Gymnastics in the Heart

The air in the mall tasted like fried dough and desperation. I’d been breathing it for eight hours, and I was pretty sure my lungs were now coated in a fine layer of canola oil and broken dreams. I yanked my employee lanyard off with more force than necessary, the plastic clip snapping against my collarbone.

I saw them before they saw me. Matt and Danielle, standing by the pretzel stand like they’d been carved out of the afternoon light. She was glowing, that post-romance flush that made her look like she’d just swallowed a star. He was still as stone, but his eyes tracked me with a quiet attention that made me feel like I was being read.

“Tell me you guys actually bought something so I didn’t spend eight hours staring at boots for nothing,” I said, popping a hip to the side. My feet were screaming. My lower back had entered a state of permanent rebellion.

Danielle grinned. That grin was trouble. It had too many teeth. “Oh, we bought plenty.”

I stopped. My eyes darted between them, reading the voltage in the air. Something had shifted. The atmosphere around them had a different weight, a different charge. “Why is the air vibrating? What happened? Did he offend you or something?”

Matt smiled. Not a smirk. A real smile. The kind that starts in the chest and works its way up. “Just being honest.”

I let out a short, skeptical sound. “Pfft. Honesty in a mall? That’s a first. Usually, people just lie about how much they like the prices.”

“He’s just different,” Danielle said, glancing at him like he was a painting she’d just discovered.

I looked at Matt, letting my eyes run the math again. Tall. Quiet. The kind of stillness that felt deliberate, not shy. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t look at his phone. He just stood there, taking up space without apologizing for it. “Hmm. Different. I can work with different.” I let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Ugh, I am starving. If I don’t get a chicken wrap in the next three minutes, I might actually eat one of those display boots.”

“Lead the way,” Matt said.

We started walking, our footsteps falling into a rhythm on the polished floor. The food court was a chaos of smells and sounds. Sizzling meat. The hiss of soda fountains. A child screaming somewhere in the distance, a sound so primal it made me grateful for my birth control.

I bumped my shoulder against his. “So, ‘Honest Matt.’ You still thinking about the boots, or are you thinking about something else?”

He didn’t blink. “I’m thinking that you look a lot more relaxed now that the lanyard is off.”

I paused. A small, surprised laugh escaped me. “Hah! See? I told you he was different.”

Danielle beamed. She was practically skipping. I’d never seen her like this, not in the three years I’d known her. She was usually the one who kept her distance, who laughed at the right moments but never let anyone past the velvet rope. Matt had apparently picked the lock.

We found a table near the window, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the laminate surface. The food court was thinning out, the dinner rush still an hour away. I dropped into my chair and let my head fall back, my neck cracking in a way that was probably not good for my spine.

“So,” I said, pulling my hair out of its elastic and letting it fall around my shoulders. “Give me the full report. I want every detail. Don’t spare my delicate sensibilities.”

Danielle laughed, that breathy sound she made when she was happy. “He told me he had butterflies.”

I sat up straight. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Butterflies? Like, the actual word ‘butterflies’?”

“They’re doing gymnastics,” Matt said, deadpan.

I stared at him. Then at Danielle. Then back at him. “You said that. Out loud. In public. To a woman.”

“I did.”

“And you didn’t immediately evaporate into a cloud of masculine shame?”

“The thought crossed my mind,” he said, and there was that smile again, the one that made me want to know what he was thinking when he wasn’t talking. “But I figured honesty was the better play.”

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Okay. I’m impressed. Genuinely. Most guys would rather swallow a bag of glass than admit to having feelings in a mall.”

“I’m not most guys.”

“Clearly.” I looked at Danielle. “You’re keeping him.”

She laughed, her hand finding his on the table. Their fingers interlaced like they’d been doing it for years. “I think I might.”

Something twisted in my chest. Not jealousy. Something sharper. Loneliness, maybe. Or just the sharp edge of watching someone else find what you’d stopped looking for.

I pushed it down. “So what now? You two gonna stare into each other’s eyes while I eat my weight in processed chicken?”

“That was the plan,” Matt said.

I snorted. “At least you’re honest.”

We ordered food. I got my chicken wrap, plus a side of fries I didn’t need and a soda I definitely didn’t need. Danielle got a salad, because she was the kind of person who ordered salads at food courts and actually ate them. Matt got a burger, no cheese, and a water.

“No soda?” I asked, pointing at his water bottle.

“I don’t drink sugar.”

“Weird flex, but okay.”

He shrugged. “I like to know what I’m putting in my body.”

“And what about what you’re putting in your life?” The question came out before I could stop it. I saw Danielle’s eyes widen, a warning flashing in them.

Matt didn’t flinch. “I’m careful about that too.”

“And Danielle made the cut?”

“She did.”

Danielle squeezed his hand. Her cheeks were pink. I felt like I was watching something private, something I shouldn’t have been seeing. But I couldn’t look away.

We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The food court hummed around us, a low tide of noise that felt almost peaceful after eight hours of customer service. I chewed my wrap and watched the light shift across Matt’s face, trying to figure out what made him different.

He wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense. His features were too sharp, his jaw too square. But there was something in the way he held himself, a kind of settled certainty that most people never found. He didn’t need to prove anything. He just was.

I hated him a little. Just a little.

“So, Keisha,” he said, turning his attention to me. “What’s your story?”

“My story?”

“Yeah. You’ve been watching me like I’m a test you’re trying to pass. I want to know what you’re looking for.”

I put my wrap down. “I’m looking for the catch.”

“The catch?”

“Everyone has one. You seem too good to be true. Honest, open, willing to say the word ‘butterflies’ in public. So where’s the dark side? What are you hiding?”

Danielle kicked me under the table. I ignored her.

Matt considered the question. He took a sip of his water, set the bottle down, and met my eyes. “I’m not hiding anything. But I’m not showing everything either. Not yet.”

“That’s a politician’s answer.”

“It’s the truth.”

“The truth is usually messier.”

He smiled, and this time there was something darker behind it, something I hadn’t seen before. “You want messy? I’ll give you messy. I spent three years in a relationship that I stayed in because I was too afraid to leave. I knew it was wrong on day one. I stayed for three years. That’s the kind of coward I can be when I’m not paying attention.”

I blinked. “Okay. That’s... that’s actually honest.”

“You asked.”

“I did.” I picked up my fry, dipped it in ketchup, and pointed it at him. “I respect that. Most people would have given me some bullshit about being complicated or misunderstood.”

“I’m not complicated. I’m just not finished yet.”

Danielle was watching him with an expression I’d never seen on her face. It was like she was seeing him for the first time, even though they’d spent the whole afternoon together. I wondered what else he’d told her. I wondered what he was holding back.

“So what are you working on?” I asked. “What’s the unfinished project?”

“Myself,” he said. “Aren’t we all?”

I laughed, and it came out sharper than I meant it to. “That’s the kind of thing people say when they don’t want to give a real answer.”

“Maybe.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Or maybe it’s the only real answer there is. You tell me. What are you working on?”

The question landed like a stone in still water. Ripples spread through me, unsettling things I’d buried deep. I opened my mouth to give a flippant answer, something about my 401k or my dead-end job. But what came out was different.

“I’m working on not being so goddamn cynical.”

Danielle’s eyes went wide. “Keisha...”

“No, it’s true.” I looked at Matt. “I walk through the world expecting the worst from everyone. It’s safer that way. But it’s also exhausting. And lonely. And I’m tired of it.”

“So why do you do it?”

“Because the worst usually shows up eventually. And I’d rather be prepared than disappointed.”

“That’s not preparation,” he said. “That’s armor. And armor gets heavy after a while.”

I felt something crack in my chest. A small fissure, hairline thin, but enough to let light through. “Yeah,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. “I know.”

Danielle reached across the table and put her hand on mine. “Keish...”

“I’m fine.” I pulled my hand back, picked up my soda, and took a long drink. “I’m fine. Let’s talk about something else. Like how you two are going to make this work when you live on opposite sides of the city.”

Danielle looked at Matt. “We haven’t figured that out yet.”

“We will,” he said.

“So confident.”

“Not confident. Committed.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. “You two are disgustingly cute. I might actually vomit.”

“Please don’t,” Matt said. “I just ate.”

The afternoon stretched on. We talked about nothing and everything. Work. Dreams. The things we wanted but were afraid to name. I watched them together, the way their bodies leaned toward each other, the way they finished each other’s sentences without seeming to notice. It was beautiful. It was painful. It was everything I’d stopped hoping for.

When the light started to fade, turning the food court orange and gold, Danielle stretched and yawned. “I should probably get home. I have an early shift tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Matt said.

“And I’ll walk myself to the bus stop,” I said, standing up and gathering my trash. “Thanks for dinner. And for the existential conversation. It was... unexpected.”

“Keisha,” Danielle said, catching my arm. “You’re okay, right?”

“I’m fine. I promise.” I kissed her cheek, a quick peck that surprised us both. “Take care of him. He’s a keeper.”

“I know.”

I turned to Matt. “And you. Take care of her. Or I’ll find you. And I’ll make you regret it.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

We said our goodbyes. I watched them walk away, their hands intertwined, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. The mall was emptying out, the last shoppers drifting toward the exits like ghosts at dawn.

I didn’t go to the bus stop. I stood there for a long moment, watching them disappear into the crowd, and I felt the weight of my armor pressing down on my shoulders.

He was right. It was heavy.

I turned and started walking, my footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. The mall felt different now, quieter, like a party that had ended while I was still holding my drink. I passed the shoe department where I’d spent my shift, the displays looking sad and abandoned without the fluorescent lights.

I stopped in front of a window display. Blue leather boots. Red heel and sole. They were ridiculous. They were impractical. They were exactly what I would never buy for myself.

But I stood there, looking at them, and I thought about what Matt had said. About armor. About not being finished yet.

I thought about the way he’d looked at Danielle, like she was a question he wanted to spend the rest of his life answering.

I thought about the way I’d looked at them, like a woman watching a fire from outside the circle.

I pulled out my phone. Checked my bank account. Did the math.

Then I walked into the store.

The saleswoman looked up, surprised to see a customer so close to closing time. “Can I help you?”

“The blue boots,” I said. “In the window. Size eight.”

She blinked. “Those are... they’re a bit bold.”

“I know.”

“They’re four hundred dollars.”

“I know.”

She looked at me, trying to figure out if I was serious. I met her eyes and didn’t blink.

“Okay,” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “Let me grab them for you.”

I sat down on the bench and waited. My heart was beating faster than it should have been. This was stupid. This was reckless. This was the kind of thing the old me would have laughed at.

But the old me was tired. The old me was heavy. The old me had been wearing armor for so long she’d forgotten what her own skin felt like.

The saleswoman came back with the box. She opened it, revealing the boots in all their ridiculous glory. Blue leather that caught the light like water. Red heel and sole that screamed for attention.

I slipped them on. They fit perfectly.

I stood up and looked in the mirror. The woman staring back at me was someone I almost recognized. She looked braver. She looked louder. She looked like she might actually be ready for something new.

“I’ll take them,” I said.

The saleswoman rang me up. I handed over my card and felt the transaction like a small death, a shedding of something I didn’t need anymore.

I walked out of the store in my new boots. The old ones went into the trash can by the door.

The bus stop was empty. The night air was cool against my skin. I stood there, feeling the red soles against the concrete, and I let myself feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope. Stupid, reckless, terrifying hope.

My phone buzzed. A text from Danielle.

*Made it home. He’s perfect. Thank you for being there today.*

I typed back: *He’s not perfect. But he’s trying. That’s what matters.*

*What are you doing?*

I looked down at my blue boots. At the red heels. At the woman I was becoming.

*I’m trying too,* I typed.

Then I put my phone away, stepped onto the bus, and let the night carry me home.