by Kelly Myers
“Yeah, but I’m the one putting in the work,” I say.
“Does it look like I’m not working right now?” he gasps.
I smirk.
“Setting the pace is much harder than following the pace,” I say.
Michael rolls his eyes, but he’s getting too winded to argue with me. Good.
“I want a 50-50 split,” I say.
Then, just to be a little bit mean, I up my pace. Michael wheezes, but he keeps up with me.
We run in silence for a bit. I looked up the route the night before, so I know when we hit the halfway mark.
“We’ve got less than a mile,” I say.
“Thank God,” Michael says.
I slow my pace. I want to make sure I have the energy to finish strong.
“I actually have a better idea,” Michael says.
“Huh?”
“For the money,” he says.
He pauses for a few strides as he catches his breath again. It’s funny seeing him winded like this. Usually he’s so suave, and his every sentence comes out sounding perfect. Now he needs to take a break every few words. It makes me feel a little more in control of everything.
“We pick one of the nicest steakhouses in Chicago,” he says. “And we just ball out.”
I keep my eyes ahead as he catches his breath again.
“We treat ourselves,” he continues. “Cocktails, appetizers, dessert, the works.”
I want to say yes. I want to say yes so badly.
“That sounds fun,” I say.
Instantaneous guilt hits me like a ton of bricks. It’s not a date though. It’s a fun dinner with a coworker. Just a normal dinner.
Then I look up at Michael and see him grinning like an idiot, even as he struggles to keep running.
“This is nice, Zo,” he says. “You and me. I feel like –”
“I’m going to sprint to the finish.”
I had to cut him off. He was about to get personal. And he can’t do that. I’ve worked too hard to see each other as friends. Just friends.
“Ok,” he says.
“I think we’re ahead of everyone else, just don’t fall too far behind,” I say.
Then I take off. The finish line is in sight, and I push myself to my full speed, even though my legs are feeling heavy.
I see Kapinsky’s back ahead of me, and for a second, I get hopeful. If I can just catch up to him, I’ll win. Michael will lose the bet. There will be no $200. No fancy dinner that I’ll have to say no to, even though it sounds like the ideal evening.
My lungs are protesting, but I force myself to go faster. I’m almost there, so close.
And then Kapinsky crosses the finish line.
A few seconds later, I’m done as well. I walk to the side and come to a stop.
“Hey Zoe, you made it in good time!” Kapinksy shouts.
He looks like he just had a pleasant walk in the park. Meanwhile I’m breathing so hard, I can barely lift my hand to acknowledge him.
But I’m too late. I turn and see Michael a few yards back.
As soon as he crosses the finish line, he steps to the side and bends over to put his hands on his knees.
I join him. He looks up and gestures at us.
“I won the bet,” he says. “My strategy worked.”
He’s so proud of himself that I have to smile. I still can’t go to that dinner with him. It’s too much of a risk. I like to think that I have self-control, but I know I’ll likely end up kissing him again.
And that’s not me. Not anymore. I’ve spent too long convincing myself that me and Michael are impossible. There are too many good reasons to nip all his romantic notions in the bud.
Michael stands up. He’s fully recovered his breath.
“Alright, let’s go find those coffee and donuts,” he says.
I look over to the tables that are laid with treats for the runners.
“I can’t stick around,” I say. “I’ve got a date later.”
I don’t actually have a date with Dean tonight since we had dinner last night, but I can’t put this off anymore.
Michael rolls his eyes and steps closer. I draw back.
“I’m seeing this guy.” I can’t stop now. I have to follow through. “His name is Dean, and he’s a lawyer, and he’s good for me. He’s appropriate.”
“Appropriate? Are you serious right now?”
Michael keeps his voice low, but he’s seething.
“Yes, I am serious,” I say. “One of us has to be.”
Michael recoils as if I’ve slapped him. He gives me a hard look that makes my blood run cold. I want to tell him not to act as if I’ve betrayed him. I’ve done nothing wrong. But I can’t find the words so I just cross my arms across my chest.
He throws up his arms.
“Fine,” he says. “Do what you want.”
He turns on his heel and walks towards the coffee table.
I stand still as runner after runner rushes past me.
I remind myself that I only did what was required to be done.
After a few minutes of watching the runners blur by me, I turn and head towards home.
I did what had to be done. I followed the plan to a T.
I just didn’t expect it to feel so awful.
18
Dean texts me early on Sunday.
It’s a simple greeting: Good morning! How was the 3k yesterday?
Not too personal, not too stiff. The exact right text to send to someone you’ve been dating for two weeks.
It brings me no joy.
I should have texted him yesterday after the run. It would have been the nice and enthusiastic thing to do. Instead I took a very long shower and then curled up in bed and watched random videos all afternoon.
I’m not very enthusiastic about Dean. It feels awful to admit, but it’s the truth.
I still have to reply to his text though. I may be in a sulky mood, but I’m not going to ghost the guy, especially since he knows Beatrice.
I compose a text and hit send:
It was fun!
He texts back right away asking if I have any plans. I answer telling him I’m having brunch with my friends in Lincoln Park. I’m glad we made the plan. I don’t want Dean to suggest a coffee date.
Of course, I could invite him to join. After three dates, it’s the ideal time for him to meet my friends in a casual and no-pressure environment.
I’m sick of being perfect though. I’m tired of trying to argue with myself over how Dean is such a good candidate for my heart. Clearly, my heart is stupid and not ready for any sort of commitment.
Then again, it feels dangerous to cut Dean loose. Right now, he’s my protection from Michael.
The logic sounds cold, even to my ears.
I roll out of bed and start to get dressed. The girls will know what to do.
We found the perfect Sunday brunch spot a few years ago. It’s got great poached eggs, amazing waffles, and it’s under-the-radar which means that there aren’t long lines or wait times. It’s not too fancy either, so I don’t feel bad as I walk the few blocks in a wrinkled T-shirt and frayed blue jeans.
Beatrice and Elena are already sitting at a table near the window when I arrive.
I feel a pulse of comfort when I see Beatrice sipping her black coffee, and Elena smiling over the newspaper she’s been skimming.
No matter how bad things get, at least I have them.
“Good morning!” Elena has a bright yellow headband in her hair, and her chipper disposition tells me that she’s been up for hours. She’s an early-riser.
“Hey.” Beatrice’s slow nod indicates that this is only her first cup of coffee, and she’s going to need at least one more before she’s fully awake.
“I told him,” I say.
Elena gasps aloud, and Beatrice raises her brows.
“I told Michael about Dean.” I shiver as I remember the look of disgust on Michael’s face. “It was awful.”
Elena reaches
out and gives my hand a sympathetic pat. Beatrice just cocks her head and gives me a quizzical gaze.
“Well, now it’s over,” Elena says. “You can both move on.”
“What made it so awful?” The glint in Beatrice’s eyes means that she’s seeing way more than I want her to.
“It was just awkward.” I glance up at the waitress as she fills my cup. “I don’t know, he was just upset.”
“Of course he was upset, but that was the goal,” Beatrice says.
I fiddle with the edge of the menu and pretend to be contemplating the options even though I’m going to order the Eggs Benedict, just as I’ve done every other time we’ve had brunch.
“How did you bring it up?” Elena gives Beatrice a look as if to silently tell her to be nice. Beatrice lets out a small sigh, but relents.
“While we were running,” I say. “He was suggesting going for dinner again, so I had to.”
“Good.” Beatrice drums her fingers across the table. “So you’re done. Mission accomplished.”
I chew on my lower lip and look up at my friends.
“I don’t want to see Dean again,” I mumble. “I’m just not feeling it.”
They respond to my confession with total silence. Elena blinks her massive brown eyes a few times, and Beatrice purses her lips.
The awkward silence is broken by Marianne bustling across the restaurant and throwing herself into a chair.
“I am so hungover.” Marianne pushes her massive sunglasses into her tangled hair slouches over the table. “I went out after the show last night, and I didn’t get home until 3 in the morning, I’m an idiot when I take tequila shots.”
Beatrice smirks.
“I seem to remember you having that same realization before.”
Marianne shoots her a sour look and then waves the waitress over for coffee. We all place our orders. It’s tradition that no matter how late Marianne is, we still don’t order until she arrives. It ensures that Marianne always manages to get to brunch at a semi-reasonable time.
“And I have the closing shift at the coffee shop this afternoon,” Marianne groans. “So my day is going terrible, what about you guys?”
“Oh, you know,” Beatrice says. “Zoe is just self-sabotaging her entire career and throwing out a guy who is perfect for her in every way, so it’s a pretty tame Sunday.”
Marianne props her head in her hands and looks at me with interest. “You don’t like Dean anymore?”
“I’m not self-sabotaging, it’s just not fair for me to see Dean when I’m not that interested.” I start to twist my napkin in my hands. Beatrice is not going to be sympathetic to my plight at all.
“You’re not interested because you’re crushing on a guy who is totally off-limits.” Beatrice’s tone is so sharp it could cut glass.
I flinch. I love how Beatrice tells it how it is, and I need her bluntness right now, but it can still hurt.
“She shouldn’t continue to date Dean if she doesn’t like him,” Elena says. “That’s not fair.”
“She could like him if she forgets about Michael,” Beatrice grumbles.
A spark of anger ignites in my chest. Beatrice is acting like it’s easy to just forget someone. I don’t have a switch I can turn on or off.
“Why do you care so much about Dean’s feelings?” I ask. “If he’s so great, you can date him.”
Beatrice scoffs and crosses her arms.
“I don’t care about Dean, I care about you.”
As soon as I hear the passion in her voice, I feel bad about snapping at her. Beatrice is right, after all. My actions have consequences, and if I keep holding onto my attraction to Michael, it’s not going to end well.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You’re right.”
“I wish I wasn’t.” Beatrice twists her mouth into a wry grin.
“Ok, now that we’re in agreement, let’s cool it with the sniping.” Marianne touches her pointer to her forehead. “It’s giving me a headache.”
Elena giggles and pulls a bottle out of her purse.
“Take some Advil and quit whining.” Elena pushes the pills towards Marianne, and Marianne gratefully accepts.
The food comes right at that moment, and we all greet it with excitement. Once we’ve dug in, Elena takes charge.
“You’ll have to end things with Dean, but you can’t go running back to have wild sex with Michael on top of a desk or something.”
I turn bright red.
“It was in the bathroom, not on a desk.”
Beatrice smirks at my weak defense.
“Michael is way too messy,” Elena says. “You just have to stay away.”
“Unless you think he’s worth it.” Marianne speaks around a huge mouthful of waffles.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Marianne finishes chewing and then swallows.
“You know, is it the real deal? The once-in-a-lifetime kind of love. The Big One?”
“This isn’t a movie,” Beatrice says.
“How am I supposed to know that?” Her words put me in a panic. I don’t know the first thing about identifying true love or deciding what kind of connection only occurs once in a lifetime. There’s no guidebook for that.
“Ok, forget I said anything.” Marianne holds up her hands and returns to her waffles.
“Are you sure you can’t suffer through a few more dates with Dean?” Beatrice asks. “He could be a good distraction.”
“Bea, that’s messed up.” Elena, ever the moral compass of the group, gives Beatrice’s shoulder a light shove.
I slice into my second poached egg and watch the yellow yolk soak into the toast. I’ve already written this place a bunch of 5-star reviews on every platform available. Michael would approve. I wonder what he would order. Maybe the Western Omelette.
I take a gulp of hot coffee to clear my head.
“Dean is so right on paper.” I shake my head and look at my friends. “But it’s just not right in real life, and I can’t force it to be.”
They all nod in agreement. Between the four of us, we’ve had our fair share of frogs that never quite turned into princes.
Not that Dean is a frog. He’s fine. Perfectly nice. He’s just not – as Marianne would put it – the Big One.
“My mom would have loved Dean.” I giggle despite myself. “She’s terrified I’m gonna turn 27 and be stuck as a spinster forever.”
I look up at my friends.
“I’m sick of talking about my life, someone else has a problem.”
They laugh at that, and Elena launches into a story about a difficult mother who keeps emailing her complaints about her child being “misunderstood.”
“The kid is lazy, that’s what it is,” Elena concludes.
Then Marianne describes her night in detail, or at least she describes what she can remember.
“It is a miracle you got home safe,” I say, after Marianne announces she ended up jogging a mile in heels to get back to her apartment.
“I’m indestructible.” Marianne’s been saying this for years, but we all worry about her sometimes.
By the time our plates are cleared away, I’m feeling much better. I’m still not looking forward to the awkward conversation with Dean, but I no longer feel as pathetic and self-pitying as I did this morning.
We split the check as usual and start to gather our things.
Beatrice gives me a careful look. I can tell she’s about to say something I might not like.
“I know you don’t need my advice, but I have one last suggestion.”
I clutch my purse and nod my head. I’ll hear her out.
“Break up with Dean, but don’t tell Michael,” Beatrice says. “It’s best that he just gives up.”
My heart sinks. I’m going to have to endure Michael treating me like he did after the race. As if he disrespects everything I say or do.
Beatrice has a point though. Why should I give MIchael any hope that we might have a future? And it would be bad i
f he thought I broke up with Dean because of him.
“It’s not technically a lie,” Marianne says. “Just don’t say anything, it’s not his business.”
I look at Elena, but she’s nodding along. Even she agrees that total honesty is not going to serve my purposes.
“Ok.” I stand up and head for the door. “I’ll text you guys later, after I talk to Dean.”
As I walk home, Beatrice’s words echo in my head. It’s best that he just gives up.
Michael Barnes is going to give up on me. The thought stings, and it hurts my pride, but it has to happen.
Michael ending his pursuit of me is a good thing. That’s what I want. That’s what I need for my career to stay on track.
Michael has to give up on me.
19
I decide to talk to Dean over the phone. I would do it in person if we had been dating longer, but three dates is hardly a serious relationship.
I’m sure he doesn’t want to go through the trouble of meeting me somewhere just so I can tell him I’m not really feeling it.
That’s what I tell myself anyway as I pace my apartment and plan out what I’m going to say.
It’s probably best to keep it short and sweet. I need to just get it over with in one stroke, like ripping off a band-aid.
Then again, I don’t want to say something cliché like, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
Even though it’s true. It’s not Dean. This is definitely all me.
Maybe clichés exist for a reason.
I groan and check the time. Almost 4. I’ve put this off long enough, and I have decided that I need to give him at least an evening to recover.
Not that I think he’s going to be heartbroken. It’s only been a few weeks, and it’s not like Dean’s in love with me. He’s into me though, and I’ve acted like I’m into him as well. I’ve given every indication that I’ve been enjoying the dates and that I’m interested in moving forward.
I did enjoy the dates. They were fine. I just now know that “fine” isn’t good enough.
There was a time in the not-so-distant past that I was perfectly happy to settle for “fine.” I was never smitten with any of the guys I dated. I thought all the silly nonsense about butterflies in your stomach and your heart skipping a beat had no place in a real adult relationship. Something’s changed in me though.