“She wants the timeline by next Sunday.”
“You agreed.”
“It requires research.”
“You’ve found your life’s work.”
Amy picked up a plastic runner from the cake decorations.
“Did Gloria speak to you?”
My pulse jumped. I did not reach for dishes.
“Yes.”
“About Thursday?”
“And the first marathon.”
Amy became very still. “You told her.”
“The first sentence. Panic attack. Not every detail.”
The clock in the hallway ticked twice. I let the silence remain instead of filling it with a joke.
“Why her first?” Amy asked.
“Because I knew she could not stop being my sister after she heard it. I needed proof the sentence could exist outside my body.”
“That is understandable,” Amy said. Her voice had gone more formal, which meant the answer also hurt. “It does not cancel Thursday.”
“No.”
“Good.”
Her hand rested on the rug, inches from mine. “She also asked whether the relationship is real.”
“What did you say?”
“That it started fake. That I want more than the agreement.”
Her breath changed.
“I don’t know what more looks like while part of me still tracks every split and thinks your finish can answer something about me,” I said. “Miguel is your coach. My body has not accepted the memo.”
“Then that is part of what Thursday must clarify.”
“Yes.”
“And the other question?”
“What?”
“You said you want more than the agreement.”
My heart began again.
“Yes.”
