Treading Lightly

Not knowing what she was looking for, or what the differences could possibly be, she’d told him to send a good, reliable yet reasonably priced machine that wouldn’t take up too much space in her already cramped bedroom.

“Ya mean the space-savin’, basic model?”

Sounded good to her. “Yes, that’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“Ya need incline, preprogramming, or anything over ten miles per hour?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you run?”

“No. I’ll be walking.”

“Do you want it to move up and down simulatin’ hills?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Okay, lady. I’ve got a good, plain, basic, space-savin’ machine I think’ll be poifect for ya.”

He’d given her the price, including shipping, and told her his guy could deliver it the next day. She’d given him her credit-card number and told him she’d be there waiting.

She’d decided not to tell Craig about the osteoporosis thing. At least not yet. Not until she’d gotten herself on the right path to making herself healthier. She knew she might not be able to make it better, but she could try not to let it get too much worse—possibly slow it down a bit.

That very afternoon Craig had noticed something was awry.

“What’s with all the cheese, Mom?”

“I had a craving. And you know, Craig, it wouldn’t hurt you if you ate a little calcium, too.”

He’d shrugged. “Sure.” The boy ingested anything that didn’t scurry out of his reach, what did he care if it had nutrients, minerals or calcium in it? Well, now that she’d discovered the dire results of eating a calcium-deprived diet, she’d make sure her own flesh and blood didn’t fall into that dark pit.

“Eat some cheese,” she’d called as she tried to empty a corner of her room for the treadmill being delivered the next day. She had no idea how big the machine would be so she cleared as much space as possible, attempting to additionally free up a pathway for the deliverymen to carry it in.

“Hey, cool. What’s up?” Craig had asked upon seeing her activity.

“What? Something has to be up for me to be cleaning my room?”

He’d raised an eyebrow at her. Only one eyebrow. She didn’t know how he did that but was always fascinated when he did, because she thought it was nifty and creepy at the same time. She didn’t have the talent, and often wondered if Martin had the one-eyebrow-raising endowment. She’d wondered, but never enough to ask the bastard when she had the divine pleasure of talking with, to, or at him.

“Okay. So maybe I am cleaning up for a reason. I’ve decided to go on a health kick.”

Craig had laughed. “That’s funny, Mom.”

“I mean it!”

“I’m sure you do. But for how long this time? That’s the real question.”

“Forever.”

“You say that every time, Mom. You’ve said that the last seventeen times you’ve gone on a permanent health kick.”

“Well, this time is different!” she’d huffed, insulted by her son’s lack of faith in her word.

He’d done the one-eyebrow thing again. “How so?”

“Because I mean it this time.”

“Unlike all the other times you’ve said it in the past?”

She’d remembered getting annoyed. “Is this you encouraging me, here? Or is it you trying to talk me out of it before I even attempt to start my new healthy lifestyle?”

His hands had flown up in the air. “Hey, don’t go all postal on me, Mom. I’m just trying to gauge how committed you are to this—your latest—healthy-lifestyle kick.”

“I’ll tell you how committed I am to it, you big doubting Thomas, you! I bought a treadmill.”

He’d looked as if she’d slapped him in the face. “What?”

“You heard correctly,” she’d said snootily. “I bought a treadmill. I’m cleaning my room so when it’s delivered tomorrow, there will be a place for it.”

He’d nodded his head slowly. “Good for you, Mom. I’ve been trying to get you to do some exercise for a while now, and I’m glad you’re finally listening.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve nagged me long enough, plus it’s hard keeping up with such an active son. I had to start doing something.”

He’d grinned crookedly. “Good for you. I’m proud of you,” he’d said as he left her room so she could finish clearing and cleaning.

“Well, I haven’t done anything yet,” she’d called after him.

“You will, Mom. If you set your mind to it, you’ll do it!” he’d yelled back.

“Hey, that’s my line,” she’d whispered to herself.

She shook her head at the memory. And now, months later, here she was, walking on a treadmill every day, just as she’d foretold. Who would have guessed extortion—and the threat of deformity—would be such a big motivator?

Done with her coffee, still depressed at her lack of morning, son-written note to cheer her up and start her day, she ambled back to her room and looked disgustedly at the treadmill shoved in the corner. “Looks like it’s just you and me, bud,” she said to it as if it were a person. It was the only thing she related to besides her son these days. And now that Craig was no longer talking to her, it was all she had left. Too bad it wasn’t a man. It would’ve been ideal: it was hard, built, always ready for her, made her sweat, got her blood pumping, and never said a word! Their woman/machine association was probably the closest thing to a perfect relationship she’d ever had in her entire lifetime. “And you don’t leave your crap all over the floor, either,” she said to it as she climbed on after swiping the hand towel she’d used yesterday off the floor. She’d used it to mop up the sweat that had poured from her during her laborious exertion, but after she smelled it and found it wasn’t too pungent, she shoved it into the towel-holder hole, figuring what difference did it make? She’d take a shower right after the torture session anyhow.

She hopped on and began her walking, her mind traveling in five different directions at once. Her latest book, her son, her infuriating ex, her flabby, jiggling thighs, and her pain-in-the-butt mother. When she couldn’t home in on only one problem, she decided to forget them all momentarily.

CHAPTER 4

“Why can’t I go with Dad?”

She sighed heavily. “This fight again? How many times can we have the same fight?”

“Until you give me a good answer!”

“You mean the answer you want to hear.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up a little. “Well, why can’t I go?” This time it was more of a whine than a demand.