[Image Caption: Avery Barron waiting at the gym for her workout partner.]

Later that night, I make a similar trek to the gym that my school shares with the University of Minnesota. There aren’t enough students for us to have our own, but I don’t mind. I’m just glad to have access to something. Besides, no one ever gives me a hard time. Rose avoids the gym because she doesn’t like being stared at. I understand why that would be uncomfortable as hell. Rose is cute and pretty. I don’t have that problem. I’m not the kind of person that gets ogled. I’m left alone. I get along with all the people here, even the guys.

Upon arrival, I head to the locker rooms and change into my shorts, tucking my bag inside.

I feel good when I’m active. I think this weight class is probably one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I’ve been fit for most of my life, but I fell off the train when I got to college.  This is my first time getting back into it, and my dad is pretty proud. He always pushed me to be tough and started signing me up for karate when I was, like, five.

Once I’m changed and finished applying a second coat of deodorant, I head up the stairs to the weight room. I sit on the benches over by the mirrors while I wait for the instructor to come out of his office. A few big dudes start showing up and chatting casually, including my spotting partner. His name’s Ian. He’s a pretty normal, basic guy. Tall, blond, and built. He’s on the school’s hockey team or something and is always walking around sporting Gopher merch. I guess he’s got good school spirit.

When he spots me, he waves and says something to his friends before heading over. He seems like he’d be your typical douchey jock, but he’s actually alright. I don’t mind him. He’s friendly. The kind of guy who can talk to anyone with ease. Good at casual conversation and small talk. Rose is like that, too. People like that are pleasant. It’s a quality I admire. It’s one of many things I love about Rose. 

“Been painting?” Ian asks. 

I think that’s probably the only thing he knows about me. 

“Yeah, I was in the studio.”

“Sweet,” he nods, “You have some yellow on your arm.”

I snicker. “I always have this shit on me. It’s part of my wardrobe. Completes the look, or whatever.”

He laughs too. It’s deep and hearty. Still, I get the feeling that he has no fucking idea what I’m talking about. 

“So, what do you want to work on today? Legs? Arms?” Ian begins, changing the subject.

“It’s an arm day for me, but I’ll spot you on leg stuff if you want.”

He shakes his head. “Arms are fine.”

Finally, the instructor comes down and gives us an overview. Usually, we do our own thing until he comes around about halfway through and checks in. Ian silently helps me add weights to the bar.

I should try harder. I should try actually to be friends with this guy, so we have something to talk about when we’re here. So far, it’s been some variant of the same damn conversation every single time we meet. Pleasantries are tiring, and I don’t really know anything about him. I think he told me what he studies, but I barely remember that, either. I think it was business or something. 

“So, uh, are you from here?” I ask.

He glances at me and says, “Oh! Yeah, I am! I grew up in a more rural area, though. Are you from here?”

“Nah, New York.”

He smiles and nods. “I should’ve guessed. You have the accent.” 

“I could say the same for you. Although I guess it could have been Wisconsin or something.”

“Oh jeez, don’t say that!” Ian laughs, acting offended.

“I dunno,” I shrug playfully. “All you Midwesterners sound the same to me.”

Ian glares, but it’s not sincere.

He lies down on the bench and does a couple of reps, then, after a while, we trade. When I finish, he offers to fill up my water bottle for me, and I pass it over to him, waiting until he returns to get up. 

“How you feeling?” he asks.

“Good. Sore. I don’t think I’m fully recovered from the last class.”

“Oof, yeah, that was rough,” he agrees, but he might just be humoring me because the hockey team probably does some hardcore shit.

“Rougher than sports?”

“Oh man. We have to take this class as part of practice. Why do you think there are so many players in here?”

“I figured you just liked it.”

“Some of us do,” he remarks. “I mean, I like it. Even if I didn’t have to.” 

“Fair,” I say. “I like it, too. My dad forced me to take all these self-defense classes when I was younger. He wanted me to be able to protect myself.” 

I can’t help but laugh at the memory. He got what he wanted. A big, strong, dyke of a daughter. I think of myself as a pretty tough person. No one has ever really tried to mess with me. Hopefully, no one ever does. 

Ian nods with approval. “That’s good. I think dads always want their little girls to be able to take care of themselves.”  

“Yeah. I think he was extra paranoid. He was a single dad, and he spent a lot of time working. He couldn’t always be there to watch me.” 

Ian nods again. “It was just my Mom and me, too.” 

“Ah. Divorced?”

“Oh, no, uh,” he pauses. “I don’t think so.”

“Mmm,” I hum in acknowledgment. “My parents got divorced when I was, like, four or something. My mom was an addict.”

 “Jeez!” he blurts out. “Wow.”

Ian looks completely scandalized. I can’t help but laugh. He’s probably the type of guy that grew up so sheltered that he forgot people like that even exist.

“Dude, it’s fine,” I tell him. “I don’t care.”

He looks wary. “You sure?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say casually. 

“That’s kind of intense.”

“Yeah, well, she never wanted to get sober, so my dad said see ya.” 

Ian wrinkles his nose. “That’s awful….”

He seems disturbed. I forget that things like this bother people. I don’t really feel like it’s a secret I should be keeping. I wouldn’t say it’s something that haunts me. I was young when it all happened, so it was a big deal then, but not now.

When I think Ian’s about to scramble for a subject change, he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “I never even met my dad.” 

“Ahh,” I mouth. “He was that sort.”

“Yeah, pretty much. I don’t think he and my mom were ever married. I wouldn’t know. My mom doesn’t talk about him.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bring up a delicate subject,” I say, although I wasn’t trying not to, either. This is just my go-to topic of conversation whenever I meet another kid of a single parent. 

Ian looks like he might continue, but before he gets the chance, our instructor wanders over. 

“How’s it going over here, you two?” he asks us expectantly. 

“We got distracted, sorry,” Ian answers quickly. “We’ll get back to it.”

With that, the instructor nods and wanders off, but he’s probably going to keep an eye on us. We keep doing reps, and soon enough, the class is over. We don’t talk about anything heavy. Just casual things. He tells me more about his courses, and I find out that, yes, he is in fact studying business. 

I feel pretty damn sweaty. I wave at Ian before parting ways and heading to the locker room. I take a shower and put on a fresh change of clothes. On my way out of the building, I spot him again. 

“Hey, do you have a ride?” he asks. 

“I’m bussing.”

“Want a lift, then?” he offers.

“Yeah, that’d be great, actually.”

We trek through the parking lot to his car, an old Chevy SUV in decent shape. I climb into the passenger side seat and pull off my hat to readjust my mop of wet hair. When it’s this cold out, I like to tuck all my curls in. Otherwise, they’ll literally freeze into mats. 

Ian asks me where I live, and I give him directions. It’s not too far from here, but technically my house is in Saint Paul. That’s something I never understood about this city. Why have two so close to each other that they’re literally connected? Why not just make them one bigger city?

“Do you live in an apartment?” he asks.

“Nah, it’s a townhouse. I live with a couple of other girls.” 

“Right on,” he says, nodding along. “I room with my best bud and his girlfriend.” 

There’s something funny about the way he says it, like he’s trying not to come off weird. I decide not to pry. I don’t know him well enough to ask about all the finer details of his life.  “If I could have it my way, I’d live alone, but I just can’t afford it,” I respond instead.

Ian laughs and agrees. “Yeah, I feel that.” 

Eventually, we make it to my house, and Ian wishes me a good night. I tell him to drive safely and that I’ll see him for our class next Wednesday. I walk up the steps to my house and unlock the door, then turn around to wave because he waited to make sure I got in all right. With that, he drives off, and I head inside. 

Ian seems like a lovely guy. I’m glad we talked a bit today. It will make spending two days a week with him a hell of a lot less awkward.

I shut the door behind me and spot Megan and Danielle spread out at the dining table with various open envelopes. 

“Hey, rent’s due,” Megan says as soon as she spots me stomping the snow off my shoes on the mat in the hallway. 

Cutting straight to the chase, I guess. “I’ll write you a check,” I tell her.

“Cool, same.” Danielle nods. “You have a good day, Avery?”

“I did,” I reply, but I’m pretty worn out and don’t feel like taking the conversation past that. “I have a lot of stuff I have to finish up tonight.”

“Lame,” she drones.

“I think I should probably get started,” I say, moving towards the stairwell.

“Bring down the check when you have the chance,” Megan presses, not bothering to look up at me. She’s busy organizing and reorganizing the bills.

“Don’t worry, I will,” I assure her before turning and leaving the room.