Page 30 of Run To You
“Thanks for today,” she finally says. “I needed it.”
“Me too.” And it feels as true as anything I’ve ever said.
There are things I want to tell her. How I tried to block her number but could never bring myself to do it. That I still have the stupid art project she made for my birthday, the one with the photo booth strips and the quote about souls. That I wish I could bottle up afternoons like this and keep them for the shit days.
But I don’t say any of it. Instead, I bump her knee and ask, “Wanna help me pick out which paintings to take to London?”
I already know the paintings I’m going to submit, but I love the idea of Sloane being in my creative space again. I’ll have to hide the dozen or so naked ones of her, though. That would be embarrassing, and she might find it a little creepy.
She smiles at the water, then at me. “I’d like that.”
Maybe we’re not rewriting history. Maybe we’re just giving it a new ending.
That night I return home in the dark, hair still wet, stomach full, heart lighter than it’s been in years. I don’t check my phone for new texts—there’s nothing I need that isn’t already waiting for me, bright and safe, just up the road.
10
Sloane
Istarted setting my alarm when I moved back home, just to keep some semblance of normalcy. I didn’t want to be sleeping in until midday…those days are over. So, imagine my surprise when I didn’t hear the blaring siren of my alarm. Instead I woke to birdsong, and instantly I knew it was later than usual, but actually that’s okay today because I feel great. I’m not even going to stress about how my alarm magically disappeared.
My brain is fizzing with the aftershocks of yesterday, like my neurons are soaked in caffeine. The ceiling isdancing with light reflecting off the pool. It looks like the sky…like a place where good things happen.
I do a full inventory of my body. Limbs accounted for and heartbeat normal, chest cavity not caving in under panic-induced pressure. The anxiety is still present, and I know it always will be, but it’s background static—there, but not dictating my every move. It’s so weird I actually laugh out loud, which triggers a second, startled laugh. Is this what a good morning feels like?
I’ve felt better for some time, but after yesterday’s impromptu pool party, I feel…well, complete. I feel like me again.
I reach for my phone. There are no messages, no missed calls from Eden or Becca or Bella. Just a text from my mom, time stamped 2:03 a.m.
Mom
Hey sweetheart, hope you’re ok, late night ice cream if u want :)
I missed it because Eden and I talked until nearly midnight, then I lay awake, replaying the entire conversation until the words ran together and I drifted off mid-thought. I never used to sleep well after “emotionallysignificant events,” but apparently the universe has decided to give me a pass this once.
You
Wide awake & weirdly energized, will come over for breakfast soon x
Mom
I’ll make you eggs. Or pancakes. Or both. Love you!
There are a hundred ways to procrastinate getting out of bed, but today I do none of them. I shower, even shaving my legs, despite the fact that it’s just me and my family today. I pick out actual clothes instead of pajamas. My closet is still a disaster zone, but it’s nothing I want to tackle today.
As I get ready, I replay yesterday’s conversation with Eden. We didn’t rehash the trauma, didn’t try to “fix” anything. We just…were. She told me about her latest painting, which made me laugh. I would love to be a fly on the wall as she works on the ferret. We made plans to meet again, and neither of us panicked. When she hugged me at the door, it was warm and real. Like she believed it wasn’t the last time.
For the first time in forever, I let myself think about next week. Then next month. Then, in a sudden adrenaline surge, I think about what the hell I want to do with my life.
I have a degree in sports science, which sounds impressive until you realize it’s mostly anatomy flashcards and endless group projects with lacrosse bros who think “protein” is a personality trait.
The original plan was physical therapy, but my anxiety about grad school interviews torpedoed that before it started. After that, I had no plan at all. I guess I just assumed I’d muddle through until I snapped out of it.
But now, post-Eden, post-beating my personal record for non-terrible days in a row, the question becomes what do I actually want to do with my life?
I open my laptop and start with the obvious: Google. I type in “careers with a sports science degree.”
The top hits are all gyms, corporate wellness programs, or hustling protein shakes on Instagram. Hard pass. My old advisor would probably laugh himself sick if he could see how quickly I scrolled past “fitness influencer.”
