15. Noah
NOAH
Within a week, everyone in Chicago and beyond knew that Macey and I were dating. We agreed to share the truth with only our closest confidantes—Nathan and Daphne for me, three friends for Macey. She referred to them as “The Burrow Bitches,” so truthfully, I was a little terrified of them.
Nathan had laughed through the phone when I told him and wished me good luck. Daphne told me I was a loser in that ever-sweet tone of hers.
Ladies and gents, my family.
Typically, it was customary for a man to plan the first date. I had no idea how important customs were when it came to fake dating, but apparently, that didn’t matter as Macey showed up at my apartment this morning, claiming she was taking me on a date.
A surprise date.
Our journey to Grant Park was full of my frequent requests for information on what we were doing, to which Macey refused to answer. After a few attempts, I gave up.
A familiar environment greeted us when we arrived. Banners and decorations at the start line, support stations filled with bottles of water and snacks, a DJ in the grass and a table of medals. We were at a 5k. Did she think my ankle had healed in the last week?
It was feeling better, but I definitely wasn’t in the condition to run right now. Not to mention the only reason it felt better was because I hadn’t been running.
“I really appreciate this, Macey, but I can’t participate,” I admitted with a brush of my hands on my knees.
Macey grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the fountain. “We’re not running this 5k.”
“If we’re not running, then why are we here?”
Now that I took a clearer glance around the park, a few things appeared different. Namely, the runners themselves. Most people wearing a number didn’t look like a typical runner. They all had adaptive equipment like racing wheelchairs, hand cycles, and prosthetic running blades.
Pop music played over the loudspeakers as an energetic woman with a microphone welcomed participants and supporters. One man, wearing the number 1 and who was missing his left arm, walked up the stage as everyone cheered.
“This is the annual Ability Run 5k.” Macey squeezed my hand. “And, honey, you and I are volunteering.”
How narrow-minded of me was it that I didn’t even know this annual event existed? Or perhaps I did—it was possible every thought of mine vanished with the weight of Macey’s hand in mine.
She froze suddenly, dropping it. “I hope that’s okay. I usually volunteer here every year, and I thought it would be something fun for us to do. I didn’t think that maybe it would be hard being at a 5k without the ability to run.”
“What?” I almost laughed. “Of course it’s okay. I don’t think I could have planned anything better. ”
Macey beamed. “Great. You and I are volunteering at the registration and information station. Just follow my lead.”
Minutes later, we found ourselves behind a large white table, wearing matching blue T-shirts that said “Volunteer.” My volunteer experience was limited, but I found that a smile and a polite hello came easily.
The jobs weren’t difficult—we signed people up for the race and gave them a number and a T-shirt.
This 5k was different than any I’d run before, and not just because of the runner’s adaptive equipment.
Camaraderie felt like the theme of the race, whereas every race I’d run before had an air of competition to it.
Inspirational stories were shared on stage here as well as the purpose of the fundraising. All proceeds went to local charities.
Everyone here was unified and motivated. They helped each other, with volunteers ready to support any runner who required assistance.
To my surprise, many of them seemed to know Macey, greeting her with smiles and hugs that lingered just a little too long for my liking.
One old gentleman with a patch over his right eye clasped her hand, holding on just long enough for me to wonder if I should step in.
Cute, or just bold? Either way, I wasn’t a fan.
“Macey Monroe!” he exclaimed in a raspy voice. “I thought we weren’t ever going to see you again.”
He glared at me, like it was somehow my fault he hadn’t seen Macey in a while.
Macey laughed. “I’m sorry, Bob, work has been crazy. You know I wouldn’t miss the 5k for anything, though.”
“I know, I know.” Bob continued to stare at me, his narrow eyes deepening the wrinkles there. “And who is this lucky fellow working with you?”
“This is Noah.” Macey paused. “He’s my boyfriend. ”
As if to prove a point, I threw an arm over her shoulders. That’ll show him.
She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye but didn’t say anything else.
“Boyfriend?” Bob laughed. “Lucky fellow, indeed. You better not keep her from us, young man.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said truthfully.
Macey handed him a stack of information along with a number that read 133. “Bob, he’s a volunteer, too.”
Yeah. And I’d be at the next 5k too, Bob.
Was I…jealous of an innocent old man? God help me.
“We’ll be seeing you around then, Noah.” Bob pinned his number to his T-shirt and left with a wink.
The race began shortly after with a burst of enthusiasm as participants crossed the start line. The route was designed to run through Grant Park’s greenery, past flower gardens and along paved paths that offered glimpses of Lake Michigan.
The course itself was inclusive, with clear markings and smooth surfaces to accommodate all types of mobility aids. Spectators lined the way, waving signs with positive messages and cheering loud enough to make my head spin.
“What now?” I asked now that registration had closed.
“Now,” said Macey, “we get ice cream and cheer them on at the finish line.”
Amid a sea of healthy food trucks serving kale wraps and quinoa bowls, there it was—a lone ice cream truck, like a sugar-coated rebel. I hadn’t seen one since I was a kid, and honestly, part of me still suspected they were just elaborate fronts for money laundering.
I couldn’t believe how much fun I was having. Until now, volunteering had been in a completely different circle than dating in my head. Though I guess anything could be a date if you were with the right person .
Fake date , the voice in my head reprimanded me.
The teenager inside the truck handed me my order, rocky road in a waffle cone. Macey received her cup of mint chocolate chip gleefully.
“Don’t judge,” she said, grabbing a plastic spoon.
“You can’t ask that of me,” I said. “People who order toothpaste ice cream deserve to be made fun of.”
“It’s called taste,” she muttered. “Let’s go sit in the grass for a few minutes.”
Under the shade of a tree, we leaned back and enjoyed dessert. Macey took a few minutes to capture the perfect selfie of us, but by the time she did, my ice cream was half gone.
We had agreed to alternate who posted pictures of us each week. Technically, neither of us had posted one of us yet. We had only liked and reshared the photo from Opal Serenity. I was sure she’d make a big splash with the picture, and I’d rather she get the flurry of love than me.
“So if you weren’t a full-time influencer, what would you be doing?” Macey asked, her plastic spoon resting against her bottom lip, her eyes steady on mine.
I had to think about it. “Maybe I would have gone back to college and finished my degree.”
She dipped the spoon back into her cup, finishing the last bit of ice cream with a slow lick that made my pulse jump.
My ice cream was long gone, but my hands still felt sticky—a discomfort that conveniently mirrored the knot tightening in my chest. I fished around in my pocket for a tissue, more to stall than anything else.
“What’s the readmittance process for Cornell like?”
Embarrassed, I admitted, “I have no idea. It’s way too far to consider reapplying.”
She didn’t judge my ignorance. “What were you studying?”
Flashes of my time at Cornell came to me in emotions. The pride I felt holding the acceptance letter. Freshman year, the nerves before meeting my random roommate. The challenges I faced in classes. The pure joy, and exhaustion, of hours spent in the architecture studio.
“Architecture.”
“That explains the LEGOs.”
“I like that there’s so much to it,” I said. “You’ve got the engineering side, but then you also have creativity, like design and drawing.”
“What did you want to do as an architect?” Macey smiled when I abandoned the grass to join her against the tree. “Before you had to move home, that is.”
“I wanted to work on residential homes. As a kid, everything in our house was always falling apart. We were fine, but it made me want to learn to design houses that are functional, safe, and look good.”
The issues in our house were never anything that couldn’t be dealt with. Mom did a good job at patch fixing what went wrong, but there were engineering failures present from the start.
More so than ever, I wished I could go back and fix them. If there was a way that I could improve the functionality of homes for kids in need, I’d do it.
“I think that’s wonderful,” said Macey. “Why not pursue that when the social career is done?”
“I never got my degree,” I reminded her. “I doubt Cornell would take me back. And I don’t have much of a desire to move back to New York.”
It was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Something deeper kept me tethered, a weight I couldn’t shake. I hated lingering too long on that chapter of my life—college, funeral, and endless frozen casseroles—because it all felt like a giant, unfixable failure.
Logically, I knew I’d built something for myself. The paycheck was proof enough. But fulfillment? That had always been just out of reach.
Opportunities to go back and finish my degree had come and gone, but I’d always found excuses to avoid them. It had felt like that door was closed for good.
“Would you be open to doing something similar yet different?” She pressed. “Maybe a local university?”
I hesitated, caught off guard. Most people didn’t ask about my life beyond the surface—the content, the trips, the numbers. They assumed they already knew me, or at least the version of me they saw online. It was rare for someone to want to dig deeper.
And maybe that was why it made me feel a little shy, a little unsteady, to have Macey looking at me like she actually wanted to hear my answer. Like she wasn’t just humoring me.
Talking to her felt easy in a way I wasn’t used to. There was no need to spin a story or play up a persona. And despite everything she’d thought about me before, she wasn’t dismissing me as just some influencer anymore.
“Maybe,” I said.
Just then, there were cheers in the distance. Craning my neck, I noticed confetti and balloons were being popped, too.
“People are heading to the finish line.” Macey shot up. “C’mon, let’s go greet them.”
As we walked toward the blue-and-white striped banner, I asked the question that had been plaguing me for the last hour. “Why did you really bring me here?”
Eyes trained on the finish line, she answered, “You can’t run right now, so I thought I’d bring the run to you.”
A smile graced my lips of its own accord.
It was exciting to see everyone finish the race, even Bob and the long hug he gave Macey. From under his arms, she winked at me. Together, we handed out snacks and bottles of water. Even though I hadn’t run a single second today, I felt like I was on an adrenaline high.
I attempted to get Macey to let me walk her home under the guise of the audience that could see us, but she declined. Multiple times. I didn’t let it faze me. Nothing could ruin the good mood I was in.
It had been a while since I was in such a pleasant headspace. I walked home alone with an extra pep in my step. Honestly, was I in a teen rom-com movie, or what?
Too bad the extra pep didn’t make it all the way to my apartment. In the elevator, I opened my phone to see how many followers Macey gained after posting the photo, already planning a congratulations text message for later.
But instead of love and happy words, all I saw were horrible comments.
He’ll drop you soon enough
She’s not even that pretty
When do you think she’ll get a boob job?
What the fuck was wrong with people? It was like the anonymity of the Internet shrouded any sense of decency that people had.
I couldn’t spend any longer reading through the disgusting comments. I was torn between calling Macey to warn her about checking the comments and not wanting to bring them to her attention.
I just hoped that when she inevitably saw them, I’d be there to remind her they weren’t true.