Page 33 of Run To You
It’s also hilarious when I think back to how she fought exercise with everything she had back in high school. The pouting and sulking. The time she could barely walk the distance from her house to school.
Now she’s knocking out charity runs like she was born with running sneakers attached to her feet.
The night before the run, Eden invites us all over for a “strategy session.” Which really means we’ll carb load on snacks and come up with team chants.
Mom offers to drive me because I think she’s secretly hoping Eden will offer to bring me home, or I’ll stay over.My mom hasn’t been very subtle lately in her hopes that Eden and I will work things out romantically.
Eden’s place is a third-floor walk-up that smells like cold brew and thrift store candles. It makes me a little sad because I thought it would be me and her living together in this kind of apartment.
Eden is waiting at the door when I arrive, a rainbow bandana already knotted at her forehead, and an oversized band muscle tee.
Bella and Becca are snuggled on the couch, sharing a giant bag of Doritos.
I give them a little wave, suddenly aware I’m the only one who brought bottled water and not something in a twelve-pack, but no one calls me out. Instead, it’s a chorus of “Slooo-ane!” and awkward group hug energy.
11
Eden
I’ve never laughed so hard. Having the gang back together is the icing on the cake of what has so far been a great few days. Not only am I living my dream as an artist, I have my own place with my best friends, my own gallery show in London, and now the love of my life has waltzed her pretty arse through the door that is my life. Perfect!
We’ve got exactly zero strategic planning done for the charity run. Instead, we’ve munched on an obscene amount of crisps and drunk beer. Well, Sloane has stuck to water, which I’m guessing has something to do with her medication.
Pia made us all laugh when she cheered Sloane’s bottle of water, griping that the rest of us were all shits for not abstaining from alcohol in solidarity of Pia’s condition.
If she was trying to make us feel bad, it didn’t work, but Sloane did look slightly mortified by the sudden attention. I intervened by tossing a tortilla chip at Pia’s head, which she caught in her mouth like a trained seal.
Bella insists we do a “runway walk” in our team outfits. Becca’s influence. The Bella of old would’ve glared at anyone who suggested such a thing. She wouldn’t have changed out of her boots for anything. Yet here she is, instigating fashion shenanigans.
She lines us up in front of the couch, runs to the kitchen to retrieve her singing spatula and shoves it toward me as a microphone, declaring me the “Hostess with Mostess.” It’s so dumb, but I love it. We’ve all, one hundred percent, forgotten we’re supposed to be grown adults and not high school teens. I oblige, because who am I to turn down a captive audience?
I kick things off by strutting the length of the living room in my fluorescent shorts and a tank top I stole from Bella’s laundry pile. It’s less a top and more a bunch of strings messily sewn together. My battered Doc Martens really make the outfit something special.
“Representing TeamDon’t Stop Retrievin’, and coming in strong with the 2025 Les-bian Games Collection: it’s me, your captain, Eden!”
Becca goes second, rolling her eyes but clearly loving every second. Her entire body is decked out in rainbow sweatbands and the actual team shirt we made in college for our first charity run we attended during our first Spring Break.
“She stole this look from Billy Porter, and the man wants it back!” I announce. Becca responds with a dramatic curtsy, then flips me off before attempting a cartwheel which fails epically because she’s a few beers deep.
Once Bella’s checked that her girlfriend is okay, she stands and makes her way to the front of the couch. She’s paired neon-pink shorts with a mesh shirt and a Runner Up Gays temporary tattoo she applied to her bicep. I wouldn’t be surprised if she adds it as a permanent fixture after the race as a commemorative piece. Her arms are already full of memories inked into her skin. I introduce her as “the fastest tongue in the west—don’t ask for details!” Bella flashes a peace sign and sticks out her tongue, wiggling her eyebrows. I roll my eyes, Pia catcalls, Becca shouts, “She isverytalented!” and Sloane snickers into her hand.
Sloane is the last to parade herself in front of us all. She’s been laughing at the rest of us, but I see her grow shy when we turn on her. It makes me momentarily sad, because her reaction is a consequence of her anxiety and the headspace she’s been in for so long. It’s a side of her we need to get to know and understand.
We chant her name in encouragement, and it does the trick. She shakes her head, chuckling at our antics, but sets her water bottle down and gets to her feet.
Sloane’s running tights are navy, her shirt just a plain grey with a Nike logo, which on anyone else would look boring but on Sloane reads as Olympic-level discipline.
She always looked super-hot in running gear.
Shuffling forward at half-speed, her eyes on the ground, Sloane raises both fists and does the slowest, least coordinated robot dance known to humankind.
I am fucking delighted! She looks so utterly herself, and I have to resist the urge to haul her into a hug and spin her around.
After the show, we collapse on the sectional in a tangle of limbs and snack debris.
Bella leans forward so everyone can see her. “We still need a chant!”
“Oh, makesure you do it when you run past me,” Pia says. “I want to join in.”
