Page 13

“You okay over there?” Paige asks on the other end of the phone. We’ve been talking wedding planning while Levi played happily in the living room. Until he got hungry and it went to hell. I haven’t been listening to her.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” I’m trying to wrestle Levi into his high chair, but he’s not having it.

“It’s fine, it can wait if the little bug is giving you a hard time. Do you want me to come over and help out?”

Yes.

“No, I’ve got it.” I keep the tremble out of my voice as much as I can, hoping she can’t hear it. Finding a way to hang up quickly, I set the phone down on the counter. I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown. My run this morning completely zapped me of all energy.

I’m totally destroyed. My legs weigh one hundred pounds each and also are somehow hot and buzzing with energy. What the fuck is that about ?

And then there’s the full-body exhaustion. It cannot possibly stay this hard forever, right? No one would get anything done if running wrecked them so thoroughly every time.

Paige and Adam run together in the mornings, which baffles me. Especially when they’re training for ultras—much to Adam’s dismay—they sometimes run in the evenings as well. As in two fucking runs a day. How does my machine of a sister do it?

I can’t even blame it on the fact that she’s not a mom, because I know how many women do what she does, even with kids. It’s fucking incredible, no matter the level.

There’s no way I have the energy to struggle with Levi tonight. He can eat cereal out of the box for all I care. His fit immediately stops when I put him on the floor and hand him the box of Cheerios. I must really be off my game because I should’ve known that was a mistake.

The box gets turned over, and a shower of little wheat circles rains down all over my kitchen floor accompanied by crumbs and powder.

Mom of the year right here.

This time, I don’t hold the tears back. I’m tired. I’m sore. I’m so fucking hungry. When is my food getting here?

Vancouver is so ridiculously expensive to live in, I’m grateful I have a well-paying job because I can just about keep on top of all my bills and have a little money left over for fun. But I do have to budget fairly well, which includes eating out. I try to order food once every other week, but this is the second time in three days. I’m simply too tired to cook, and if I don’t get food in me soon, I’m going to start in on my son’s floor Cheerios.

Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.

“Finally,” I mutter under my breath. When I swing it open, the smell of kadai paneer wafts into my apartment, but I can only savour it for a moment.

Behind the delivery guy, who leaves my food in my needy hands, is Paige, standing there looking a little flushed with a few bags of groceries.

“What’re you doing here?” I ask as she barges into the apartment, which used to be hers, taking the bags right to the kitchen.

“Dang, kid, give your momma a break,” she coos at her nephew. Then she starts putting away the groceries. “Leah,” she says while bent over, tucking food away in my nearly empty fridge, “you were almost crying on the phone.”

When she stands up and finally notices me in my sweatpants, hair a mess—nothing she hasn’t seen before—zoning in on my tear-streaked cheeks.

“Was it that obvious?”

“Not to anyone but me.”

I gape, slack-jawed, a little stunned as she continues to unpack food before sitting on the floor to eat Cheerios with Levi.

“Eat your food wherever—you can stay in here with us if you want, or you can go sit on the balcony and have some space if you need that. Hell, if you need to, take off for a bit. Whatever you need is fine. ”

Emotion clogs my throat. Why am I even surprised? She came and stayed with me after my accident, jeopardising her job and her relationship with Adam to help. I had to kick her out, even though I still wasn’t fully recovered.

Taking my food out to the balcony, I drag in my first full breath since picking Levi up from daycare. I let the tears flow as I sit on one of the little wooden chairs and place my food on the rickety table.

The view of the city is beautiful, and the sun is almost ready to set. I can even glimpse the ocean, the mountains looming in the background. But it’s the city skyline I focus on.

I love studying cityscapes, comfortable with the feeling of bustling people getting shit done. Of people living their lives all around me, completely separate from mine, each of us the centre of our own universe. Vancouver is a beautiful spread of tall, grey buildings, some glinting as the sunlight dances off the windows. Not to mention the bridge. There’s something about a suspension bridge that I love. Each cable is essential to keep the bridge up. Take one away and it weakens the whole structure.

The food is divine, the flavours exploding on my tongue. The naan is perfectly warm and both soft and crispy in the way only a stone oven can achieve. Paired with the masala spice and pepper, it’s hitting the spot, the paneer melting in my mouth.

I try to savour it and not scarf it down. It’s a difficult feat, but I manage.

As my stomach fills, I feel like I’m coming back to myself. The tension leaves my body as it finally gets what it needs. I usually get two meals out of this, but I’m eating the whole damn thing tonight .

My day replays in my head like it usually does. I linger on the mistakes I might’ve made, things I wish I’d said better or differently. As I dwell on the typo one of my students pointed out in my slide presentation—a simple one I should’ve caught when editing—my face heats again.

I tried to laugh it off with my students, but it’s eating me up inside. One stupid little mistake probably makes them think less of me. I should have caught it. I haven’t had any breakthroughs with my current research yet, and every day that goes by with no progress, it’s like a cable in my body snaps and I’m in danger of collapsing.

To counter the negativity of my previous thoughts, I remind myself I ran twelve minutes without stopping and I apologized to Julien.

Who knew I could be so amenable? Not me. My mind keeps going back to the run.

Back to Julien’s quiet presence, his infuriating insistence that he stay with me. It was only the second time, but something tells me it’s going to become a regular thing.

There’s something else eating at me. Something he said has wormed its way into my consciousness.

Running is a mental sport.

Not that Paige isn’t smart—she is—but if there are any genetic contests where I won the lottery, it’s in my academic prowess. I flew through school, barely having to try. My memory is almost classified as eidetic, though not quite Sheldon Cooper level.

My academic success propelled me into one of the toughest fields: Engineering .

As one of the only women in my program, I had to work hard to prove myself. And now, even though I’ve been working years longer than most of the other bioengineers, I still have to work twice as hard to get the same recognition as my colleagues.

In my head, Ian’s voice tells me I won’t be able to do it. Not without him. Damn him. I’ve done so much work to get him out of my brain, and I hate that he still has the power to affect me.

But if I don’t start something new soon, my funding could get cut, and I may even lose my position here. And if I lose my position, I lose my work visa, and I’d have to move back to the States.

With Paige playing happily with Levi in the kitchen, their giggles reaching me even through the closed patio door, I can’t bear the thought of leaving her.

I sit back, my stomach full and my mind still whirling as I watch the city from above.

Running is a mental sport.

And that is where my strengths are—in my mind. I can outstubborn anyone—except Levi, apparently—and if there’s one thing I excel at, it’s the challenge of mental fortitude.

I’m going to kick running’s ass.

Full of resolve, I stand and collect all the garbage. Back inside I see Paige and Levi hunched over a broom, cleaning up the cereal from the floor together. My heart melts at the sight, and I pause before I join them.

My sister and I work side by side cleaning up the kitchen and getting Levi bathed and into bed. It’s a full hour before she pours us each a glass of wine and plops down on my couch .

She barely lets me sit before she starts in on me. “You could’ve asked, you know.” Her brows lift in a gentle reprimand.

I sigh, taking a sip from my glass. “I know. I just ...” I don’t know how to explain it. There’s nothing either of us wouldn’t do for the other. Hell, I moved countries to be closer to her so she could live her dream life. But there’s a disconnect between us as older and younger sisters.

She wants to help because she loves me. I love her and want to help, but there’s also this feeling of responsibility—I have to help. She needs me. I’m hit with the image of her crying in the bed across the room after Dad died. Her nightmares used to be so bad, I started sleeping with her so she’d know she wasn’t alone. I didn’t get much sleep because she was fitful, kicking me all night, but it was worth it because it helped her.

Except she doesn’t need me anymore. She has Adam and his family.

“Thank you for coming,” I say sincerely.

“I’m here for you, anytime you need. But I don’t always know when you need me, so you have to figure out how to ask.”

“I know.” It’s true, I do know. It’s hard for me to do.

“You are not a burden.”

And somehow, she hits the nail on the head. Maybe she does understand more than I think. I could tell her about the running I’ve been doing. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Now would be the time to let her in, but I can’t. She’s already helping me so much—I can’t ask more of her. Instead, I nod and she lets it drop.

“So, what were you trying to ask me on the phone before Levi so rudely acted his age?” I ask, grateful for the lull so I can change the subject.

She smirks. “I was asking if you want to come to a Whales game with me in a few weeks.”

“Oh, um ... I guess?” It comes out like a question. She laughs at the trepidation likely written all over my face, knowing sports aren’t my thing.

“You’ll love it. Watching in person is so much better than watching at home.”

Yeah, because I watch so many games at home, I’ll be able to tell the difference.

“Aren’t they, like, six hours long?”

“Not quite,” she says, laughing.

With her fiancé being a player development coach for the team—and an ex-NHL hockey player—she knows way more about the sport than she used to. Though she’s always loved hockey, now she gets a behind-the-scenes pass, working with the team. It’s also how she met Julien.

That’s when I realize I would get to see Julien as a goalie—observe him in his element. He’s so clearly uncomfortable in everyday situations, but I imagine the ice is where he feels most like himself. Similar to how I feel in my lab, researching and solving problems.

Of course, I’m speculating because I don’t know him that well. Even though I’ve spent a short amount of time with him, somehow, I get him.

Realizing I still haven’t answered her question, I nod. “Sure. ”

She squeals and begins explaining all the ins and outs I didn’t ask for about the sport. I let her ramble on, my mind drifting to the next time I’ll be able to lace up my shoes and go for a run.

The thought hits me out of nowhere.

Woah.

Am I ... Am I a runner?