Page 15 of Get Me to the Starting Line

Shay: I’ll be in the middle of the pack so if anyone isn’t competitive, they can run with me

Mateo: you know Paige best, Leah, if you don’t think it’s a good idea, then I’m with you

I’ve lost. Miserably.

No one is on my side anymore, and even Mateo’s last message stings. I reread Isabel’s suggestion to cheer from the sidelines, but I can’t do that. I know Paige would understand and she wouldn’t expect me to run the race. But this is their hurrah weekend and I’m her big sister.

Thinking of how excited she’ll be if I run—how surprised and happy it would make her—I don’t see another option.

But I’d rather walk through icy tundra barefoot and naked before giving that man the satisfaction of giving in too quickly. Before I can do anything rash, like agree, I shut my computer down and take a deep breath.

My hands clench into fists, and I have to resist the urge to plan everything myself so it all goes how I want it. It has to be perfect. But it has to be perfect for Paige and not for me.

Bloody hell, I hate that he’s right. They would love to do a race, and is there anything I wouldn’t do for my sister? Well, I’d leap in front of a train for her but forget about letting her borrow my clothes.

My mom’s voice pops into my head.

If you’re going to do something for someone, make sure it’s because it’s what they want and not just to make yourself feel good about doing it.

She was sick for her last birthday, and we tried to celebrate the best we could, knowing it could be her last. People in the community where she lived—who had stayed away for years, much to our relief—found out she was sick and were constantly dropping off meals and coming over to check on her. People she didn’t know.

It was eight o’clock in the evening and she was headed to bed when the doorbell rang. A couple with a cake started singing as soon as I got the door open. When they were finished, they gave a little “we wanted you to feel special” speech.

My mom recovered from the shock the quickest and stuck up her middle finger before turning her back on them to walk up the stairs. I apologized for her and graciously accepted the cake. I still remember the conversation word for word after I closed the door.

“You could have been a little nicer, Mom, their intentions were good,” I said as I helped her get into bed.

She snorted. “Good intentions mean shit if the intention is to make yourself feel good.”

“Alright, grouchy old lady, get some sleep.”

“I’m serious, Lee. If their intentions were truly about me, they could’ve called or texted and asked if I was up for visitors. Or they could’ve dropped the cake off and sent a message telling us it was there. Instead, they made a big show of it to make themselves feel good.”

It was the most she’d said all at once in a while, and I could tell this truly meant something to her. I took her hand and sat on the edge of the bed as she scanned my face, as if memorizing my features. A wave of emotion hit me. I knew we didn’t have a lot of time left.

“You can’t know people’s intentions.”

She smiled and squeezed my hand. “You’re right, sweetie, you can’t. But actions speak volumes. And their actions tonight were not about me.”

“And how do you know that for certain?”

“Did you see the cake?”

I shook my head and went over to where I’d placed it on her dresser.

“Chocolate cake,” I said, understanding.

Anyone who truly knew her would never have brought this (or would have brought it as a joke) because Paige and I teased her relentlessly about it.

My mom hated chocolate cake.

The memory washes over me. I can still taste that cake—Paige and I ate it after Mom fell asleep. We laughed about it and wavedit off, but I understand now what she was saying. Yes, they did something nice, and maybe their hearts were in the right place. But does it count if the “something nice” is something the other person would never have wanted for themselves?

The plans for the stag and doe weekend swirl around in my mind, and I realize I’m making the same mistake. I’m planning this the way I want Paige to want it.

I swallow the bitter taste of defeat as I open my laptop and pull up the document. Everyone else is gone but one person remains. Of course.

Tossing aside the mental image of Julien’s smug face, I replace it with the look of surprise and joy on Paige’s as I force myself to type out my surrender.

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