Life After Yes Read Free

briefcase turned into orchids. And then, all of a sudden, I was practicing an oral argument outside of a courtroom.”
    â€œI like oral,” Victor says, and laughs. Another trainer nearby doing squats laughs with him.
    â€œYou’re disgusting. Now listen . I walked into the courtroom and everyone turned around to look at me. Everyone was wearing white. Everyone but her .”
    â€œHer?”
    â€œHis mother,” I say. “There she was walking down the center of the courtroom in all black with silver buttons down her back, her hair bopping along. She turned around and smiled. She cradled a gun in one hand and balanced a pie in the other. Her smile was frozen.”
    â€œAh, the benevolent bailiff,” he says. “Lucky you. Hold up,” he says. I stop doing my crunches. “No—five more of those. You can see through fishing net.”
    â€œYes, genius.”
    â€œNaked underneath?”
    â€œUh huh.”
    He pauses. “Nice. Were your boobs bigger in the dream?”
    I whip Victor with my towel. “Inappropriate, you sicko,” I say, red-faced, a fraction of a smile.
    â€œThe judge’s face was blurry like on those crime shows.”
    Finally, Victor seems captivated. I’d like to think Pocahontas could do a striptease atop her Arc Trainer and he wouldn’t notice. He loses track of how many sit-ups I have done for the second time.
    â€œThen the music started. And Dad was there to take my arm,” I say. And without warning, the tears come. Alongwith the realization that when this happens for real, when I get married, Dad won’t be there.
    Victor grabs my shoulders, looks me in the eye. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Are you okay?”
    I nod. “I’m fine,” I say, because this is what you’re supposed to say, what people expect you to say.
    But this pity party is short-lived. He hands me a medium-sized ball, deceptively heavy, made of thick blue rubber. “It’s a medicine ball,” he says. “Thought to work wonders back then. Rumor is that Hippocrates used these balls to sweat fever from his patients.”
    And I’m thankful for this timely diversion, this history lesson du jour from my trivia buff of a trainer. And I’m pleasantly surprised that he knows marginally sophisticated words like “benevolent” and how to pronounce “Hippocrates.” As if such knowledge is reserved for those of us with an Ivy degree (or two).
    â€œA miracle worker?” I ask, twisting from side to side, holding the ball. “It can get rid of a fever, but can it banish belly fat?”
    Victor smiles. “Sure thing.”
    So, as quickly as those tears come, I’ve sent them away. “I’m sorry about before,” I say. “This isn’t about Dad.”
    In my dream, Dad wouldn’t look at me. As if he was already gone from my life. As if I was already gone from his.
    â€œThere was a jury in the box. I saw Mom and Michael and Nietzsche . And guess who Mr. Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche was sitting next to? Britney Spears.”
    â€œHot couple,” Victor says, and I wonder whether he even knows who Nietzsche is.
    â€œDad started walking me down the center of the court-room. He walked slowly, limping from his college football injury, and I looked ahead, eager to see my future husband. But something was very wrong.”
    â€œTime’s up,” Victor says, pointing at the oversized clock above us. It’s ten to eight. “Just kidding, keep going. This is fierce. Soap-opera silly.”
    â€œThere were three men,” I say. “Three grooms .”
    â€œShit.”
    â€œI studied the faces. Everything grew sharper. Two faces and then, finally, Sage’s. Phelps and then poor Sage. He was just one of the guys on our wedding day.”
    â€œPhelps? Ah, the infamous Rowboat Boy,” Victor says, grinning.
    â€œMy hands were suddenly behind my back,