Chapter 23
OWEN
Shirtless, with pajama pants hanging off my hips, I shuffle to the door to answer a pounding that is happening way too early in the morning. I’m going to have to have a word with George’s neighbors—or whoever is knocking on the door at this hour.
I can feel my hair sticking out in random directions and run my hand through in a futile attempt to tame it. Then I swing the door open.
…And there is Zoe, in the world’s most colorful jogging suit. Like a box of Crayola threw up on her.
“Good morning!” she says, way too brightly, as she thrusts a bundle of fabric into my hands. “I let you sleep in as late as I could, but chop chop, now! Go change. We’re going to be late.”
None of this is making any sense. Am I dreaming? I don’t think so. But I’m definitely not awake enough to figure out what is going on.
“Late for what?” I manage, following her into the living room. The pile of fabric in my arms seems to be several layers of athletic wear. In my size.
“Now, now, if I told you that, it would ruin all the fun!”
I eye her warily.
“Zo, it’s”—I check my watch—”6:30 in the morning.”
She points at me. “You said you’d make it up to me for not coming to the party yesterday. And I said I’d hold you to it.”
She arches a brow at me defiantly.
I stand there silently, considering. Do I want to push this?
Truthfully, hell yeah, maybe a little. But she is clearly putting a lot of thought into entertaining me while I’m in New York.
And I have already bailed on her. Twice.
And she is just trying to help me get out of my slump. Crap. I’m a terrible cousin.
“Give me 10 minutes.”
“You got it!” She reaches up and pinches my cheek, like an overzealous aunt.
Dear Lord, I hope this isn’t a mistake.
“Please explain to me what exactly is happening,” I ask.
When Zoe showed up with gym clothes, I foolishly thought maybe we were going to… a gym?
But we’re standing on the grass beside one of the paths snaking through Central Park with a group of about fifteen other people in various kinds of winter athletic wear, doing hamstring stretches and jumping jacks and generally looking way too energetic for people standing out in the cold at this hour.
The sun is just starting to light the sky.
“It’s a running club!” Zoe beams.
“You are in a running club?” I really don’t mean to sound so incredulous. But Zoe once faked a limp for an entire semester to get out of gym. At least until the P.E. teacher saw her in the hallway, walking just fine.
“No, silly!” She smacks my chest. “But I thought you might like to try it.”
That’s weird because I’m not not athletic, but running isn’t really my thing.
“Um…” I scan the group again. One guy, about my age, drags his eyes up and down my body before offering a slow smile. I give him a polite nod.
“Come on, O. Try something different! It’ll be fun.
” She looks around now, surveying the group of obvious running enthusiasts warming up around us.
A tiny flicker of doubt creeps onto her face.
“Or at least I’m pretty sure it’ll be fun for you.
There is a slight possibility you’ll have to carry me home. ”
I grin. “Oooh, no. You dragged me out here, you run too!”
“I will. Geez.”
I laugh.
At the top of a little hill, a butch woman in sweats and a wool hat yells to the crowd. “Okay, people, time to get moving!” The group assembles behind her and sets off running along the path in twos and threes. Zoe and I fall in toward the back.
We jog for a while, and I have to admit, while the chill is practically an assault on the senses, the exercise is invigorating and the park, nearly empty, open and peaceful.
We circle along the edge of the reservoir, encountering the occasional speed walker or Canada goose.
After a while, Zoe, breathing heavily beside me, puffs out, “So, how’d you do with my list yesterday?”
I wince. I don’t want to be lying to her.
“I… I may not have followed your list yesterday.”
She slows for a moment and looks at me.
“Oh. Okay.” She picks up the pace again and, after a few moments, asks. “What did you do, then?”
I scrub my hand over the back of my neck and shoot a look towards her as we round a corner. “Actually, George suggested some places to check out. So I did that.”
“Oh! Really? George?” She looks completely taken aback, but after a minute, she shakes her head and regains her composure. “Well, okay. Cool. Did you have fun?”
“I did actually.”
A smile threatens to break out on my face, but I suppress it. I don’t need Zoe asking any questions. At least I think I suppress it. She is studying me a little strangely right now.
But then the group starts up a hill, and the woman leading the pack turns to run backwards. “Okay, gang, that’s enough of a warm-up. Let’s pick up the pace!”
The group surges on ahead. One woman actually whoops. Zoe half stumbles to a stop.
“Oh God, no!” She doubles over, breathing hard and trying to catch her breath. So much for running club.
I pull up to her side and put a hand on her back to steady her.
The last few stragglers run past us, one silver-haired gentleman giving me a lingering look and an actual wink as he goes by. Which is… weird?
“Zo…” I say to her back, since she’s still doubled over, “Why do I get the feeling there are a lot of queer people in this running club?”
She turns to look up at me. “Okay, so it’s an LGBTQ+ running club.”
I raise a brow.
“What?” she says. “There weren’t a lot of choices. Not that many people like to get up at dawn and run around Central Park in December. Come on, I think I can run again.”
She takes off—not entirely steadily—after the group. Leaving me to watch her. I just shake my head and laugh before following her up the path.
Sweaty and tired and sipping hot drinks we picked up at a bodega along the way, Zoe and I make our way toward the nearest subway station.
“I’m okay now,” Zoe insists. “You really don’t have to walk me.”
I grin at her. “I know. This is just easier than worrying that every siren I hear is an ambulance coming to peel you off the sidewalk.”
“Just because I almost threw up once, suddenly you think I can’t handle my exercise.”
I laugh. “You have my sincerest apology.”
We arrive at the entrance to the subway, and Zoe pauses, playing with the plastic lid on her drink.
“Listen, I’m glad you had fun yesterday. And I’m sorry if my list didn’t, you know, do it for you.”
Damn. Well, now I feel bad.
“Hey, no worries! I love that you’re thinking about me,” I say—and mean it. I hold my arms open, and she dives into them, wrapping me in a tight hug.
I really don’t know what I’d do without her. She is, in so many ways, my person.
“I love you, Owie,” she murmurs into my chest.
I bend to plant a kiss on the top of her head. “I love you, too.”
We pull apart, and she looks up at me. “Anything planned for today?”
“Past the rest of this tea and a long, hot shower? Nah.”
“Perfect!” Her lips spread into a wide smile. “I’ll send you a new and improved ‘Owen Does New York City’ list by lunchtime, okay? And don’t worry, this one you’re going to love!”
Then she disappears down into the subway before I have a chance to say a thing.