“I see you’re taking advantage of some of the tips I taught you,” Taylor said in greeting. “Did you even look for a closer parking space?”
“Nope.” Melonie held up her wrist, showcasing the fitness tracker she’d purchased at Taylor’s insistence when they began working together this past summer. “I upped my daily goal to twelve thousand. It’s not as easy to get in those extra two thousand steps as I thought it would be. I’ve had to get creative.”
“You’d be surprised at how many steps you can get in by adjusting your routine just a little bit here and there. One of my favorite tips is to keep the TV remote next to the TV instead of on the couch or bedside table. I can almost guarantee you’ll get another few hundred steps going back and forth to flip channels.” Taylor gestured toward the grocery store and rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get to shopping. I’m excited to see what you’ve come up with as a sensible meal plan.”
Once in the store, she followed Melonie to the produce department, observing as she loaded up on leafy greens, colorful bell peppers, and broccoli. When she reached for a bag of russet potatoes, Taylor stopped her.
“If you’re going to have potatoes, which I recommend limiting as much as possible, go for sweet potatoes.”
“Really? I would have thought sweet potatoes had more sugar.”
“They do, but they’re also much higher in vitamin A. With your family’s history of eye disease, they’re the smarter choice. Better yet,” she said, reaching for a butternut squash, “go half sweet potatoes, half squash, whether you’re roasting or mashing them. It will lessen the carbs and sugar and you won’t be able to tell the difference.”
A grateful smile lit up Melonie’s face. “This is the kind of advice I was hoping for when I hired you. It’s all so much to keep track of, especially with three kids to run after. I swear, Taylor, you have been a godsend.”
Melonie’s praise was the kind of validation Taylor’s battered ego had been thirsting for. Screw all those people who thought she needed a degree to do her job. She had as much fitness and nutrition knowledge as anyone she’d come across. She studied her ass off, making sure to learn as much as she could, determined to provide her clients with the most up-to-date advice.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Taylor said. “Remember, this is a partnership. How much weight have you lost since July?”
“Twenty-two pounds.” Melonie preened. “I cannot wait for my ex and his new fiancée to drive down from Omaha in a couple of weeks to pick up the kids. I bought a new pair of jeans that make my ass look amazing. I want him salivating.”
“Now that is the kind of vindication I live for.” Taylor held her hand up for a high five. “Gimme some!”
They slapped palms, then migrated to the meat department, picking out lean cuts of beef and protein-rich salmon. By the time they were done shopping, Taylor couldn’t stop herself from beaming like a proud mama.
“You did a great job, Mel. You ready to do it again next week?”
“That would be wonderful, but . . . ” Melonie trailed off, her lips tilting downward in an apologetic frown.
A sinking feeling immediately settled in the pit of Taylor’s stomach. “But . . . ?” she asked.
“I found out last week that Avery, my middle daughter, needs braces. I have to sacrifice something to cover the dental bill, and unfortunately, that something is having a private fitness and nutrition coach.”
No! God, please. She couldn’t lose one of her few steady clients.
“Are you sure?” Taylor asked. “Maybe we can negotiate a new rate?”
“You’ve been a great help, Taylor, but I just can’t justify this expense any longer.”
Taylor knew she shouldn’t allow her disappointment to show, but dammit, this sucked.
Melonie placed a hand on her forearm. “I’m forever grateful for everything you’ve taught me. It’s been priceless.”
Actually, it did have a price. Sixty dollars per session, to be exact. She’d already earmarked the two hundred forty dollars she’d expected to earn from Melonie Phillips this month. Guess her car insurance wasn’t getting paid.
“I understand,” Taylor said. Because she did. If she understood anything at all, it was having to sacrifice to make ends meet. “We can always start the sessions again if your circumstances change.”
She gave Melonie a hug and helped her load her minivan with the groceries she’d purchased; then she got in her car and tried her hardest not to burst into tears. Her dad loved to bring up that old adage When it rains, it pours. Well, Taylor was in the midst of a freaking downpour that refused to let up for a single second. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take before she cracked under the deluge of pressure.
Once home, she found an empty plastic storage container propped against the door, a thank-you note taped to the lid. It was from Rob, her downstairs neighbor.
She baked when she was stressed—and not any of that healthy stuff like chickpea blondies or chocolate cake made with black beans that she encouraged her clients to eat. Give her all the sugar and butter. But, because she didn’t want the temptation of sweets around, she often shared the baked goods with Rob.
She unlocked her front door and made her way inside, dropping her backpack on the couch. She went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of elderberry kombucha from the fridge. She’d become addicted to this stuff, but a couple of weeks ago she’d started limiting herself to a half bottle per day.
Sacrifices.
She returned to the living room and plopped down on her couch. It felt as if the walls were closing in on her, as if no matter what she tried, nothing could get her out of this financial mess.
“You can get yourself out of this. You always do,” she said. But her voice didn’t hold the same conviction it usually did. She felt . . . defeated.
She despised this feeling. She’d made a promise to herself a long time ago that she would never allow defeat to enter her mind again. Because once you gave that insidious notion just the smallest bit of leeway, it took over. She could not allow that to happen.
She jumped up from the couch and returned to the kitchen, grabbing the bag of flour and canister of cocoa from the tiny pantry. She opened the refrigerator to retrieve a couple of eggs, but then she shut it.
“You do not need brownies.” And neither did Rob. The way things were going, they would both end up diabetic if she didn’t turn her life around.
Instead of baking, Taylor reached for her cell phone. A group video chat would get her mind off her problems without the added sugar rush of brownies.
London was the first to answer. She was on her desktop.
“What’s up, chica?” she said, the bright yellow walls of her office at the hospital serving as her backdrop. It was decorated with cute stick figure drawings and photos of smiling kids.
“Nothing much,” Taylor said. “I was just calling to check in.”
“You started looking at colleges yet?”
Taylor should have known London would bring this up. “It’s on today’s to-do list,” she lied.
A second later, Samiah appeared. Her face was scrubbed clean and her hair was in a sloppy ponytail. It was a bit jarring. Samiah was always so put together.