Running from Love: A Story for Runners and Lovers (32 page)

She ignored them all.

Go, chica, go.
She pretended that she was Blanca.
Don’t stop, don’t look down the hill. Look at the ground one step in front of you, nowhere else.

This time, she didn’t slow down at all. In ten strides she was at the bottom. Surprised, she didn’t need to regain her pace. She was already on it.

“Keep going. You did great!” Her friend’s voice hit her like a whip to the shoulders. For the next few minutes they ran side by side in companionable silence.

Up ahead the white spire of the Methodist church marked the final corner. As they rounded it, a 1,000-yard straightaway to the finish loomed ahead.

“Bye,
chica,”
Blanca sang out as she pulled ahead.

No way was her friend beating her in this race. Reaching for every ounce of mental fortitude she possessed, Farrah matched Blanca’s pace two strides behind. It was too soon to surge. If she did, she wouldn’t be able to keep it going to the finish line. Racing wasn’t just about being strong or fast. It was also about being crafty.

Blanca was stronger. She always had been. But Farrah’s kick was her secret weapon. Knowing the exact moment to put it into use was the trick.

She’d waited too long at the Pete McArdle. But this time Blanca wasn’t way out ahead, the way she had been after losing her on the downhill slope in the back hills in the last race.

At the 500-yard mark, Farrah made her move. Arms pumping, head down, feet kicking up furiously behind, she surged. No faster nor slower than the same surge she’d put on in the Pete McArdle, this time she caught Blanca in less than fifteen strides. Directly next to her, she prepared to move ahead.

Then she surprised herself. It had been a counterintuitive race already. Why not end it that way? She stayed abreast of Blanca, stride for stride, matching her foot hitting the ground to her friend’s.

In five strides they crossed the finish line together.

“Why didn’t you pass me, girl? You know you could have,” Blanca shouted joyfully as they high-fived each other.

“I didn’t want to beat my coach.”

“You did great, girl. I’m so proud of you.”

“Am I a winner?”

“Baby, you shaved off way more than half a minute from last time you ran this. You won today even though you didn’t beat me.”

“No, Blanca. I won today because I
didn’t
beat you.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Okay, girl. You’re the boss now. I told you I’d get off your back if you did your downhills well, and you did.”

“Thanks,
chica.”
She was practically an honorary Puerto-Rican from hanging out with Blanca. She wanted to tell her what she’d said to Will’s mother at the Met, but Blanca would kill her if she found out she’d gotten back in touch with her ex. She’d advised Farrah years ago to forget about him after he’d vanished. ‘You don’t need that kind of trouble, sweetie, even if he did come crawling back.’ He hadn’t exactly come crawling back, but she was beginning to see Blanca was right. She didn’t need the kind of uncertainty that came along with Will. Who needed a guy who couldn’t make up his mind?

“Come on. Let’s get some water,” Blanca broke into her thoughts. “Maybe your friend’s here.”

So she hadn’t forgotten about Jude. Neither had Farrah. But heightened by her downhill victory, she wasn’t worried if he was there. She’d dispatched Will, and she could dispatch Jude. Her new year’s resolution was to get over them both. She would start fresh in the new year. The first thing she would do would be make sure any man she dated didn’t come with complications.

Tossing their water cups, they made their way over to Threads and Treads, the Greenwich running store where the awards ceremony took place. Farrah stepped buoyantly. She’d just broken through a personal goal, one she’d struggled to overcome for years. It was better than winning any medal.

“‘A
LISON’S AHEAD OF
you. I’m awarding her the Southeast territory unless you pull a rabbit out of your hat. Just thought you’d like to know.” Farrah’s boss smiled at her beatifically as she delivered the news Tuesday morning before their weekly sales meeting.

Still on a high from Sunday’s race, Farrah sat back in the Italian leather armchair in her boss’s office. So be it. She tried to look concerned, as Barbara Feretti studied her.

“How did your Atlanta appointments go?”

“Pretty well.” She hadn’t brought in a single new client, although she’d deepened relationships with a few existing ones.

“So what’s cooking then?”

“Barbara, it’s hard to pin anyone down right now. They’re all off at Christmas parties or out when I call.” She tried not to sound irritated. The problem was her mind was no longer on her job. It was on her life.

“Alison’s facing the same situation. Meanwhile she’s brought in two new accounts and increased her largest one.” Barbara turned to take a call, giving Farrah a moment to absorb this new information.

Who cared? It wasn’t just cross-selling and bundling techniques at which Alison was good. Uncrossing and unbundling had also worked for her, to an extent. Farrah wasn’t going down that road. She had a hard enough time opening up to someone whose heart was available. She suspected Will’s would be until the instant she committed to him. Then he’d begin to question himself. His childhood nickname had been Hamlet. That in itself answered Farrah’s question about getting back together with him.

Shifting in the leather armchair, Farrah wondered if Jude had hooked up with one of his interview subjects. Yet she couldn’t she bring herself to return any of his phone calls or e-mails.

The woman named Linda whom she’d met on Marathon Day had implied he’d mixed pleasure with business with his dubious research techniques for his sleazy book. Then when she’d checked out where he lived, it turned out he was staying at the house of the woman who called him Big Boy. He’d said she was an interview subject for his book, meaning she was wealthy and had married money. It looked as if Jude had become some sort of plaything for her. He’d gotten his interview and a place to live, she’d gotten whatever thrills she was looking for outside of her marriage to Mr. Moneybags. A perfect
quid pro quo,
with no room in the equation for Farrah.

Wistfully, her mind wandered back to her teaching days. She’d offered something real to children with eager, open minds. It had been so much more rewarding than what she was doing now.

“I’m just letting you know,” Barbara continued, the second she put down the phone, “you’ve got two more weeks to turn things around.”

“Thanks for the heads up. And by the way, great shoes,” Farrah replied, noticing Barbara’s cherry red Christian Louboutin platform pumps as they both exited the office to proceed to their weekly sales meeting.

“Oh thanks.” Barbara looked pleased.

Her boss would still be able to buy Louboutin shoes with Alison Keane’s contribution to the division. It didn’t matter at all whether Farrah got the top spot or not. What mattered was for Farrah to get what she wanted out of life, not just out of her job.

“M
OTHER REALLY LIKED
you.”

“I really liked her.”

“She wants to ask you to Saddle River over the holidays.”

“I’m going to California for Christmas.” Thank God she’d booked the ticket to fly out to see Sean and her father. She wanted to feel safe, not as if she were being evaluated and perhaps found lacking. And for the first time, she no longer cared if Will or his mother found her lacking. The shoe was on the other foot now. Will’s mother had been great fun—she would have loved to spend more time with her. The problem was with Will himself. When she’d picked up the phone, she knew the moment had come.

“Did you mention that to me? he asked peevishly.

“You didn’t ask.” It was exactly one week before Christmas. She’d booked her ticket to California Thanksgiving night after spending the day with Will seeing a movie and having tapas at a Spanish lounge on the Upper West Side. When he’d asked, she declined his invitation to stay the night with him. She hadn’t even been tempted.

Instead she’d returned home to Riverdale and made plans to spend her next holiday in a way that made sense to her—with family.

“I guess I thought you’d be around,” he replied.

“I guess you’ve been thinking I’d be around for awhile now.” Probably because she had been. Waiting and wondering what had gone wrong between them. Now, she knew. She also knew what she was going to do about it.

“I—uh—well what about New Year’s Eve then? Mother always has a big do out at the house.”

“I imagine your mother throws great parties,” she hedged, working up her courage.

“She does. I’ll let her know we’re coming out.”

So presumptuous. But she’d always acquiesced to his plans, whether she’d liked them or not. She took a deep breath. What she said next had the power to change her life. Could she do it?

“Actually, I can’t. I have another commitment New Year’s Eve.”

There. It was out. That afternoon she’d decided to sign up for the Midnight Run in Central Park. It was a four-mile race put on by the New York City Road Runners Club every December 31st, featuring live music, silly hats, and champagne at the end. It wasn’t a serious race, but to Farrah it felt like a seriously good way to end the year and usher in a new one with her in the driver’s seat. She’d made her decision and with the words she’d just uttered, breathed life into it.

A significant pause took place on the other end of the line. “You already made plans for New Year’s?” he finally asked.

“I like making plans. They give me something to look forward to.”
Unlike your endless plan changes and vague invitations that don’t pan out.

“I see.”

“No, you don’t see. You didn’t see at Thanksgiving time, and you didn’t bother to ask me about Christmas until now.” Making plans one week before the most significant holiday of the year wasn’t going to cut it for her. It felt good to let him know.

“Uh—well—I didn’t really know how Mother would feel about—about—”

“About me.”

“You passed in flying colors, darling. She can’t wait to see you again.”

“Will, is this conversation about your mother and me? Or about you and me?” She was getting her
mojo
on now. The
mojo
she’d never known she possessed until she’d moved to the Bronx and become her own woman.

“I—it’s about us, of course. I just thought we would be doing something together over the holidays.”

“I think we need to talk.” Devilishly, she reveled in saying the words instead of being on the receiving end of similar ones.

“About what?” She could feel alarm bells going off on the other end of the line.

“About what’s going on between us.”

“We do?” Will sounded startled. As startled as she had sounded three years earlier when he’d said he sensed a disconnect when they talked.

“I haven’t been able to move ahead,” she said.

“Take all the time you need, darling. I know my actions must have been confusing.”

“They were.” How sweet he sounded. How understanding. It was amazing how nice Will could be when his back was up against a wall. Too bad it took him getting into a tight spot to offer an unequivocal response. “And I’m glad you got back in touch so I could understand how confusing they still are,” she continued.

“Well—I don’t mean to be—I mean, I think we’re moving in the right direction.”

“Will, I think
I’m
moving in the right direction—for me. I don’t think it’s yours.”

“What do you mean?” He sounded shocked.

“I mean, I’m happy where I am. When we broke up, it took me a long time to get to a place where I was happy. But now I’m there.” She wasn’t entirely there, but she was on her way.

“You want to stay where, exactly?”

“In Riverdale, for one.”

“But Farrah, it’s not the City.”

“Actually it
is
the City. It’s just not your idea of the city because it’s not Manhattan. But I like it and so do a lot of other people.”

“Not our types, dear.”

“I’ve changed, Will. You haven’t.”

“Farrah, if you’re going to change, for heaven’s sake, change for the better, not the worse.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Once upon a time she would have swallowed Will’s point of view hook, line, and sinker. Not anymore.

“I mean, I understand why you moved to the Bronx but now things are different. If you don’t have to live there, why would you?”

“Like I said, because I like it. A lot.” She thought of Blanca Mills, Ana Morales, John Boyleston, and all her other supportive and nonjudgmental friends on the running club. They were all from the Bronx. On their behalf she burned with resentment at Will’s dismissal of the people she cared about.

“Any particular reason why?’

“Many. None of which you noticed when you visited.” Her heart panged as she thought back to how moved Jude had been by their surroundings when they’d run together on Wave Hill. Too bad his life had been about as complicated as Will’s decision-making was. She was fed up with complications—either with men like Jude who was surrounded by them; or men like Will, who embodied them. Until she found someone who could offer his whole heart and truly embrace what she had to offer back, she would enjoy her simple life in Riverdale and time spent running with her track club. It was enough.

“There wasn’t much to notice.”

“There was if you had eyes to see.”

“I was looking at you, Farrah. Not your neighborhood.”

“My neighborhood is part of who I am.”

“You’re an Upper West Sider, and you know it.”

“Not anymore.”

“Well, we could move to the Upper East Side. Prices are starting to come down over there.”

“Will, I’m not in the market to move anywhere with you.” She inhaled deeply as yet another life-defining statement came out of her mouth. It was like speeding up on the downhill slope. She hardly knew herself. But she was going with the new her.

“This is all too sudden, Farrah. I know. Let’s just put the brakes on and take things one step at a time.”

“I’ve noticed each of our steps is leading us in different directions.”