He tilts his head, his gaze curious. “What’s her show?”
I tell him the name of Emerson’s bona fide online hit. “She’s a vegetarian, and several years ago she started reviewing the places where she ate. At first, it was just for fun. She was having a good time, giving reviews like, No, this vegan meat doesn’t taste like chicken, and I don’t want it to taste like chicken. It tastes like yummy grainy goodness dancing on my tongue. Then her videos took off because she’s so accessible and real and people love it.”
“Good for her. Sounds like she loves what she’s doing,” he says as we reach the top of the hill.
“She says that’s the key to a happy life. Doing what you love.” We cross the street into a tiny park ringed by trees and tall hedges. It’s a hideaway here, an escape from the rest of the city. Birds chirp, a light breeze blows, and the sun—rare in November—warms my shoulders.
“That seems like a pretty good gauge of happiness,” he says, as we find a picnic table and settle in. “Sounds like you agree?”
Briefly, I let the last few years run through my mind, from the highs of building a business with my sister to the low of being left at the altar and betrayed by my mother. I focus on the joys and the pain, but ultimately, the triumphs. Olive and I love Sassy Yoga fiercely, and it feels like ours, not only because it is, but because we truly love what we do.
“I do. I worked in fashion before, doing retail buying. And while I love the fashion line we built at Sassy Yoga, I adore sharing something that’s helped me with many others.”
“You do seem pretty intent on helping. I’ve noticed that when you’re with the team. With me too, but especially the team. You take time to make sure everyone gets it, knows what they’re doing. To add a compliment or a quip. You make it fun,” he says with a smile as he unwraps his sandwich. “You’ve always been a yoga person?”
“No. Not at all. I was very much an eye-roller back in the day.”
Harlan tosses his head back, laughing. “Love that term. That’s perfect.”
“Because so many people are, right? Basically, the world breaks down according to those who love yoga, and those who go full Robert-Downey-Jr.-eye-rolling gif at the practice.”
He bites into his sandwich, nodding as he chews. When he’s done, he says, “That’s spot on. So, you were a Robert Downey Jr.?”
“Absolutely.” I pop open the lid to the salad, then grab a fork.
“What changed for you?” he asks, eyes intent on mine. Harlan is a fantastic listener, I’m learning. He stays on topic; he asks questions. It’s refreshing.
“My friends and my sister,” I say after I take a bite. “I was resistant to it, but Skyler and Olive—my sister—had started going way back when.” I flap a hand over my shoulder toward the ancient history of my life.
“Way back when? In the dark ages?” he teases, his eyes alight with self-deprecation.
“Yes. It was eons ago. Seriously, though, it was shortly after college. They both went to yoga at the gym and told me to try it. Olive, the perv, said it was good for sex. Skyler, who now prays at the altar of eight hours of sleep a night, said it helped her insomnia. So, I went. Reluctantly.”
“I think you just described half of my team,” he adds.
But their mixed reactions don’t faze me. “They’ll realize the benefit over time,” I say. I believe in what I do, and I’m confident it’ll help the guys. “And you? Are you reluctant? Skeptical? Totally devoted to the bennies of shavasana and wine forever and ever?”
His smile catches me off-guard. It’s so magnetic, but it fades quickly. He takes another bite, sets down his sandwich, then sighs. “I’m open to it, but I’m in a different place than some of the young guns, you know?”
Ah, the age conversation. I figured it was coming with Harlan. I’m aware of the chatter about whether or not this is his last season. “Because you’re thinking more about the future?”
He nods decisively. “I think a lot about what’s next. Worry about it. Wonder. I love football the way your friend Emerson says you should. The sport is like air to me. I’ve loved football since I was a kid, and it’s hard to imagine not playing.”
There’s wistfulness in his voice. It’s a sound I rarely hear from him. He’s usually so playful and upbeat. But now and then, he reveals the things that seem to weigh on him. This definitely seems to.
“But I also really like taking my daughter to school, and teaching her to read, and letting her sneak-polish my toes when I conk out on the couch when her friends are over. I love seeing her as often as I can, and I don’t love spending every weekend from August to December pretty much unavailable. Know what I mean?”