I blink a few times and watch the snow. “Maybe I was, too.”
“Sorry,” Eric says. “So much for Chris settling down.”
“He gets around a lot?”
Eric laughs. “Not like Sabin, but he has a past. He’s not one for long-term girlfriends, although I keep hoping. If he’d just slow down a bit… But Chris is always racing to get to the next thing. The next class, the next project, the next step after graduation, all that sort of stuff.”
“Ha! I’m stuck in the past; he’s stuck in the future. End of story. What about you?”
“Maybe I’m a here-and-now kind of guy; I have no idea.”
“Well, you seem to like Zach a lot. He’s the here and now. Plus, he’s wicked cute.”
“He is wicked cute, isn’t he?” Eric pauses. “Wicked.Are you from Boston?”
“Not right in Boston, but about a half hour out.” I wiggle into the seat. The truck may have a few miles on it, but it’s comfortable as hell. “You moved around a lot, right?”
“We’re products of about seven different states, I think. I’ve lost count.”
“So where do you feel like you’re from?”
“Nowhere. We’re from nowhere.”
“You can’t be from nowhere. Where did you live before you came to college? Where does your dad live now? Oh, turn left here.”
“Truthfully, Blythe.” Eric turns by the river. “Our father is not a good guy. We don’t see him, and we don’t talk about him. Wherever he lives is certainly not our home. It’s easier like this.”
I stare at Eric as he drives, realizing that Sabin told me something similar—although with Sabin, I’d assumed he was being dramatic. I reach out my hand and touch his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He nods. “Me, too. But I’ve got Estelle, Sabin, and Chris. And I have Zach, who I’m crazy about and who tolerates my insane family.”
“Make a right onto Hoover Ave., and then bear left and head back to campus up Webber Road. We’ll have to double-park outside Reber Hall.”
We ride without talking for a bit. The drive is peaceful, the hum of the motor and the bounce of the truck comforting. Finally Eric speaks. “We don’t even go home for Thanksgiving. We never go home.”
I draw a terrible cartoon of a turkey on the wet window. “Neither am I this year.”
“Good,” Eric says. “Then we get you for the holiday. There’s nothing better than a dorm Thanksgiving. We’ll have a good time.”
“Okay,” I agree. “That’s very nice of you.”
I continue to direct Eric where to drive until we come to a stop outside my dorm. I almost wish that he would keep driving. Anywhere.
Eric looks toward the steering wheel. “So how far do you think you run?”
“No clue. I mean, I’m slow as shit, but I just run like an idiot until I can’t anymore. And I always end up walking part of it, too much of it, even though I hate myself for it. Oh God, is it shorter than I thought? I’m terrible at judging distance.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Tell me, tell me. I can take it.”
“Five point three miles.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
He laughs. “Five. Point. Three. Miles. That’s pretty damn good.”
“Oh my God, seriously?” I am shocked. And giddy. I had no idea. “It’s not like it’s a marathon, but still… That’s not bad, huh?”
“It’s not bad at all. You should be proud. I don’t think I could run a quarter of a mile. Good for you!” Eric opens the door. “Stay with the truck, would you, in case anyone needs to move their car or something? I’ll start unloading.”
I bite my lip.Holy shit.Two months of running and I can run over five miles? It is true that I feel stronger, firmer. That I crave the workout. Six days a week sometimes doesn’t feel like enough, and the day that I don’t run leaves me restless. When I run as far as I can and push myself as hard as possible, my entire body feels it. The ache in my legs, the nausea, the pounding from my heart, and the prickly heat that covers my skin are all addictive. Yes, it is pain, but it is pain with a purpose. Maybe the purpose is to escape, but that escape is letting me heal. I can feel it happening.
