Page 61 of Your Pace Or Mine

My spirit deflates. I get that he’s sick, but it seems too convenient. Maybe he didn’t want to come after all. Even if he really is unwell, it’s frustrating that we keep having setbacks. And now I’m stuck going to this couples’ dinner party alone.

If only the internet could see me now: Miss Midtown, permanent singleton, trying not to cry on Yonge Street after yet another love letdown. I walk toward the coffee shop hoping to grab Stevie before she leaves so I can bail on the whole thing. I catch her at the door and pull her aside.

“So, Jared’s not coming after all.” I thought I was keeping my disappointment in check, but her face morphs immediately into concern, so I hurriedly add, “He’s coming down with something.”

“That’s too bad! We were looking forward to meeting him.” She gives me a pitying look. “Do you want me to invite Jason or Victor so you won’t be alone?”

Her pity turns my stomach to acid. So this is a couples’ thing. I don’t want to be everyone’s project, and I’m annoyed that she didn’t think to suggest Sebastian, even though I’m closer to him than the guys. I’m going to be the odd one out while the happy pairs gaze into each other’s eyes and call each other sappy pet names. At least if Bash is there, we can send each other snarky looks.

“I don’t want one of them to be my pity date,” I reply, hoping she won’t press me, because the truth is I can’t handle it. “It’s better if I don’t come. Now you’ll only have real couples and no fifth wheel.” I keep my tone light, but her expression tells me she isn’t fooled.

“You aren’t a fifth wheel, Ash. You’re our friend, and we invited you all as friends.”

“Sure, but …” I trail off, not wanting to have this conversation where she insists that I’m welcome when I know I’m inconvenient.

She squeezes my arm. “Ash, I’m sorry if it felt like you needed a date to come. Blame Andy. He likes to have even numbers for things. You’re welcome on your own.”

I snort a little too loudly, and she widens her eyes. “It’s better without me. Laurel and Cal can meet couple friends and talk about napkins for ages without me dragging down the mood.”

Stevie raises her eyebrows, but her voice is soft when she responds. “Look, I know Laurel’s been in a mood recently, and that napkin thread was ridiculous. But she’s a graphic designer. Is it really surprising she has opinions on patterns?”

I never thought about it that way. Stevie continues. “There’s a lot of big changes, and I get that it’s an adjustment for you, but Laurel is adjusting too. It’s nice to see her making her own choices instead of taking her family’s cast-off furniture all the time like she doesn’t deserve more, even if it does mean a lot of boring-ass texts about table decorations or her new bedding.”

She has a point. Laurel has been growing in the past year, and it’s not all to do with Cal. As her friend, I want her to own her choices, but I didn’t realize how lonely it is to end up the cheerleader all the time.

“Okay, you’re right. But I can’t come tonight. Please let me be a hermit in peace.”

I’m looking down at my running shoes like I can’t even bear to see my friend’s response to me being such a huge brat. She keeps talking in a soothing mom-tone that I assume she uses when her kids have meltdowns.

“Ash, of course it’s okay, but please don’t make me the bad guy and tell yourself I don’t want you there. Obviously, I jumped the gun. I wanted an excuse to meet Jared, and we invited you all because you’re our friends. Then I thought it would be nice to introduce you to our neighbors. If you can’t come or don’t want to, that’s your business, and I won’t make a big deal about it, but pulling away from us because you’ve convinced yourself that you have to is your choice.”

“I’m not pulling away,” I almost stomp my foot on the ground out of frustration because I’m so tired of this conversation. Just let me feel sorry for myself.

“Okay,” Stevie replies, her measured calm infuriating. “Maybe I misread things.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” I snap back, thinking about all the conversations lately where I had nothing to say. Times Laurel has mentioned things in passing that she forgot to tell me, even though we used to share everything. “Everyone is moving on, and there’s just me.”

“No one is moving on. It’s not a video game where you move from level to level. God, I sound like my husband.” She shakes her head. “That’s life. I understand it’s an adjustment process for everyone. You and Laurel were each other’s default person for a long time, and it’s hard for you to see someone else moving into that role. I wish you’d talk about it with me and her instead of acting huffy and pushing everyone away.”

Something in her description of Laurel as my default person strikes a chord and makes tears well up. It makes so much sense. When I had to go to the ER for appendicitis a few years ago, it was Laurel who took me and sat by my bed for hours because my mom lives two hours away. We’ve shown up at all hours of the day or night to deal with broken hearts, drop off food, rage against evil bosses or insensitive family members, and just taken care of each other. Now she has Cal to do most of that. What kind of jerk am I for begrudging her that? I don’t know where I fit right now, and it hurts.

Stevie watches my face as I work through all these thoughts. “Do you know why I hang out with you girls, Ash?”

This seems rather obvious. “Because you like running.”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s why I joined the Milers. I came out because I wanted to do something for me. Ethan was so little, and I was losing my mind with two small children, so I decided I wanted to try running again.”

I remember her coming to her first run exhausted from late nights and early mornings. She had trouble keeping up with the group’s speed, but she never quit. Back then, we were almost all young and single; we’d arrive to the runs slightly hungover, then spend half the time discussing all our Saturday night plans. I was shocked she didn’t get sick of us.

“I hang out with you and Laurel because of who you are. Because when I came to the group and I didn’t fit in, this thirtysomething mom with milk stains on my shirt and bags under my eyes, you ran with me and listened to me swear and treated me like I was one of you. You let me be me and not just Hannah and Ethan’s mom. I never had to worry that you were judging my potty mouth or the fact that my kids are addicted to their iPads or my obsession with K-pop stars half my age or whatever. If I wanted couple friends, I could hang out with a million other moms that I meet at my kids’ school or at Kindergym or ballet. Andy and I socialize with them sometimes—well, at least the ones who don’t have sticks up their asses—but none of them are you. I get why you don’t want to come to dinner, and I’m not hurt. But don’t push us away because you’ve decided we don’t want you around. We love you.”

I don’t have anything to say. I put an arm around Stevie and let her pull me into a sweaty hug. She’s right that I’m not being fair to her or Laurel, and I’m not sure how to fix that.

“If you want my advice, talk to Laurel. Find your new normal. Friendships take work, but both of you care enough to put the effort in. Don’t just cut everyone out.”

I think it over on my walk home, but don’t want to upset Laurel and make her feel guilty about finding the right person. Like Stevie said, she’s adjusting too, and I don’t want to be a burden. I’ll drift around on the sidelines for now until I figure stuff out.

Miss Midtown Reel (with transcript)