Page 121 of Run
“Merry Christmas, Larry. Thanks for the invite.”
“Of course.” He releases me and holds me at arm’s length, giving my shoulders a squeeze before he turns and pulls Ari in.
Meg comes barreling into the living room to join us in a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. “Hey!” Ari points at her. “Where are your pajama pants?”
Meg raises her hands up. “I spilled on them while I was cooking. They’re in the wash.”
Ari rolls her eyes. “Fine. I guess leggings will do.”
Ari told me the Millers always celebrate the holiday in their pajamas, and I wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t playing a trick on me. She bought a pair of Santa Claus PJs for the occasion, but I told her I draw the line at characters on my sleep pants.
Ari finished up her transcription work and has been hired as a substitute teacher, beginning after Christmas break. She all but lives with me and Fonz now. There was never a formal moving-in gesture; she just started spending almost every night at the house and slowly her things migrated over. I like it. Her perfume and lotion sit on my dresser—our dresser. Her clothes hang in our closet, shoes are lined up by our door, and she’s got all kinds of girly shit in the bathroom, which Fonz can’t stand but it makes me smile.
After Sophie arrives in Christmas PJs, we all enjoy a roast beef dinner prepared by Meg that’s absolutely to die for. Even Ari, who has gotten used to seeing me pack it in, gives me wide eyes when I go for a third helping.
After chitchatting around the table for a while, Larry stands and starts gathering plates. I stand up to help, and Ari starts to follow. “No.” I place a hand on her shoulder. “You ladies sit. We’ll clean up.”
Ari frowns at me. “No. Ethan, we’ll help.”
“Nope,” Larry interrupts. “We’ve got this. I promise we won’t screw it up.” He gives Meg a look. “Dishes go in the washing machine, right? Spin cycle?”
She raises her wine glass to her lips. “Honestly, I don’t care where you put them, as long as I don’t have to look at them.”
Grabbing a stack of plates and making my way into the kitchen, I come to an abrupt stop. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” Larry replies, with a pile of plates teetering in his hands. “Meg is a great cook, but she’s a friggin’ mess.”
There are trays and utensils, cutting boards, pots and pans, lids and baking sheets covering every surface—the countertops, island, stovetop, the little table in the corner. “Let’s just get one load in the dishwasher and then we’ll break for presents,” Larry suggests.
I nod. “You got it, boss.”
He pulls the door of the dishwasher down and starts running water in the sink as he begins loading the top rack. I start scraping remnants of dinner off a few plates, placing the empty dishes on the countertop next to Larry.
We work in silence until he breaks it. “Meg and I have never seen her like this.”
I stop what I’m doing, the sound of a knife scraping across a plate stopping at the same time Larry turns off the faucet. He looks at me. “Ari. We’ve never seen her so …” he stares at nothing as he thinks, “Energetic? Hopeful?”
“Happy?” I offer, and he looks at me. “I really hope she’s happy.”
“That’s a given,” Larry says quickly. “Can’t you see it?”
“I do. At least, I think so. That’s what my goal is every day.” I turn and rest my ass against the counter, placing my hands against the granite on either side of me. Larry leans his hip against the sink and folds his arms over his chest as he faces me.
“She’s so …” It’s my turn to look into space as I try to gather my thoughts.
“Challenging? Stubborn? Complex?”
“Yes, yes, and hell yes.” We both chuckle. “I can’t remember a time that I didn’t love her. And yet, sometimes I feel like I’m not loving her the right way. Like she needs me to be different somehow.” Larry tilts his head in question, and I blow out a breath. “I know the accident was life changing. Not just what it did to her body, but her whole mentality. I can’t imagine.But I just feel like she always chooses to take the path of most resistance just to prove she can do it.”
Larry smiles and nods knowingly.
“For example, she’s always jumping up to wait on me—to get me a blanket or a drink, or asking if she can make me a sandwich or what I want for dinner. I mean, I love that she wants to dote on me, but I tell her all the time that’s not the kind of relationship we have. We are equals. And she gets defensive when I stop her. I want to take care of her just as much as she takes care of me. Hell, I wish she would only let me take care of her.”
I let out a breath, exasperated, then run a hand down my face. “Shit, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to go off like that.”
“You’re not going off,” Larry responds immediately, keeping his pose. “You’re concerned. And she’s lucky to have someone so worried about her.” I frown, looking at the ground. “But I think you may be wrong, Ethan.” I shoot my head up to look at him. Larry thins his lips before he speaks. “I don’t think she’s taking the path of most resistance. I think she’s taking the only path she knows.”
I pull my brows together in question.
