been under so much pressure to be perfect or to excel your entire life, your mind is kind of stuck in that mode.”

No wonder this guy is anxious. I feel for the child version of Oliver who had this intense pressure from such a young age. I’m so glad I made him eat bugs and come to yoga. It’s good for him. Check one forProject Oliver.

Oliver doesn’t say anything for a moment, and it takes me a minute to notice that he’s twirling the ends of my hair between his fingers. My hair is so long I couldn’t feel it, and I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it, because when I look at his hand, he seems surprised and drops it like he’s been burned.

“Were you under pressure too, growing up? Is that why you got into yoga and stuff?” he asks hurriedly.

It seems like an odd question for him to ask, but apart from clearly trying to cover up his embarrassment, I think he’s trying to match my own questions. It feels even more weird that I answer him naturally, without overthinking what I should say.

“Not pressure exactly,” I say, fidgeting with the bottom of my shirt. “Just a lot of responsibility. A lot of sweeping my own problems under the rug. I don’t know if that’s why I like yoga. Maybe.” I force a smile.

I feel a sense of contentment when I realize that Oliver asked me that question because he knows little thingsabout me—about my brother and my passion for yoga. He put the two together and found things inside of me that I didn’t know were connected. It’s weird, having someone…understandme. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that before.

Usually, when I find myself in a predicament, my head is saying one thing and my heart is saying another. But in this instance, they’re both in agreement. My mind and body are equally confused with what to do with Oliver Cole.

Sixteen

Oliver

I think I may have underestimated the level to which Elle wants to torture me.

That’s what I’m ruminating on when I enter the yoga studio at 8 p.m. on Thursday. Since our dumpling brunch, Elle has been texting me gifs of men in tights doing yoga on the daily. There was also one of a big, purple, Muppet-looking thing doing yoga. That one was particularly disturbing.

Thor and I take the stairs next to Henry’s door up to a humble-looking studio. There’s only one room, which means the number of people who will witness this should be minimal. One point Oliver. I walk up to a cranky-looking woman at the front desk who raises her brows as soon as she sees me. She whips her red ponytail in my direction and suppresses a smile.

“You must be Oliver,” she says, trying to keep her voice neutral.

“Oh, great,” I mutter. She’s got other people in on it. I’m so screwed.

“You can set up wherever. Class starts in a few.” She pauses for a moment and looks down at Thor before adding, “She usually ties the dog’s leash to a chair by the side.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. I don’t like the way she said“the dog,”but I don’t say anything. Elle brings him here all the time. Why is this lady so cranky about it?

I walk into the studio, which has a wall lined with mirrors. All the other yoga people have their mats lengthwise, facing the mirror. I take the mat at the end of the back row, placing my water bottle off to the corner. I discreetly take my sweatshirt off, but I still feel the side-eyes of everyone in the room. How did I get myself into this?

There is one mat set up horizontally in front of the mirror. It must belong to Elle. As soon as I think of her, she appears from a door on the adjacent wall. She is wearing skin-tight blue leggings and a black muscle tee that she has tied in a knot behind her back. The shirt says“Nama-stay-in-bed”in large script letters. Before I can appreciate her long hair, she flips her head over and throws it up in a bun. She turns to look at herself in the mirror, tucking a few strands behind her ears. As she reaches for a headset on the floor, she sees me in the reflection. An evil smile spreads across her face.

This is going to be painful.

She scampers over to Thor to give him a quick kiss on the head, then turns around to stick her tongue out at me before returning to her place at the front of the room. I flip her off in return.

“Welcome, friends,” Elle says, her voice amplified. I see her cringe when she says “friends.”

“Okay, so this is a beginner yoga flow we’re doing today.” Elle speaks with a confidence that I don’t usually hear from her. I find myself feeling… proud of her? Happy for her?

Elle keeps to herself a lot. Not that I know everything about her, but from what I do know, she’s home and at work. Occasionally she mentions her friend Lucy or her brother, but not a whole lot else. It’s refreshing to see her in a space where she is in control, where she can shine.