25. The Art of Running
25
THE ART OF RUNNING
MACKENZIE
The thing about hiding from your feelings in a family restaurant during holiday lunch rush is that there's never just one crisis to manage. Right now, I'm:
1. Dodging texts from Alex about my brutal blog post
2. Trying to finish an exposé that could destroy his company
3. Attempting to work from an increasingly crowded host stand
4. Watching my Instagram feed fill with my twenty-eight-year-old replacement's baby shower updates
5. All while a party of twelve needs their fourth round of bread sticks
"Table six needs more wine," Lucia announces as she squeezes past me. "Also, that's the fifth time you've checked your phone in ten minutes."
"I'm monitoring news alerts," I lie, though really I'm watching Katie's Instagram Story about her "Winter Wonderland Baby Shower Planning!!!" complete with multiple exclamation points and an energy level that makes my forty-two-year-old bones ache just watching .
"You're hiding," Lucia corrects, deftly managing a tray of drinks while eyeing my laptop screen. "Also, you have marinara on your keyboard."
A young couple at table four gets engaged, the woman's delighted squeal mixing with the lunch rush chaos. Her ring catches the light, reminding me of the way Alex looked at me last night when I was actively avoiding his questions about the blog.
My phone buzzes with another baby shower update: Katie's boomerang of herself touring potential shower venues, somehow looking fresh and excited after visiting six places before noon.
At her age, I was closing million-dollar tech deals. Now I'm hiding from both my past and present while eating my weight in processed carbs.
"The Anderson party needs their check," Sofia appears with another wave of orders. "And you need to stop watching Katie's Stories. Her bubbly bullshit isn't contagious."
"I'm not?—"
A notification interrupts: Katie's added me to a baby shower planning group chat. Twenty-three messages immediately pop up, most containing the words "first time" and "so exciting!!!"
"Dr. Miller's usual table is ready," Lucia calls out, masterfully redirecting a server with a precarious tray of pasta. "And Alex called again. That's four times since your blog post. Might be a record for someone you're supposedly not avoiding."
I minimize Katie's chat, but another notification in the group chat immediately pops up – this time from Roberto's mother:
MARIA R: Katie's so excited about the shower! Such fresh enthusiasm. Everything's a wonderful new adventure at that age.
A table of women executives catches my eye – all around my age, power-suited and polished, discussing Q1 projections over wine. None of them are hiding from their feelings behind a host stand while their ex's young wife plans the World's Most Enthusiastic Baby Shower.
"You know what's worse than watching Katie's Stories?" Sofia asks as she efficiently manages the growing lunch line. "Watching you watch them while ignoring the man who actually appreciates your experience."
My phone lights up with another Instagram notification: Katie's posted a poll about shower games, her face glowing with that particular mix of youth and excitement that makes me feel approximately one thousand years old.
"Table eight needs more bread," Lucia announces. "And you need to stop comparing yourself to someone who thinks TikTok dances are an acceptable business strategy."
"I'm not?—"
A group of tech workers comes in for lunch, their lanyards marking them as tech employees. Their casual chatter about corporate culture makes my laptop feel heavy with unwritten exposé words.
"The DiNapoli party has a wine question," Sofia calls over the growing lunch rush noise. "And Alex is here again."
My head snaps up. "What?"
"Made you look." She grins, expertly balancing three plates. "But that reaction says everything about who you're really hiding from."
I retreat to an empty booth in the back, but the holiday lunch rush follows. Another group of young tech workers settles nearby, their conversation about startup culture making my exposé document feel like it's burning through my laptop.
"The private dining room is prepped for the Emerging Marketers’ holiday party," Lucia updates as she passes. "And your phone just lit up again. Katie's doing a live unboxing of baby shower decorations."
Sure enough, my Instagram notifications show Katie's fresh-faced enthusiasm as she reveals yet another perfect, Pinterest-worthy decoration. The stream of heart emojis from her equally young friends makes my own heart twist.
"More breadsticks for table twelve," Sofia announces, sliding past with practiced efficiency. "And Alex sent flowers. Again. I put them in the kitchen with the other three arrangements."
My phone buzzes – this time it's Alex:
ALEX: The gala planning team says you're "working remotely." Considering you wrote a blog post calling me a wolf in designer clothing, I'm guessing that's not the whole story.
Before I can process that, Katie's next Story pops up: her trying on maternity dresses for the shower, spinning in front of a mirror with the boundless energy of someone who's never had to rebuild their life at forty.
"The Johnson anniversary party needs their wine," Lucia calls out. "And you need to stop comparing your life timeline to someone who thinks a juice cleanse counts as a midlife crisis."
I move to the bar area, where the lunch crowd's chaos might drown out my thoughts. A group of women my age discusses their latest board meeting over martinis, all sharp suits and earned confidence. None of them are hiding from the man who loves them while obsessing over their ex's younger replacement.
"Just got another shower invite response," Sofia updates as she efficiently manages drink orders. "Katie's college roommate is 'literally dying' to meet you. Apparently, you're her 'career goals.'"
Lovely. Because being someone's cautionary tale about choosing career over traditional happiness definitely improves this day.
My phone lights up with a group chat notification:
KATIE: OMG everyone! Found the perfect shower theme! " New Beginnings"! Everything's so exciting when it's your first time experiencing it all!!!
Twenty enthusiastic responses immediately flood in, all containing multiple exclamation points and emojis I'm too old to understand.
"The Romano party needs their check," Lucia announces, then pauses. "And Alex is actually here this time."
My head snaps up so fast I nearly knock over someone's wine.
"Still made you look." She grins, expertly averting the wine crisis. "But that panic face of yours is just too hilarious to pass up.”
"I'm not panicking,” I protest, but my voice lacks conviction. "I'm planning…and navigating emotional complications while?—"
"While watching your ex's twenty-eight-year-old wife live her faux ‘best social media life’?” Sofia raises an eyebrow as she passes with more wine. "Or while ignoring the CEO who actually gives a damn about you.”
A young couple at the bar giggles over their shared pasta, all fresh love and uncomplicated happiness. The kind I couldn't give Roberto. The kind I might be destroying with Alex.
My phone buzzes again:
ALEX: The board's asking questions about your blog post. But I'm more concerned about why you left at dawn yesterday. Talk to me, Mac.
KATIE: *Instagram notification* [Series of baby shower venue photos] Can't decide! Everything's so perfect when you're starting fresh!!! #FirstBaby #NewChapter #Blessed
"You know what's interesting?" Lucia slides onto the bar stool next to me. "How you're more scared of the man who accepts all of you than the one who wanted you to be less."
"It's not—" But my voice catches as another group of tech workers comes in, their conversation about corporate culture making the exposé on my laptop feel radioactive.
"The DiNapoli party needs dessert menus," Sofia calls. "And you need to stop running from happiness just because it didn't work with someone who couldn't handle your success."
I retreat to the kitchen, but even there I can't escape. Katie's latest Story shows her practicing baby shower games. Meanwhile, my blog post about Alex sits like acid in my stomach.
"You're not too much," Lucia says quietly, finding me hiding behind the industrial mixer. "You're just scared of being exactly enough for someone."
"I'm going to hurt him." The admission feels like breaking. "The exposé... when he sees who I really am..."
"You mean the woman he's already fallen for?" Sofia appears with another wave of orders. "The one he keeps trying to reach even after that blog post?"
My phone lights up one more time:
ALEX: I miss you.
KATIE: Another venue tour! Everything's so exciting when you're starting your future!!!
"I have to go." I gather my things, needing to escape. "The gala?—"
"Will be perfect," Lucia finishes. "Because you're perfect at your job. It's your heart you're messing up."
I step into the snowy afternoon, letting Seattle's winter hide my tears.
Because sometimes running away isn't about fear of being too much. Sometimes it's about being exactly enough for someone.
And knowing you're about to destroy it anyway.