“True.”
We ate. I described both positions. Dani asked questions without trying to solve them. She had learned. After dinner, we sat on the sofa. The old bib drawer remained closed. The charity-entry page did not appear on her laptop. I noticed both.
“What happens after the marathon?” I asked.
I asked too abruptly. Dani turned.
“What?”
“Evelyn asked.”
Her face tightened at the name.
“Why?”
“Because she remains irritatingly observant in limited categories.”
“What did you say?”
“That it was our business.”
“Good.”
“It is.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
Dani looked toward the window. The city darkened beyond the glass.
“What are you asking?”
“Whether the relationship is built around the race.”
“No.” She waited.
I corrected myself. “Not entirely.”
“Then what happens after?”
“We keep dating.”
I did not hesitate. Relief moved through me. Dani continued.
“You finish. We celebrate. You complain about never doing another marathon. I pretend to believe you. We do normal things.”
“What normal things?”
“Dinner. Family. You reorganize my mail. I destroy your kitchen systems.”
“That is not normal. That is conflict.”
“Romantic conflict.”
I smiled faintly.
“And your running?”
