“I want to know you’re okay,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I care about you.”
“You cared about me while you were falling in love with someone else.”
“It wasn’t that simple.”
“It rarely is for the person benefiting from the complexity.”
Her grip tightened on the railing. “I never said I left because you were predictable.”
“You said you needed a life that surprised you.”
“That was about me.”
“You told me I was afraid to take risks.”
“What was I supposed to do with that?”
She turned toward me. “I wanted you to want more.”
“I wanted you.”
Evelyn looked away first. The music and conversation behind us sharpened for several seconds.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I believed she meant it. That was the worst part. Evelyn was not cruel in every moment. She had loved me in the way she knew how. She had also lied, withdrawn, and made me feel responsible for not being exciting enough to keep her attention. Both things could be true.
She glanced back toward the party. “I do hope you’ve found something that feels exciting. Something that’s yours.”
“I have.”
I answered before I understood why.
Evelyn looked interested. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Across the street, the billboard changed again. A group of runners appeared beneath a burst of confetti. Twenty-six point two miles. Five months away. A distance so unreasonable it barely felt real.
“I’m training for the Lake City Marathon,” I said.
Evelyn stared at me. The satisfaction of surprising her lasted almost two seconds. Then my brain caught up with my mouth.
“You’re running a marathon?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“When did you start running?”
“Recently.”
“How recently?”
