Page 56 of Your Pace Or Mine

Ashley smiles at me. “You’re the best, Bash.”

That couldn’t be further from the truth, but I smile anyway.

On the weekend, I take a rideshare at the crack of dawn to run with Ashley and her friends, hoping to do at least five kilometers this time. Her friend Mark, who hasn’t talked to me much but seems genuinely glad every time I run a little farther, says we can pivot to do two five-kilometer loops. That way I won’t have to split off so early. I’m touched that he’s willing to reroute everyone just for me.

“Sure, if you don’t mind, but please don’t feel like you have to.”

“I want to. Part of why I run this group is to help new runners find their footing.” He gives an embarrassed grin. “Sorry, I’m an engineer. Puns are what I do.”

I keep up with the group for most of the first loop and start to lag on the home stretch. I see Ashley look over like she’s about to slow down for me, but Cal hangs back with me instead. He doesn’t say much, probably because it’s obvious that I still have trouble talking and running at the same time. I manage to bring up the turntable Ashley mentioned, and he happily tells me about sound quality. He’s a more interesting guy than I initially gave him credit for. I sense he could talk my ear off about vinyl, but he’s holding back since I can barely respond to yes or no questions. Still, it’s good to have someone to listen to—it distracts me from my quads and how they’re wondering if I’ve lost my mind.

“You have good taste,” I finally huff out after he tells me about some rare Led Zeppelin LP he found.

“Thanks.” He gives a little shrug. I can tell he’s not the kind of poser who wants to brag about his finds. He genuinely enjoys this stuff.

“Ashley always forces me to listen to emo bands from the 2000s. Lots of Dashboard Confessional and My Chemical Romance. Either that or show tunes, but I can only take so much Andrew Lloyd Webber.”

“There’s a lot of Lady Gaga in our apartment …” Cal trails off like he doesn’t like it, but the way he looks over at Laurel, I suspect he’d listen to “Baby Shark” on repeat all day if that’s what she wanted. Even the way he said “our apartment” reminds me of Seth’s goofy smile since the engagement. Ashley wasn’t kidding that these two have got it bad.

I glance at Cal, whose gaze is still on Laurel. Ashley told me he was married before, to his first girlfriend. He moved to Toronto when his marriage fell apart. It seems so wild to marry the first person you ever dated. By my late teens, I was already the most notorious flirt in my high school. The guy to hide in a dark corner with at a dance, but not someone you brought home to a family dinner. How do people jump right in and commit from the get-go? Is it because their families aren’t a mess like mine? I don’t know why I’m thinking about this—I can’t change the past.

My mouth is moving before I can stop it. “What’s your dad like?”

Cal turns his head, brow furrowed. “My dad?”

“Sorry,” I sputter, made worse by the fact that I’m not great at running and talking. “That was out of left field. My father resurfaced lately after being pretty absent. I guess he’s on my mind.”

We run in silence for a moment. I wonder if I’ve offended Cal somehow, but then he speaks. “He’s old school, you could say. Keep your head down, suck it up, do the work, that kind of thing. He’d never admit that he misses me, but I know he does by the way he asks when I’ll be coming up to help with the yard work this spring. I used to be more like him, but it turns out that just sucking it up doesn’t make all your problems go away.”

There’s pain in his voice, but he shakes it off before I can decide if I’m supposed to respond. “My ex tried for over a decade to turn him into a hugger but never succeeded.” He chuckles. “Does that answer your question?”

It does but it adds more. It’s clear his family wasn’t the group hug, matching pajamas type, but at least his dad was around. I’m fascinated by the mention of his ex, though. How do people like him pick up and move on after that kind of drama? My dad always bounces back, but his affections are never more than a few inches deep. If they come up in conversation at all, any former flames are described as clingy, misguided, or just plain crazy. God forbid you mention he’s the common denominator. My only real ex is Brianna, and she opted for a scorched-earth policy when we broke up. To this day, even the name Brianna makes me cringe. Cal talking warmly about his former wife blows my mind.

Ash and Laurel are running ahead, chatting and laughing. I wonder what it’s like to have that kind of friendship where you share anything and everything the way they do, even if sometimes there’s drama and tension. I’m clearly grasping at anything to distract me from the pain of running—thankfully we’ll be done our run before I turn this into a therapy session.

When we make it back to the starting point, part of the group is waiting around to begin their second loop. Ashley comes over to me, but I wave her off. “Go and run with your friends. I have to get going anyway.”

Ashley hesitates, but I push, not wanting to separate her from her crew again. From the way my thoughts are bouncing around my head today, it’s better to be alone with my reflections instead of blurting them out again to the nearest person. Plus, she’s going through some stuff with Laurel, and they need time to hang out without me.

We say goodbye, and I head toward the subway with too much on my mind.

I arrive at Mom’s around two-thirty and my sister Penelope shows up shortly after. I roped her into coming because I need to tell Mom about my dad’s sudden parental overtures before something slips out by accident, and I hope Penny can diffuse any tension. We agreed on this time to spare my mom feeling like she has to feed us, but of course she’s got something in the crockpot already. Best laid plans and all that.

It’s a nice day, finally starting to warm up, so we all go for a walk around the neighborhood, even though my body would prefer to be reclined after today’s run. I stifle a yawn as we round the corner of my mom’s street on the way back.

“Late night?” Penny asks, eyebrow raised.

“Nope, more like an early morning. I went running in midtown.”

“Wow, again! Please don’t start wearing neon tights and talking my ear off about chafing.”

“That seems oddly specific,” I say with a chuckle.

“I dated that marathoner, remember? She was super hot but the gels and the shoes and the early mornings were too much. Plus, in training season, she was always too tired and sore to do anything after her long runs.”

I try to exercise enough self-restraint not to make an off-color comment in front of my mother, so I catch her eye and mouth, “Sore, eh?” to watch her cringe.

“I even registered for a 5K in June, the Pride Run,” I add, to take the conversation away from my sister’s ex. Ashley sent me the link last week. I signed up right away and dragged Seth along with me. Ever since then, she’s been emailing me rainbow running gear and my targeted ads assume bright hues and sparkles are part of my aesthetic.