Chapter One The Worst Engagement Party Ever #2
“Amy,” Tessa said gently.
“I’m fine.”
“Your left eye is twitching.”
“It does that.”
“It does that when you’re planning a murder.”
“I have never planned a murder.”
“Because you’d need a permit.”
Footsteps approached. I knew who it was before Evelyn spoke.
“Can we have a minute?”
Tessa looked at me. I nodded. She pointed two fingers at Evelyn, then at her own eyes, communicating that she was watching her. The gesture might have been more effective if she had not still been holding two champagne glasses. When she moved away, Evelyn joined me at the railing.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For which part?”
“The awkwardness. Vanessa was nervous about meeting you.”
“She already met me.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I usually did. That was part of the problem.”
Evelyn rested her hands on the railing. The diamond caught the light.
“I want to know you’re okay,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I care about you.”
“You cared about me while you were falling in love with someone else.”
“It wasn’t that simple.”
“It rarely is for the person benefiting from the complexity.”
Her grip tightened on the railing. “I never said I left because you were predictable.”
“You said you needed a life that surprised you.”
“That was about me.”
“You told me I was afraid to take risks.”
“What was I supposed to do with that?”
She turned toward me. “I wanted you to want more.”
“I wanted you.”
Evelyn looked away first. The music and conversation behind us sharpened for several seconds.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I believed she meant it. That was the worst part. Evelyn was not cruel in every moment. She had loved me in the way she knew how. She had also lied, withdrawn, and made me feel responsible for not being exciting enough to keep her attention. Both things could be true.
She glanced back toward the party. “I do hope you’ve found something that feels exciting. Something that’s yours.”
“I have.”
I answered before I understood why.
Evelyn looked interested. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Across the street, the billboard changed again. A group of runners appeared beneath a burst of confetti. Twenty-six point two miles. Five months away. A distance so unreasonable it barely felt real.
“I’m training for the Lake City Marathon,” I said.
Evelyn stared at me. The satisfaction of surprising her lasted almost two seconds. Then my brain caught up with my mouth.
“You’re running a marathon?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“When did you start running?”
“Recently.”
“How recently?”
“Recent is not a precisely regulated term.”
Her mouth curved. Not a cruel smile. A doubtful one. It was worse.
“Amy, that’s…” She paused. “That’s ambitious.”
“I’m aware.”
“Have you done a half marathon?”
“I’m following a progressive training strategy.”
I was not following any strategy. I did not own running shoes.
Behind us, someone had moved closer. I heard Marissa say, “Amy’s doing the marathon?”
Another voice repeated it.
Evelyn looked over my shoulder, then back at me. “That’s wonderful.”
She said it kindly, which made me want to throw something.
“I’ll look for you at the finish line,” she added.
I lifted my chin. “You should.”
Tessa appeared beside us with her phone raised.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Documenting personal growth.”
“Stop recording.”
“You just announced a marathon at your ex’s engagement party.”
Several people were now listening. Vanessa approached, followed by two of Evelyn’s friends.
“You’re really running?” Vanessa asked.
“Yes,” I said.
Every repetition raised the price.
“When is it?” someone asked.
“September,” Evelyn answered.
“How exciting,” Marissa said.
Tessa lowered the phone long enough to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “My best friend is running a marathon!”
People applauded. Actually applauded. I stood beneath the rooftop lights holding an untouched glass of champagne while strangers congratulated me on a decision I had made eleven seconds earlier. Evelyn smiled. I smiled back. In that moment, I hated both of us.
The next morning, I woke to forty-three notifications.
I checked the screen, shut my eyes, and counted to five.
When I opened them, there were forty-four.
From the kitchen came the sound of a blender, followed by Tessa swearing.
I got out of bed. My feet hurt from the heels.
My mouth tasted faintly of champagne and regret.
Tessa stood at the counter wearing blue scrubs and attempting to clean pale green liquid from the wall.
“What happened?”
“The lid expressed a boundary.”
My phone buzzed again.
I held it up. “What did you do?”
She turned off the blender. “That question needs context.”
“You posted the video.”
Tessa winced. On my screen, the clip had accumulated more than eight hundred views. In it, I stood beside Evelyn with my chin raised and announced that I was training for the Lake City Marathon. Tessa had added cheerful music and the caption:
MY BEST FRIEND IS RUNNING A MARATHON. SHE HAS LOST HER MIND AND I HAVE NEVER BEEN PROUDER.
“You posted it publicly.”
“My privacy settings are complicated.”
“You tagged me.”
“I was excited.”
“My coworkers have seen this.”
“Your coworkers support fitness.”
“My mother has seen this.”
“Your mother has already texted me.”
I stared at her.
“She wants to know whether spectators need tickets.”
“Tessa.”
“I’m sorry.” She set down a dish towel. “I should have asked. I thought you meant it.”
“I said it because Evelyn looked at me like I had never done anything unpredictable in my life.”
“That is not a good reason to run twenty-six miles.”
“Twenty-six point two.”
“Not the important correction.”
I opened another message. My manager had written, Impressive goal, Amy. We’ll all be cheering you on. A college friend sent shoe recommendations. My aunt asked whether I was collecting donations. Evelyn liked the video. Tessa offered to delete it, but the announcement had already escaped us.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said.
“Yes, I do.”
“Because Evelyn expects it?”
“Not entirely.”
“What percentage?”
“I haven’t calculated it.”
“That means more than fifty.”
I opened the Lake City Marathon website.
General entry closed Monday, May 5. The race was Sunday, September 21, 2025—roughly twenty weeks away.
The training guide assumed a consistent running base and the ability to run three comfortable miles.
I possessed neither. I also possessed a paid entry fee, a public promise, and an uncomfortable suspicion that careful did not have to mean afraid.
I registered. Tessa watched me enter her as the emergency contact.
“Don’t make me regret giving you my phone number.”
“You live with me.”
“Still.”
I submitted the payment. A confirmation page filled the screen.
WELCOME TO THE LAKE CITY MARATHON.
Tessa leaned her hip against the table.
“Okay,” she said. “You did it.”
“I registered.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You’ve made the decision.”
The satisfaction came slowly. It was not joy, exactly.
More like the moment after stepping onto an elevator before the doors closed, when it was still possible to pretend you could get off.
My confirmation email arrived. I opened it.
The first paragraph congratulated me. The second suggested booking accommodation early.
The third included a link titled First-Time Marathoner Resources.
I clicked. The guide recommended beginning formal training with a consistent weekly running base and the ability to complete three comfortable miles.
I stared at the sentence. Tessa read it over my shoulder.
“How many miles can you run?” she asked.
I closed the laptop.
“That depends on how strictly we define running.”