Right.
Active.
Speaking of—
‘I signed up for a half marathon,’ he says, interrupting my thoughts.‘Three months from now.You should do it with me.’
I nod enthusiastically.‘Yeah, sounds fun.’
My brain, however, is staring at a piece of tuna sashimi and thinking about Luke’s dog named Sushi.
I look up, suddenly.‘Wanna get out of here?’
He grins.‘Sure.’
We split the bill and get an Uber back to mine.It’s clinical.
Mechanical.Easy.The kind of night I should want.
Back at my apartment, he’s still talking – something about marathons or interval training or splits, whatever those are.I chime in occasionally while his voice, warm and steady, follows me as I move to the kitchen, both of us pretending I’m emotionally present.
I grab two wine glasses from the cabinet without thinking, already reaching for the cheap bottle I left on the counter earlier.The cork creaks as I work it loose, too loud in the quiet between his sentences.
He says something about pace zones.I nod, as if I’ve heard him.
But what I’m really doing is staring at the empty glass in front of me.Maybe – if I wait long enough – it’ll fill itself with something that makes this all make sense.Something strong enough to drown out the truth I’ve been tap-dancing around since the moment I started this whole charade.
Then it creeps in – quiet at first, a whisper I didn’t invite.What if this is it?
What if I keep doing this – lying to everyone, pretending I’m someone I’m not, bluffing my way through relationships like it’s a con I can cash in on later – and I end up alone?A carbon copy of Mum.Bitter and brittle, drinking wine from a coffee mug and swearing it’s not the alcohol that’s the problem, it’s everyone else.
I see it – flashes of a future I don’t want.Living alone.Lying by reflex.Being so good at pretending that I forget how to stop.
It makes my stomach turn.
Then – without warning – I blurt out, ‘I hate running.’
Tom stops mid-sentence.‘What?’
‘Ihaterunning,’ I repeat, louder now.‘I can’t run more than two k’s.I don’t want a dog.I don’t even enjoy dogs that much.The kelpie thing?That was a lie.Everything’s a lie.’
He opens his mouth, but I keep going.
‘I haven’t seen my dad in years.My mum’s an alcoholic who bought my niece lingerie for her sixth birthday.My sister is stuck in a marriage with a man I genuinely think might ruin her.I once slept with my mechanic because I couldn’t afford a pink slip and I thought if I dated him, he wouldn’t charge me.’I pause.‘He charged me anyway.’
Tom’s face is frozen.
And still, I keep going.
‘I’m a compulsive liar with chronic attachment issues, and I’m terrified I’m going to turn into my parents.That I’ll end up alone, bitter, still telling myself I’m fine when I’m very much not.’
Silence.
I stand there, chest heaving, heart pounding, filled with equal parts nausea and weird relief.I’ve just run a marathon without moving.This shit is better than sex.
Tom blinks.‘Wow.’
‘Yeah.’I finally pour the wine and take a sip.‘That about sums it up.’
