My calm had been replaced by guilt and dread.
If I hadn’t come home, I might have regretted it … but now I was failing at my job, which meant more to me than anything. Didn’t it?
Through the doorway between the sensory room and Grace’s office, she was pulling on her winter jacket, tying her caramel hair into a ponytail, and replacing her boots with sneakers. Her movements were brash like she was pissed, but I didn’t understand why. She told me to take the call. I was trying to do my job, just like her.
After I picked up Dad from PT, I had hours ahead of me drafting corrective policies to fix the mistakes those idiots kept fucking up.
I should go into Grace’s office and finish our conversation, find out what she’d been ready to tell me. Then I should leave through her office instead of going out the hallway without saying goodbye.
But I didn’t.
Chapter 11Grace
The timing of this boot camp had seemed perfect to blow off steam at my annoyance at Alex … but my frustration had distracted me from paying attention to my surroundings.
Anxiety raced down my spine and my steps faltered as a massive bearded man approached us near the State Park’s warming hut. He was so muscular that if I’d been alone, I might have crossed the street or even turned and fled.
Though the air was below freezing at dusk, he wore only a gray hoodie and black compression pants, long hair flowing out from under a black ski cap. As he caught sight of Kate next to me, his intimidating face transformed into an affectionate grin.
“Cariña!” he welcomed Kate warmly. The Spanish for ‘darling’ made my heart pang. Mama had called me that Well, the masculine form, Cariño. Still counts.
When Kate introduced us, his hand enveloped mine and his bright smile got impossibly warmer. Taylor Swift’s ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’ started playing through a nearby speaker as class began.
Within minutes, sweat trickled down my face through the wind sprints and side shuffles. Cruz paused his odd combination of cheerleading-slash-heckling to ask if he could adjust my wrists in mountain climbers. My muscle memory kicked in … but these drills felt different now than they had on the men’s soccer team.
Before transitioning, my goal had been simple: Run faster, lift heavier, get stronger. Coach praised me for putting on muscle and I hoped that if my body looked stronger, I’d feel like I belonged in it. Elijah had been on the soccer team too, doing every exercise by my side. He exalted in his broad shoulders and lean hips, but I’d never wanted to look like that.
When I transitioned, I didn’t only leave the team, I also left behind that need to bulk up. I learned to care for myself gently, focusing on flexible flow instead of brute strength. Yoga helped me embrace my softer curves, and my estrogen-euphoric mind found peace in meditation.
As my body moved through these long-forgotten exercises, I wondered if I’d actually left behind the exercises or if I’d avoided them because I didn’t want my body to feel like an enemy to be conquered.
“Grace, you ok?” Kate’s soft voice broke my reverie. My cheeks were wet. Bad idea to cry when the temperature was below freezing.
I forced a smile. “I haven’t done these exercises since … before.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, I didn’t think —”
“What’s wrong, Gacelita?” Cruz’s warm hand grazed my shoulder. Kate had warned me that if he liked me, he’d give me a Spanish nickname or two, often after animals. She was Conejita for ‘rabbit’, because he helped her shave six minutes off her 5K pace in a year.
Little Gazelle, he called me. Kate’s skeptical gaze warmed that I’d already earned my nickname, and it sounded similar to Grace, but …
When I taught the Fight or Flight instinct, gazelles were the textbook animal for 'Flight,' always alert, escaping at the first sign of trouble.
Is that what Cruz saw when looked at me? Somebody ready to run from the first sign of perceived danger, even if that fear was misplaced?
“Nothing’s wrong, just out of practice,” I said, but they seemed doubtful.
I checked in with my body like I prompted my yoga students: My heart was pumping, my breath was fast, my quads were burning, and my butt would be on fire tomorrow… all good aches. My testosterone levels were low enough that I wasn’t worried about strength training making me look masculine. Heck, I wanted a curvier butt, and Kate had proven that these stupid squats would help.
I didn’t have to choose. I could be flexible and strong. I could reclaim these movements, and redefine my history.
I lifted my chin. “It’s been a while, but I’m taking it back.”
“That’s my girl,” Cruz squeezed my shoulder. I smiled at his ridiculous dance moves to ‘Blank Space,’ when he challenged a student to a twerk-off between sumo squats.
After class, Kate and I lingered over the Warming Hut fire as the students trickled away. “Cruz, Grace has a request.”
“Buy me dinner and take me home? I accept,” he flirtatiously held out his elbow for me to slide my hand into it.
“She’s not your type,” Kate said with an eye roll.
My stomach clenched. Did Kate not want to set me up because I’m trans? Or was Cruz transphobic and Kate was trying to protect me?
“She absolutely is.” His eyes sparkled.
“Nah, Grace is the kind of girl you marry,” Kate laughed.
I restrained a wince. That’s the exact phrase the last two people I’d dated had used, right before, ‘but I’m not ready for that commitment.’
Kate wiggled the diamond on her finger and added, “Like me.”
Oh. Maybe she hadn’t meant it as an insult.
As Cruz faked a shudder, Kate explained, “Cruz has a one night policy.”
“I like variety,” he shrugged. “If you’re not propositioning me, what can I do for you?”
