Chapter 11
Eden
I’ve never laughed so hard. Having the gang back together is the icing on the cake of what has so far been a great few days.
Not only am I living my dream as an artist, I have my own place with my best friends, my own gallery show in London, and now the love of my life has waltzed her pretty arse through the door that is my life. Perfect!
We’ve got exactly zero strategic planning done for the charity run. Instead, we’ve munched on an obscene amount of crisps and drunk beer. Well, Sloane has stuck to water, which I’m guessing has something to do with her medication.
Pia made us all laugh when she cheered Sloane’s bottle of water, griping that the rest of us were all shits for not abstaining from alcohol in solidarity of Pia’s condition.
If she was trying to make us feel bad, it didn’t work, but Sloane did look slightly mortified by the sudden attention. I intervened by tossing a tortilla chip at Pia’s head, which she caught in her mouth like a trained seal.
Bella insists we do a “runway walk” in our team outfits. Becca’s influence. The Bella of old would’ve glared at anyone who suggested such a thing. She wouldn’t have changed out of her boots for anything. Yet here she is, instigating fashion shenanigans.
She lines us up in front of the couch, runs to the kitchen to retrieve her singing spatula and shoves it toward me as a microphone, declaring me the “Hostess with Mostess.” It’s so dumb, but I love it.
We’ve all, one hundred percent, forgotten we’re supposed to be grown adults and not high school teens.
I oblige, because who am I to turn down a captive audience?
I kick things off by strutting the length of the living room in my fluorescent shorts and a tank top I stole from Bella’s laundry pile. It’s less a top and more a bunch of strings messily sewn together. My battered Doc Martens really make the outfit something special.
“Representing Team Don’t Stop Retrievin’, and coming in strong with the 2025 Les-bian Games Collection: it’s me, your captain, Eden!”
Becca goes second, rolling her eyes but clearly loving every second. Her entire body is decked out in rainbow sweatbands and the actual team shirt we made in college for our first charity run we attended during our first Spring Break.
“She stole this look from Billy Porter, and the man wants it back!” I announce. Becca responds with a dramatic curtsy, then flips me off before attempting a cartwheel which fails epically because she’s a few beers deep.
Once Bella’s checked that her girlfriend is okay, she stands and makes her way to the front of the couch.
She’s paired neon-pink shorts with a mesh shirt and a Runner Up Gays temporary tattoo she applied to her bicep.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she adds it as a permanent fixture after the race as a commemorative piece.
Her arms are already full of memories inked into her skin.
I introduce her as “the fastest tongue in the west—don’t ask for details!
” Bella flashes a peace sign and sticks out her tongue, wiggling her eyebrows.
I roll my eyes, Pia catcalls, Becca shouts, “She is very talented!” and Sloane snickers into her hand.
Sloane is the last to parade herself in front of us all.
She’s been laughing at the rest of us, but I see her grow shy when we turn on her.
It makes me momentarily sad, because her reaction is a consequence of her anxiety and the headspace she’s been in for so long.
It’s a side of her we need to get to know and understand.
We chant her name in encouragement, and it does the trick. She shakes her head, chuckling at our antics, but sets her water bottle down and gets to her feet.
Sloane’s running tights are navy, her shirt just a plain grey with a Nike logo, which on anyone else would look boring but on Sloane reads as Olympic-level discipline.
She always looked super-hot in running gear.
Shuffling forward at half-speed, her eyes on the ground, Sloane raises both fists and does the slowest, least coordinated robot dance known to humankind.
I am fucking delighted! She looks so utterly herself, and I have to resist the urge to haul her into a hug and spin her around.
After the show, we collapse on the sectional in a tangle of limbs and snack debris.
Bella leans forward so everyone can see her. “We still need a chant!”
“Oh, make sure you do it when you run past me,” Pia says. “I want to join in.”
“So what are we going for?” I ask.
Becca shoves a stack of Doritos in her mouth before answering. “Oh, how about…‘We’re Here, We’re Queer, We’ll never live in fear!’”
“Perfect!” Bella yells.
“I love it,” Pia adds.
“Queers Unite,” Sloane calls, raising her water bottle for us all to cheer.
After some more laughing, we fall into a natural quiet because we’re all getting to that time of the evening where the beer is acting as a sedative. Sloane is the only one who still looks semi-alive. Pia’s head is lolling to the side as she falls asleep.
“Are you guys nervous for tomorrow?” Sloane asks, breaking the silence.
Bella shrugs. “I plan on running exactly as far as the first donut station, then eating my body weight in carbs.”
“It’ll be further than you made it on the last run,” I deadpan.
Bella still hates exercise but loves joining in with the fun stuff.
I bet she’ll get ten minutes into the run and start walking, which means Becca will join her, and it’ll just be me and Sloane.
I’ll have my earbuds in because I still have to listen to music while running.
My guess is Sloane will be with the frontrunners early on.
“Valid,” Becca says knowingly.
They turn to me, and Sloane’s gaze lingers. In the low light, her eyes are huge and blue and hopeful. So I tell the truth. “I want to set a personal best. I know it’s for charity, but I’d like to push myself.”
My statement earns me some fist bumps.
We end the night a little after ten, because apparently, we’re all OAPs now and need our race-day sleep.
Pia leaves first, promising to bring confetti.
She doesn’t elaborate, so fuck knows what she’s got planned.
Becca and Bella head to their bedroom, arms linked and singing the chorus from “Eye of the Tiger” at a volume sure to get us evicted.
Their door shuts, and suddenly it’s just me and Sloane, standing in the quiet.
She lingers, half-in, half-out of the entryway, twisting the cap on her water bottle.
“This was nice,” she says, in a tone that feels like it contains several unspoken paragraphs.
“Yeah.” My brain is cycling through a hundred ways to extend the evening. I could offer her another round of cookies or ask about her run playlist. What I really want to do is invite her to stay the night, but I chicken out.
“Need a ride home?”
She looks up, startled, then smiles. “That would be really great actually. I’d prefer not to call my mom at this hour.”
I grab my car keys and jacket, gesturing for Sloane to go first. The journey to the car is silent and weighted. Halfway to her house, Sloane turns to me.
“Hey, Eden?”
“Yeah?”
She bites her lip. “You make all this look easy. I mean, after everything.”
I snort, which is as attractive as it sounds. “It’s always felt easy with you, Sloane. Even in the harder times.”
She doesn’t reply, and that’s okay. We pull up to her mom’s house and I stop the car.
“See you tomorrow?” I smile, reaching over and squeezing her hand.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replies before opening the car door and climbing out. I watch her go, letting my eyes linger on her body.
I turn the car back on and drive home, thinking about how lucky I am to get another chance.
We meet at the starting line just before sunrise. Getting Bella and Becca out of the apartment this morning was ridiculous. Why would anyone need to primp themselves that much when they’re going to get sweaty?
Sloane is waiting for us by the entrance, as agreed. She looks fresh and full of energy. Pia, on the other hand, is waddling through the crowd looking murderous. The early morning start clearly hasn’t left a positive impression.
The air is chilly but charged with that festival energy. Rainbow flags everywhere, people in tutus, a suspicious number of middle-aged dads in crop tops.
Our team, Don’t Stop Retrievin’, takes its place near the back so Pia can stand with us a little longer.
Sloane is in her element, doing dynamic stretches and gently coaching the rest of us through warm-ups.
I’ll cop to checking out her arse while she did those stretches.
Even Bella joins in the stretches—not ogling Sloane’s bum—a sight so rare that Becca documents it for posterity.
The emcee starts up on the mic and it’s go time. I do a couple of jumps to warm my leg muscles.
Pia takes out a tiny confetti cannon and aims it at the crowd.
“For luck,” she says, then detonates a cloud of neon paper that settles mainly in Sloane’s hair, making her look both ridiculous and beautiful.
The starter pistol goes off, and we run. I love the adrenaline surging through my body. We might not be running fast, but we’re all-in together. Perfect. At the first donut station, as promised, Bella cheers and veers off to claim her prize for participating.
At the halfway mark, though, Bella gets sugar-induced cramps and we all agree to walk for a bit, which is a perfect excuse to talk.
If I didn’t know my little hellion friend any better, I might think she planned it this way.
Sloane is glowing as we approach the three-kilometre marker. “Today is already better than I thought it would be,” she says with a big, beautiful smile.
“Did you think it would be a bad day?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I didn’t think I’d be here with you guys in the first place.”
I nudge her gently. “But you are here.”
She takes a deep breath, eyes suddenly shiny. “Yeah, I am.”
I can’t help myself. I pull her in for a sweaty, impromptu hug, right there in the crush of runners. She stiffens for a second, then melts against me, her arms tight around my waist.
Becca and Bella wolf-whistle, but I don’t care. It feels right.
We finish the race together. We left Bella and Becca behind, meaning we never got to call our chant.
Pia will be pissed. I know I’ve not set a personal best, which is a little irritating, but overall, being here with Sloane and crossing the finish line together is better than any record I could set.
Pia makes us laugh when she shouts across the cheering crowd, “Team Don’t Stop Retrievin’, looking strong!”
Sloane and I high-five and then laugh. Half our team is nowhere to be found! Looking strong, my arse.
When we’ve finally reunited with Bella and Becca, we eat rainbow cupcakes and cheap bagels, pose for a team photo, and promise to do it all again next year. I believe we actually will.
When the day winds down, Sloane walks with me to my car. She hesitates, looking up at the sun as it bounces off the city windows.
“I had fun today,” she says, softly.
“Me too.”
“Maybe next time, we could…hang out, just us?”
Cue internal happy dance.
I’m momentarily speechless, then nod. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”
She leans in, quick as a flash, and presses a kiss to my cheek. “See you soon, Eden.”
I stand there for like a full minute, watching her walk away, before I remember how to move. I get in the car, turn up the radio, and head home, already smiling at the thought of next time.
My phone buzzes as I enter my apartment. A grin curls my lips as I see Sloane’s name on the notification.
Sloane
Thank you. For today. And for…you know. Everything.
I let it sit on my notifications a whole five minutes before answering because that’s how long it takes me to shake off the thrill of seeing her message. I’m a sucker for that woman, damn!
You
Ditto. Next time, the loser buys post-race milkshakes.
The read receipt pops up instantly, followed by three dancing dots. I imagine her sitting on her bed, legs dangling off the end, only half-paying attention to whatever reality TV she’s put on as a way to decompress.
Sloane
You realize you’ll be the loser, right? I’m in training.
You
We’ll see, Bishop.
Sloane
Prepare to eat your words, Sawyer.
It goes on like that until we’re both out of banter and the day catches up on us both. I eat leftovers, scrolling through photos from the event. Bright smiles, chins shiny with rainbow frosting, close-ups of our sneakers in a circle taken from above.
I print one out of the pictures of Sloane with confetti tangled in her hair and a smile that’s damn near nuclear. I stick it on my corkboard above my desk.
I spend the rest of the night working on paintings for the London show. After years of hating deadlines, I find myself suddenly ahead of schedule.
Maybe I owe Sloane royalties on my productivity. The brushstrokes feel different lately…looser, louder, more honest. Part of me wants to tell her about it. Most of me wants to just keep painting until the sun comes up.
When I finally crash, it’s the early hours of the morning.
I replay the day in my head like a movie.
The morning’s cold air, Sloane’s voice in my ear offering to pace me, the weirdly moving moment when Bella and Becca crossed the finish line holding hands and singing “We Are the Champions.” I fall asleep grinning.
My pleasant dreams are interrupted by Bella and Becca shagging. It’s not the first time, and frankly, it doesn’t bother me. There are times, however, when I wish they weren’t morning sex people, because I’ve had about three hours of sleep and need a few more before I get back to painting.
Rolling over, I find the nearest heavy object and launch it at the wall joining mine and Bella’s wall.
“Quiet sex!” I shout.
There’s some giggling before I get a muffled “sorry” in reply.
It’s no use, though. I’m awake now and can hear every squeak of Bella’s bed.
“For fuck’s sake,” I grumble, slithering out of bed and to the floor. I sit there leaning against my bedframe for a few minutes to allow my brain enough time to get my body to function.
I think of Sloane in her apartment, void of noisy roommates. Then I think of her making the noises I can hear through the wall, and my face heats.
“I need to get laid,” I mumble as I haul myself to my feet and head to the kitchen.
Caffeine is my friend today.