Chapter 16 Then #2
Because then it wouldn’t be all about figuring out, blaming, or exonerating who was wrong or right.
It would be about figuring out what kind of story you’d hoped to tell, the story that got away from you; what kind of journey you want to take as you pick yourself up and start to stumble down the road again, the story you want to find yourself in.
As we come to a stop in front of Ethan and Jen, I’m exhausted from everything that’s been running through my brain.
Alex reaches out, sensing I’ve gone quiet, his fingers brushing mine.
“Hey,” he says softly.
I peer over at him. “Hey.”
He threads his fingers through mine, and in answer, I squeeze, holding his eyes.
“Mommy!” Mia yells.
We pull our hands away, drawn into the inevitable, what we’ve managed to avoid since the awkward exchange between the four of us on my old porch, what started all of this.
“Hi, baby!” Jen crouches to hug Mia, who runs toward her.
I am not jealous of Jen’s fabulously ample, lifted derriere, accented by her spandex bike shorts and the deep squat she effortlessly completes to hug her daughter.
Self-conscious, I check the drawstring on my running shorts; the last thing I need is for them to, by contrast, slide down my nonexistent pancake ass.
Ethan throws me a glance, raking his gaze down my body. “You’ve lost weight,” he says to me. “But then I guess that makes sense, since you’re probably not eating much. You lost your personal chef, didn’t you?”
“Did you lose yours, too, Ethan?” Alex asks. He dips a chin, nodding at Ethan’s lean biceps. “Or have you always been that meager?”
Ethan’s eyes flare.
I squeeze Alex’s fingertips with mine, biting my lip. I don’t subscribe to any one idea of what makes a man attractive, masculine, “man enough,” and under any other circumstance, Alex giving Ethan hell for his lean physique would have left a bad taste in my mouth.
But this isn’t any other circumstance. Ethan hit a nerve he’s hit before, critiquing my body, reminding me of my uselessness in the kitchen.
It was a low blow. Alex went just as low, defending me, and far from leaving a bad taste in my mouth, this revenge is sweet.
Because I know Alex didn’t do it for himself; he did it for me.
Thankfully, Jen and Mia haven’t been tuned in to this, but as Jen stands with Mia, it’s evident that there’s tension between us.
Jen darts a nervous gaze at Ethan, then Alex, then me. “Nice… day for a bike ride,” she offers.
“Very nice,” I tell her.
“Glorious,” Alex says dryly, as Mia launches herself toward him. He scoops her up, tossing her high, making her squeal.
Ethan’s jaw clenches as he watches. Alex’s arm muscles, as he tosses his forty-pound daughter up into the air, do not look meager.
Jen’s watching the two of them, something pained in her expression, some ache I can’t name. It makes me ache, too. Sadness, chased by a pinprick stab of jealousy.
“Well,” Ethan says tersely, straddling his bike, “were we planning on actually getting a ride in?”
“Yes!” Mia says, taking his words, in that beautifully pure, endearing way kids have, completely literally. She leaps into a starfish stance, legs wide, hands wider and yells, “Let’s gooooo!”
I jump into the same stance and join her, yelling, “Let’s goooo!”
Mia shrieks with laughter.
Alex is smiling as he crouches, checking her helmet straps, helping Mia to steady herself on her tag-along bike seat.
I try and fail not to stare at his thighs, as his shorts ride up enough to reveal a stark tan line, a dusting of dark hair, leg muscles flexing as he shifts in his crouch, then stands.
An ache curls through my body as I look at him, as I replay how quickly he came to my defense. I’m having very lusty, very unfriendlike thoughts about my friend.
Turning away, I pluck at my tank top and try to fan my well-on-their-way-to-tomato-red cheeks. My hair is frizzing out in response to the humidity in the air. My skin feels sticky. I already have boob sweat. Nice day for a bike ride, my butt.
“Ready?” Jen calls, leading us out onto the road.
Alex and I mount our bikes, then meet each other’s eyes. “What do you say, Ted?” he asks. “Ready to kick their ass?”
A zing of pleasure snaps through me. I tear my gaze away and shout, “Ready!”
I have never been this close to death. My thighs tremble, my lungs are heaving. We’re so close to the end of this wonderful, hellish, exhausting bike ride, and I am determined to win.
The route is a loop, the first half of which was an indeterminable climb through downtown, up into the Hill District, past the hockey arena.
Ethan and Jen easily beat us up the hill, with my lackluster fitness and Alex hauling a kid weighing down the back of his bike.
The second half, which is all downhill, is another story.
By the time we’re back in Downtown’s Market Square, we’ve caught up to them, Ethan looking smug, Alex fuming, Jen and I similarly winded but determined to keep pace with the guys.
Alex and I finally pull ahead on the downhill side of the bridge stretched across the Allegheny River, leading to our neighborhood, the North Side.
As we rounded the bend of a small side street past the Clark Building, the last tiny hill leading up to our starting point, I know we’re going to beat them.
We have to beat them.
Alex glances my way, eyes bright, a near-maniacal gleam in them that I know I’m mirroring right back at him.
Then we face forward, lean into it, and fly up the hill.
As we crest the top, we turn onto the road leading toward the local community college and Gus and Yiayia’s, the rainbow-umbrellaed snow-cone truck that was our meeting point, coming to a screeching halt seconds before Ethan and Jen soar up behind us.
I wobble off my bike. It takes three shaky tries to engage my kickstand.
Alex dismounts, too, and knocks down his kickstand, looking only slightly steadier than me. Mia hops off and races toward the snow-cone truck. “I want a large!” she bellows.
Alex and I follow after her, breathing heavily, wiping sweat from our faces.
“That,” Alex says, “was a damn satisfying victory. A petty victory, but a satisfying one.”
“Thankfully,” I tell him between heaving breaths, “pettiness is our brand.”
Alex laughs hard, straight from his belly, as we fall into the Gus and Yiayia’s line, holding Mia’s place while she stands right by the cart, eyeing the flavors.
We turn, facing each other, and suddenly Alex yanks me into a hug. I sink into it, plastering my sweaty body to his, squeezing him tight.
“That felt so good,” he mutters.
I nod. “That felt amazing. At least, psychologically. My body says that it felt like death.”
He laughs again, squeezing me to him, so nothing’s between us. Hips pinned to hips, my breasts smashed against his chest, sweat-slick thighs sticking as his hands curl around my waist.
We both pull back after a moment, looking at each other, chests heaving, sweat dripping down our faces. Our eyes lock, and some unknowable force seems to tug us closer, closer, until our noses brush, until I can almost taste him, almost feel his lips brushing mine.
Heat coils through me. My nipples harden. A sweet ache throbs between my thighs. My tongue darts out, wetting my bottom lip, as Alex rakes his teeth over his.
We are dangerously close to an endorphin-soaked kiss.
“Where’s Mia?” Jen asks.
We snap apart.
“Exploring her options, right by the cart,” Alex says, turning enough to point to his daughter, exactly where he said she was.
Jen glances between us, once again, something written on her face that I can’t place.
Ethan saunters up to us, looking and sounding the least winded of all of us.
“I thought that would be a bit more challenging,” he says offhandedly, before taking a not-nearly-desperate-enough drink of water from his bottle. “I hardly broke a sweat.”
Alex and I glance at each other—winded, flushed, soaked through with perspiration.
I think with anyone else, Ethan’s dismissive dig, his pointed reminder that we might have narrowly won the race but it cost us, that if he’d tried as hard as we had he probably would have beat us, would have crushed the euphoric joy of this moment.
But I’m not with anyone else. I’m with Alex. My petty vengeance coconspirator. Fellow gelato-gorger. Great hugger. Even better listener. New York Times Games buddy. Honest and kind and in my corner. My friend.
Like they’re nothing, like they’re meaningless, Ethan’s words slide off me, gone as quick as the rivulets of sweat sluicing down my body, evaporating in the pressing heat.
That is the real victory. Not the petty one. Not the one Ethan tried to undermine. The win he can’t take away. The win I’m most proud of.
Eyes locked with Alex, I smile.