“I had coffee at the time.”
Tessa picked up the bottle and read the label. “This is seventeen dollars.”
Dani put a hand over her heart. “I brought my best.”
“You brought something with a screw cap.”
“Screw caps preserve wine.”
Amy-from-three-weeks-ago would not have known enough about Dani to recognize the faint tension beneath her smile. I knew now. She tapped the side of her thigh with two fingers.Once, twice, three times. She had done it throughout our run that morning. She had done it when Rose asked whether she was still coming tonight. She had done it while standing in the elevator outside my apartment.
Dani was nervous. Not about the fake dating. About the question she had promised to answer. Rose placed her folder beside my agreement and looked at me. Miguel’s signed transfer confirmation sat on top: effective Tuesday, May twenty-seventh, before our application deadline.
“Before anyone signs anything,” she said, “I want to make clear that I am here as a friend and witness. I am not providing legal advice, medical approval, or evidence that this is a good idea.”
Tessa raised her hand. “I am here as all of those things.”
“You are a pediatric nurse,” Rose said.
“I contain multitudes.”
“You contain poor impulse control.”
“Also true.”
Dani took the chair opposite mine.
“I feel supported.”
“You shouldn’t,” Rose said.
I sat. Tessa and Rose took the remaining seats. The arrangement placed Dani directly across from me. She wore a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows and dark jeans. It was the first time I had seen her in clothing that did not appear designed for sweating. This was irrelevant. I squared the agreement with the table edge.
“Before we review the terms,” I said, “Dani has agreed to clarify her marathon experience.”
Tessa stopped reaching for a cookie. Rose looked at Dani. Dani’s fingers tapped once against her thigh, then stilled.
“Right,” she said.
The teasing had left her voice. I waited. Dani addressed me rather than Rose.
“I’ve trained for the Lake City Marathon twice,” she said. “I started both races. I don’t have an official finish.”
Her answer was simple enough that it took me a moment to understand why she had avoided it.
“You completed zero marathons,” I said.
“Zero official marathons.”
“What does official mean in that sentence?”
“It means I didn’t cross the finish line.”
Tessa’s gaze moved between us. I kept mine on Dani.
“What happened?”
“The first time, I got sick on the course.”
