“And you might lose her.”
“Yes.”
“Does racing help?”
“No.”
“Does not racing help?”
“No.”
Lola moved a magnet on the refrigerator behind us. Gloria kept her eyes on me.
“Then stop making the race a relationship gesture.”
“I’m trying.”
“What do you want?”
The same question from every direction. I sat at the table.
“I want to start.”
Gloria sat opposite.
“Finish?”
“Yes.”
“Which matters more?”
The old bibs waited beside the mail. Starting honestly. Finishing if my body and mind allowed it. Living afterward either way.
“Starting,” I said.
Gloria accepted that.
“Then what is stopping you?”
“Rose.”
“Medical?”
“Ethical. Practical. She doesn’t trust the decision yet.”
“Do you?”
“More than last week.”
“That is not yes.”
“No.”
Lola came to the table carrying the printed diner photo. Amy asleep against my shoulder.
“Can I keep this in my room?”
“No.”
