Page 46 of Running Into You
Emptiness fills me after I end the call. I abandon thoughts of a shower and crawl into bed, fully aware that I’m not going to be able to fall asleep.
Chapter 27
Betty
“Over… under… around… and through…” I sing to myself as I lace up my running shoes.
I didn’t learn to tie my shoes until I was eight years old. My father tried to teach me, to no avail. My mother didn’t offer any encouragement, aside from the occasional snide remark about the Velcro on my pale pink running shoes. Eventually, my father bought me a pair of lace-up shoes for school, in the hopes that I would catch on quicker. I would double-knot the laces and then stuff them into my shoes, so I didn’t trip over them. No one seemed to be the wiser until my third-grade class got a student teacher.
Miss White was the kind of teacher young girls dreamed about. I remember thinking she looked like Ariel fromThe Little Mermaid, with her long red hair and her bright green eyes. When she read aloud for the class, she used her entire body to tell the story and every child in the room was downright bewitched by her. One day, when I was tucking my laces into my shoes, I looked up to see her watching me. She smiled when she met my eyes and I felt sure she wouldn’t tell anyone my secret.
At the next recess, she asked me to stay back to help her with something and I eagerly agreed. I would have given up a year’s worth of recess to spend more time with her. She sat down on the round rug where we gathered for story time and patted the spot next to her. She told me that when she was young, she had a difficult time learning to tie her shoes, and then she sang me a little rhyme to help me practice.
“Over, under, around and through, meet Mr. Bunny Rabbit, pull and through.”
By the end of the week, I was tying my shoes like a professional. If there was such a thing as a professional shoe tier. Sometimes, if I was running late, or we had to make a quick transition at school, I would panic and forget how to tie them. In those moments, I would go back to the rhyme, and it would come back to me.
This morning, I sing it to myself as I prepare to go on my third solo run. Solo, as in, by myself. Without Josh. When I left my apartment at 5:30 a.m. on Tuesday morning, I half-expected him to be waiting for me. He wasn’t. He wasn’t there on Thursday, either. I haven’t seen him since Sunday when I’d told him we needed to end things.
“Is that what you want?”he’d asked me. And I’d lied to his face.
As soon as my feet find the sidewalk, I start to jog. I can’t wait to rid my body of the pent-up emotion that threatens to take over. I’m not running fast, but definitely faster than I had been with Josh. Probably because there is no talking, flirting, or laughter slowing me down. I welcome the burn that spreads through my lungs as I run. It distracts me from everything else I’ve been feeling for the last week. Things I don’t want to feel.
I planned my route for a three-mile distance and my watch vibrates on my wrist, confirming that I’ve met my goal. Exceeded it actually.
Congrats, Betty. You are literally running from your problems.
I enter my building and scan the entrance for him. I do the same in the stairwell and our shared hallway. Nothing. I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time. Disappointed because I would love some sign that he still lives in the building. I haven’t glimpsed so much as his shadow in six days. Relieved because I have no idea what I’d say to him if I were to run into him.
The first thing I do when I get inside my apartment is go to my kitchen drawer. Inside, I find the calendar Josh gave me. I place a gold star sticker on today’s date, then place it back inside the drawer.
After a quick stretch and shower, I throw myself into my planned tasks for today, starting with laundry. I hesitate for a moment before putting my bedsheets into the washing machine. I haven’t washed them since the last time Josh was here, and I allow myself a brief mourning period before stuffing them into the machine and dumping a long swig of detergent on them. My mother’s voice crowds my thoughts and I hear her saying, “Clinging to the past is pointless, Elizabeth. Do your future self a favor and learn to let things go.” My mother’s pep talks were never very uplifting.
After a quick food inventory and grocery list, I’m on my way to the store. I try not to think about Josh, but it proves impossible. If he were here with me, what would we talk about? Did he have a good week? I’m guessing not, given how gutted he’d looked when he left my place last. Is he thinking about me? Does he miss me?
My week had gone by in a blur. It’s not that I was so busy that it passed quickly, but more like I wasn’t fully aware of everything around me. Meetings felt like background noise; I’d attended them, but I wasn’t really present. I stayed in my office as much as possible. On Thursday, Andrew came by and asked if I wanted to grab another drink this weekend, but I’d told him I had plans. He seemed disappointed, but I didn’t really care. The thought of putting on a happy face and trying to act interested in anything he had to say sounded exhausting. If this brief interlude with Josh taught me anything, it’s that I’m not the relationship type, and Andrew is a good guy. He deserves better than me.
The grocery store was busy but otherwise uneventful and I’m back at my apartment an hour after I left. Walking up the stairway, I can hear laughter in my hall. Male and female laughter. Familiar laughter.
When I exit the stairwell, Josh and Maggie are standing in the middle of the hall. He’s relaxed and laughing at something Maggie just said. I’ve missed his laugh so much. He stiffens slightly when he notices me.
“There she is!” Maggie squeals when she sees me. Looking at my grocery bags, she sighs and says to Josh. “You win. It was grocery shopping. I was sure you’d be meal prepping, but this guy informed me you do that on Sunday now.”
“Lucky guess,” Josh says with a shrug. I’m racking my brain trying to understand what’s going on. I’ve been avoiding Maggie all week, and I’m certain I didn’t make plans with her. My entire weekend was planned around solitude. Why is she here looking ever so chummy with Josh?
“What’s up?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound as annoyed as I am.
“You’ve been a hard woman to talk to this week, so I thought I’d come to tell you in person.”
“Tell me what?”
“We’ve got dinner reservations at seven tonight at Bohemian.” She’s not asking, she’s telling. “And before you tell me you have plans or that you can’t, I know you don’t, and you can, so you will be coming.”
“I’d better get going.” Josh starts for the stairs but seems to rethink it. He looks over his shoulder at the elevator. I think he’d rather use the elevator than walk past me in this narrow hall. “I’ll see you ladies later.” He decides to go with the stairs.
“Yes, you will!” Maggie says cheerfully. “Seven p.m. at Bohemian.” Josh has just reached me when she says this and turns around. We stand almost shoulder to shoulder, staring at her like we must have misheard her.
“I’m sorry, I can’t make it tonight,” he says evenly.
