“Are you three coming, or what?”
I don’t dare make eye contact with Dustin, or with Patrick for that matter. I just start running, careful to keep my stride shorter than Greyson’s so we don’t end up side by side. Not that it’s hard to lag behind him. His legs are longer and he’s picking up the pace now that we’re all running.
Dustin pesters Greyson the whole run.
“So, you just go to people’s houses for dinner now?”
He strides ahead of Greyson, turning backward and running without looking where he’s going. “Why’d you go to …”
A woman rounds the corner with a stroller and a dog.
Dustin takes one step backward and collides with the stroller. “... Hallie’s house?”
He’s going down, but he’s still asking questions—wobblingfrom foot to foot, pivoting, grasping for anything to keep upright.
The dog runs around the stroller, wrapping Dustin and the mom with his leash.
The mom shouts, “Sorry! Dustin, I’m sorry!”
Dustin’s lifting his legs, trying to grab the leash. “It’s okay!”
The dog lurches forward and Dustin folds at the waist, arms flapping.
In the middle of the chaos, he looks at the woman. “Did you ever ask Greyson to dinner?”
She grabs at a tree trunk. “No. Should I have?” She looks at her dog. “Marty! Sit.”
The dog sits.
Dustin and the woman stabilize.
The woman untangles the leash.
Dustin lifts his legs and steps back. “No. I’m just checking.”
Dustin bends and puts his head in front of the baby in the stroller. “You’re okay, aren’t you? Goochie goo!”
The baby reaches out and grabs Dustin’s nose and gives it a solid squeeze.
“Owwwww. Ow. Okay, buddy.” Dustin honks out.
He stands up, rubbing his fingers down his reddened nose.
The mom apologizes profusely.
“No problem. I was the one running backward. Have a nice morning, Stella.”
She laughs softly. “You too.”
Dustin takes off running—facing forward this time.
He catches up to Greyson and starts right back in on his inquisition. “Emberleigh and I asked you to dinner. Remember that, Grey? I do. And you said no.”
Greyson keeps running, eyes on the horizon, as if Dustin’s no more important than a gnat, buzzing around his ear.
Dustin slows his pace and pulls up next to me a few blocks before we reach the station. “What did you cook?”
“Ribs and potatoes,” I say.
