Page 8 of Changed By You
“I like him, too. He might be the one, Al. Isn’t that crazy exciting?”
I know better than to tell her you can’t choose a life partner based on meeting him at a cocktail party for a reality show. When Farrah sets her mind on something, she can’t be reasoned with. She pays me to agree with her, so I do.
“So exciting.” I feign enthusiasm.
“Did my eyes look puffy tonight?”
“No.”
She gives me a stern look. “Are you lying? You can tell me the truth.”
The truth is that I’m exhausted and sore from being run down by a pro hockey player today, but I can’t say that.
“I’d tell you if your eyes looked puffy.”
She walks back into the bathroom to rinse her face, returning to the bedroom about a minute later with an electric toothbrush in her mouth. She keeps talking, her words a jumble.
“I can’t understand you.”
She pulls the toothbrush out. “I said JP and Dalton are doing meditation and yoga with us tomorrow. On the beach.”
Ugh. That sounds awful. More jokes about balls and competing to make Farrah laugh.
“I think it should just be you and them,” I suggest. “Much more intimate.”
She glares at me. “No. I’m not trying to have a threesome or anything. I need you to gauge everything for me, Al. You’re my gauge.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
“Meditation and yoga are so good for you. I keep waiting for you to love it as much as I do.”
“Well...I don’thateit.”
I do hate it. My mind won’t turn off when we meditate. I run through a mental list of all the things I need to get done while trying to look like my mind is completely empty.
“Do you want to just stay in my room until things heat up with JP?” she asks.
God no. Farrah can run well on about five hours of sleep, but I can’t. When we share a bed, she talks--and expects me to listen--until I’m fighting to stay awake. And even then, she keeps talking.
“All my stuff is in my room. I’ll just sleep there.”
She pouts for a second, then rebounds. “Okay, let’s meet in the kitchen at six.”
“Okay. Good night.”
“Night, Al.”
four
Dalton
Malibu isdifferent from Minneapolis in every way. The sun is just starting to rise and it’s already warm here. I’m walking to the beach, sand slipping into my sandals and the smell of salt water filling the air.
It’s not just the weather that’s different. When I went out to grab a turkey wrap yesterday after filming, the guy behind the register at the deli glared at me when I pushed the button to tip twenty percent. Back home, people at restaurant counters apologize for the tipping option coming up automatically and tell me to just bypass it.
I wasn’t happy when I found out I was being traded to the Mammoths. Minnesota felt boring compared to pro hockey cities like Chicago and New York. It’s grown on me, though. I especially like summers, when everything is green, but it’s still not brutally hot.
There are three silhouetted figures on the beach. The tall, broad one is JP, who’s stretching out his hamstrings. Farrah is reaching both arms up in a stretch and Alice is standing off to the side.
