Tugging the afghan a little higher on her lap, Mattie took a big swig of her wine. "'Old' being the operative word. That's not who I am anymore. Besides, if it can help somebody else, even if it's just one person, it'll be worth it."
Claudia, about to take a sip, lowered her glass. "Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?"
Recalling Dianne's reaction to her first column on the topic, Mattie frowned and replied, "You know, I'm getting a lot of that lately."
"Admit it. Nick's been a good influence on you. If this is how you're feeling after just eight weeks, I can only imagine how you'll feel in ten months."
"Nine," Mattie yawned as she stared into the fireplace.
"All right. Nine."
"You know, I've been trying to imagine what it will be like, crossing the finish line at the marathon. I actually have nightmares about it. People laughing at me."
"But you have Nick," Claudia cried. "He won't let that happen. You said it yourself in your article. He's going to be with you every step of the way."
Mattie grimaced. "In my nightmares, he's the one laughing."
The next morning, Mattie woke up, bleary-eyed. Lifting her head from the couch cushion, she tried to remember where she was. The answer came to her slowly, poking its way through the cotton webbing that seemed to have enveloped her brain.
Claud and Tom's, but what day is it?
"Saturday," a little voice in her head whispered.
Groaning, she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Her head throbbed, and her stomach threatened to do terrible things. Checking her phone, she saw that it was 7:45.She had slept right through her alarm.
Oh no.
She considered texting Nick to tell him she was sick, but after their exchange the day before, the last thing she wanted to do was validate any suspicions he had about her. Before attempting to stand, she tried recalling what she could of the discussion she had with her sister just hours before. They never did get around to watching any movies. It wasn't until the two empty bottles came into focus in front of her that she remembered.
It had taken half of the first bottle for her to admit to Claudia that it was a bad idea to let Nick believe she was married. It took half of the second bottle for her to realize that Nick not being anything like his brother wasn't such a bad thing after all.
After changing into her running clothes and downing a couple of aspirins, she ducked out the back door. In one hand, she clutched her water bottle, in the other, her train pass.
Once on the train, she tried filtering out the sounds of other people talking and the rattle of her seat as they sped over the rails. Looking out the window only revived the nauseous sensation she felt when she woke up.
The more she remembered, the more she realized she shared way more than she should have with her sister. Worse, she didn't feel any better off for having done so. All she wanted to do was go home, crawl under her covers, wake up on Monday morning, and go to work.
That Claudia maintained the upper hand throughout their conversation didn't surprise her. After just one glass of wine, her role morphed from inquisitor to confessor.
So Mattie should have nipped Nick's misunderstanding of her marital status in the bud. But she didn't. She tried explaining to her older, authentically married sister that her faux marital status was her armor, and her ring was her shield. It was when Claudia tried opening her eyes to the fact that Nick might have feelings for her—other than animosity and disdain—that she began to lose her grip on both.
"And," the elder sibling concluded before calling it a night, "you're going to blow it because you're afraid of getting hurt again."
She rested her head against the back of her seat and waited for the aspirin to kick in.
By the time her train pulled into her station, she was filled with dread. The blissful buzz she enjoyed just hours before was a very distant memory.
Clutching the staircase railing as she descended to the street, she took one step at a time, doing her best to minimize any swaying. Her sunglasses did little to shield her aching eyes from the morning sun or the sight of Nick pacing back and forth on the sidewalk below, alternately checking every direction, then his phone.
To say he looked a little agitated would be like saying the Grand Canyon looked a little impressive.
Mattie froze. After doing a stellar job adhering to Nick's list of commands, she blew it all on one wanton evening of sibling bonding, complete with soul-baring confessions, and way too much cabernet. Still sporting smudged makeup from the day before, she hadn't even taken the time to brush her teeth. Her thoughts flip-flopped between, "He's gonna quit," and "I think I'm gonna be sick."
Spotting her, Nick stormed over to the stairwell and waited. He did not look pleased. When she was two steps from the bottom, he opened his mouth and seethed, "Do you have any idea how"
But before he could say another word, she held up her hand. "I know. I'm late. I'm sorry."
Her apology did little to dampen his anger.
"Why didn't you return my texts or answer your phone?"
Mattie patted her hands over her empty pockets, covered her throbbing temples with her hands and groaned, "Oh no. I forgot it."
Standing eye-to-sunglass-covered-eye, Nick lowered his voice and stared hard, trying to look past his reflection in her lenses. "Did the thought even cross your mind that I might be worried about you?"
Mattie cringed. She couldn't tell who he was more upset with—her or himself.
"Can you please stop yelling at me? I already apologized."
Apparently beside himself, Nick shook his head and stared at his shoes for a moment. When he raised his eyes to hers, he asked under his breath, "It's not like you to be late and not let me know. What's the matter with you? Are you all right?"
He still looked like he was ready to haul off and punch something.
The last thing she wanted to do was admit to Nick, the bastion of all things healthy and disciplined, that she was hung over.
The last thing she wanted him to do was quit on her. The thought of tanking yet another relationship made her stomach take a nauseous tumble.
When her only response was to bite down on her lower lip, he reached over and lifted the sunglasses off of her face.
Unable to look him in the eye, she took a deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth.
Nicks lips curled into a disgusted sneer, "Have you been drinking?"
Lifting her chin, Mattie said nothing. Instead, she tugged her sunglasses from his hands and returned them to their rightful place, hoping to shield the blow she knew was due her.
A vision of restraint, Nick's tone was firm, his message pointed.
"Your first race is a week from today. I'm going to ask you one more time, are you all right?"
Mattie nodded. It took everything in her to stifle the self-pitying sob she had been holding back since she got off the train. "Sorry. I won't let you down again."
Finding a crumpled tissue in her pocket, she turned away from him to dab at her nose. When she turned to face him again, she took off her glasses and looked him in the eye. "I mean it."
Nick relaxed his shoulders, and the scorn left his face.
"You haven't let me down," he said quietly. "We all make mistakes." He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. "Speaking of which, I owe you an apology for the way I acted yesterday. We agreed to keep this strictly business, and I crossed the line."
Who are you and what have you done with Nick DeRosa?
"No worries," she whispered.
Holding out his hand for her to complete her descent, he asked, "Think you can manage a walk?"
"Yeah, to a coffee shop."
"Don't push it."
Two blocks later, he was back in full coach mode. "Come on, Mattie. Longer strides, you've got to get your heart rate up, otherwise we're just wasting our time here."
Feeling all was once again right with her new normal world, she smiled. Despite having fallen off the ma
rathon-training wagon, Nick had yanked her right back on.
She quickened her pace.
"Whatever you say, Coach."
* * *
Dawn broke on the morning of the 5k through a glorious red and orange infused sunrise. Mattie sprang out of bed before her alarm went off and put on her brand new running gear. The matching tights and jacket, dark grey with purple accents, were a gift from Claudia as a means of showing her support and apologizing for getting her baby sister drunk the weekend before. But first, she pulled on two gifts from Dianne—a long-sleeved T-shirt and matching black knit headband with "Team Plate Spinner" printed across the front and the Gazette logo on the back.
Catching a reflection of herself in the mirror affixed to the back of her bedroom door, she groaned, "I can't believe I'm doing this."
She laced up her shoes and headed to Old Town, a storied neighborhood south of where she lived, to meet Nick at the corner of North Avenue and Southport Street. From there, they'd walk the remaining blocks to the event together.
She arrived before him and stood watching runners make their way to the registration table on Wells Street, a north-south thoroughfare that was blocked off for the run. While she waited, the skies began to cloud over and the wind picked up. A few snowflakes danced through the air.
Runners were everywhere, some wearing more layers than others, but nearly all had their heads and hands covered. Mattie folded her arms across her chest and began bouncing up and down to stay warm. It occurred to her that she had no idea how Nick was getting there. Come to think of it, she had no idea where he even lived. He just told her where to be and always showed up before she arrived.
A knot began forming in her stomach. She reached for her cell phone to see if he had called or texted. Nothing.
Weird.
She texted him.
"Where are you?"
Staring at her phone, she waited for his reply. Scores of runners began passing by, laughing and chatting, making their way to the registration table. She checked her watch. Thirty minutes until the start time and they still had to pick up their packets and warm up.
Where is he?
The thought of shuffling for three point two miles alone in a crowd of strangers unnerved her. She'd just as soon go back home and crawl under her blankets than endure the embarrassment of huffing and puffing her way through the course solo.
"Hey, Mattie."
Turning in the direction of the voice, she was disappointed to see Charlie Clarke, a staff photographer from the Gazette.
"Hey, Charlie. What are you doing here?"
"Crenshaw sent me. Wants shots of you during the race, at the finish line, and with your family at the after party."
Mattie gulped. "My family?"
"Yeah, he's planning a big spread for your first race."
Feeling like she was in an elevator plunging a dozen flights a second, she stammered, "Well, uh, Charlie, my family isn't here."
Not cutting her a break, he asked, "Can you call 'em? Les insisted."
"No, I can't."
"Why not?"
Because they don't exist.
"Because," she tried formulating a viable excuse that Les would buy, "well, they, have a thing."
Charlie made a face, "Huh?"
"You heard her, pal. Her family has a thing."
It was Nick.
Mattie lit up. "Hey."
Nick gave her a nod. "Sorry I'm late. The train was packed."
"That's OK."
Trying not to let him see how happy she was that he showed up was more of a struggle than she expected. It wouldn't have surprised her in the least if witnesses later reported having seen her levitate just a few inches.
"Who are you?" Charlie asked, looking small and seedy as he stood next to Nick.
"Her coach. Nick DeRosa." He held out his hand, and Charlie shook it vigorously.
"Oh, hey, nice to meet you. I used to cover you in high school. You were outstanding, man. Just outstanding."
"He still is," Mattie interjected frowning. "Just you watch."
The two men looked at her, surprised at her ferocity.
With that, the trio made their way to the registration table. Rifling through her packet, Mattie pulled out a dri-FIT shirt with the race logo on the front and the event sponsors listed on the back. She held it in front of her and posed for Charlie.
She pulled out her bib number next.
Dangling it in front of her, she asked, "What do I do with this?"
Nick took the envelope from her. "Oh, here. There should be safety pins in there. Let me see."
After digging them out, he started pinning it to her T-shirt, just below "Team Plate Spinner."
She marveled at the way the sun glinted off his hair, making it seem more dark strawberry blonde than brown. She never noticed that with Eddie's hair, maybe because he always had so much product in it.
She held out her arms as he anchored the first corner of the square. With his face precariously close to her left breast, Charlie's camera clicked all around them. Other runners paused as they walked by to see if a celebrity was in their midst.
Mattie wondered if this was anything like the corsage-pinning photo sessions she missed out on in high school.
"You poke me, you die."
He stopped what he was doing and looked up at her. "You know how many of these I've pinned on in my life? I could do this in my sleep. Now hold still."
It only took him a minute.
"There. Now you're official. Time to warm up."
Noticing Nick had neither a bib nor a packet, she said, "Hold on. Where's yours?"
He frowned. "I'm not running this. You are."
Mattie clutched his arm and pulled him close.
"What do you mean you're not running?" she whispered. "I'm not doing this by myself. I can't."
Looking puzzled, Nick asked, "Are you nervous? Don't be. You can do this. I'll see you at the finish line."
His ambivalence unnerved her. In full fly-or-fight mode, she gripped his arm like it was the only thing between her and a slow painful death. "I gave up drinking coffee for you. I swapped pizza for produce," she sputtered, "and this is what I get in return?"
Nick tried to explain, "Mattie, think about it. Coaches don't run with their team. They stay on the sidelines and, well, coach."
She knew he was right, but it never occurred to her that she'd have to go it alone.
Releasing his arm, she growled, "Fine."
Nick smiled and checked his watch. "I tell ya what—I'll warm up with you and then, like I said, I'll watch for you at the finish line, ok?"
She shuddered against a cold gust of wind. The day that had started so full of promise suddenly seemed quite the opposite.
"Beggars can't be choosers," she muttered.
"That's right. Come on."
He led her to an open pocket on the sidewalk where they could stretch. When they finished, he walked with her to the starting line, reciting pointers all along the way.
"Now, remember, don't gulp your air. Just breathe like I taught you. Nice and easy. Find your rhythm and keep your pace slow, but steady. The goal is to finish without stopping, no matter how long it takes. And don't pay attention to anybody else around you. Just take it a mile at a time, OK?"
She nodded and gave him one last pleading look.
In the midst of the loud, enthusiastic crowd of runners milling under the balloon-festooned start line, many of whom were wearing "Team Plate Spinner" paraphernalia, he took her by the shoulders, leaned down and spoke into her ear. "Listen. Your hard work got you here, not me. No matter how you do, I want you to know I'm really proud of you. Even if you come in last."
She squinted and shouted, "What?"
As the crowd pressed against them, Nick took her face in his hands and, emphasizing each word, said, "You can do this."
"Nice one," Charlie exclaimed, holding his camera in front of his face.
Annoyed at the intrusion, Nick stood straight up
, gave her one last nod, and disappeared into the crowd.
When the start gun went off, Mattie was no longer afraid of being embarrassed; she was afraid of being trampled. Runners of all shapes, sizes, and ages seemed to be flying past her on either side. Doing her best not to panic, she fell into her familiar shuffling stride and followed the crowd running ahead of her. A fog of their warm breath hitting the cold February air floated behind them.
Recalling the course map Nick had shown her, she knew she'd have to run south for a few blocks, then head east toward Lake Michigan, then back north, and finally west to Wells. Before long, the bulk of the runners were out of sight. When she turned the first corner and only spotted a few in her line of vision, she wondered if she had made a wrong turn. By the time she rounded the second corner, she was convinced that someone had mis-measured the course.
This is way longer than three point two miles.
But, still, she plodded on, careful not to rush. She concentrated on her breathing, praying for patience and endurance.
As she turned onto what she presumed was the last leg of the run, she wondered if she was the only runner left on the course. She wondered, too, if the finish-line balloon archway would be dismantled long before she got there. Would the spectators be gone, too, leaving nothing but heaps of empty plastic water bottles in their wake? Even Charlie might get tired of waiting, but she knew Nick wouldn't abandon her. She imagined finding him alone, staring with his stopwatch while he awaited her arrival.
Not seeing anyone on either side of her, she started obsessing whether anyone was actually behind her or if she was indeed destined to come in last.
Don't pay attention to anyone else around you.
Mattie glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone could possibly be running slower than she was. Much to her surprise, she saw several people in her wake. Some were pushing baby strollers. Some were even walking. Some, like her, were just shuffling along.
Seeing at least two with shirts that read, "Team Plate Spinner" on them, she smiled and waved.
"Keep it up," she called over her shoulder.
"You, too," they yelled back.
The well wishes echoed in her muffled ears.
I made the team.
False Start Page 12