Random strangers in the gym tried to help me too, even though I hadn’t asked for their advice. “Lean into the wall!” or “Swap your feet on that lower footchip!” they said. I gritted my teeth and grew more and more annoyed until Lina told them to stop “spraying beta” at me.
After several more tries, I slumped down between Lina and Ian and grumpily watched as a tall teenager warmed up on my project. With her smooth and steady movements, she made it look ridiculously easy, and was up to the top and down again in less than ten seconds. I huffed in annoyance and said to no one in particular, “Ugh, I wish I were taller. I’m too short to get this stupid problem.”
Lina coolly shrugged. “Being taller isn’t necessarily better. There’s no single best body type. Everyone has their own unique strengths and weaknesses, and climbing well is about finding your own method, a balance of things that works for you and your specific situation.” Psh, easy for her to say—she was tall and totally shredded.
Ian chuckled at my dismissive eye roll. “Lina’s right, though. Check this person out.” He gestured with his chin towards an older woman who was around my height or slightly shorter, and who had just hopped onto my project.
The start was straightforward, and she cruised through it the same way that I did, grasping and stepping easily through a series of large holds, which Ian had told me were called jugs. But when she got to the crux, the big move where I kept getting stuck, she put her leg up onto a higher hold, much higher than the one on which Lina’s or Ian’s legs had been. I hadn’t even considered that my foot could reach that high. The woman successfully grabbed the devil hold, then was all the way at the top and back down again in a flash.
Lina’s eyebrows and lips quirked up at me, as did Ian’s. I grimaced and looked away, but got up and tried the V1 again. Using the higher foothold that time, I finally sent it.
I was grateful when Lina and Ian didn’t say anything, just high-fived me when I went to sit back down.
“Okay, fine, teach me everything,” I told them.
So throughout the rest of that session and the sessions after, they did. Flag your foot out here for balance. Engage your core and keep your hips close to the wall. Don’t overgrip, drop your knee in, maintain tension...They were two climbing encyclopedias, and I absorbed as much from them as I could.
And just as I’d suspected I would, I enjoyed climbing. A lot.
I loved the sense of accomplishment after conquering my fear and successfully sending a route. My progress was measurable, concrete, and steady, and it was gratifying to improve in something that was both physically and mentally stimulating.
I loved the muscle soreness after a long session. I felt stronger, more confident in myself, and more at ease with my body, proud of my newfound ability to do a full pull-up.
And I loved watching Ian’s rippling back muscles as he made his way up the wall. The way it looked...mmm, I was going to turn into a back girl instead of a pecs girl. He was such a beautiful physical specimen, and I wanted to explore every dip and curve of his body.
I couldn’t keep my hands off of him when we got home.
In general, life at home with Ian was as blissful and passionate as you could imagine. I was worried that we’d become attached at the hip, but we didn’t. He gave me space, more than Asher ever had, yet he was always there when I wanted him. He was careful to invite me to do things with him, to never assume that I would join in just because we lived together. I was glad to have found an easy rhythm with Ian, and things were so good between us that, after the first week, I stopped checking for new apartment listings.
I wish I’d kept looking.
◆◆◆
“Did you want to do something next week? We get Thanksgiving and the next day off!” I’d just received a company-wide email reminding me of that fact. Maybe Ian and I could take a romantic road trip—
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, my parents are coming for Thanksgiving, and they’re going to stay with us.” It was a statement, not a question. “Sorry, Anna. I thought I’d told you already.”
“Oh.” Ian had told me that his parents visited once a month, and it made sense that they’d come for Thanksgiving. That’s what families did, got together and ate food on Thanksgiving. But things had been so good between us that I’d pushed the thought from my mind. I didn’t want to deal with this, not when the past few weeks had been so perfect. “Isn’t it a bit early for me to meet them? We’ve only been dating for...” I counted, “three weeks.” Wow, that was it?
He glanced up from the Sunday paper, then back down. “It’s not like this means I’m going to marry you anytime soon. It’s just meeting my parents. They’re nice, you’ll like them.”
I idly stirred my coffee with my spoon, frowning at his mention of marriage. “I’d rather wait.”
He looked up again, noticed my expression, then tossed the paper onto the table. “Why? If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to see them every month anyway. They always look forward to visiting.” He eyed me warily.
Why was he so uptight about his parents? “Look, I really like you, but I don’t feel comfortable meeting your parents until we’ve been together longer.” I paused, then added, “You know
