Running from Love: A Story for Runners and Lovers by Rozsa Gaston Page B

crackpot.”
    “Then why did he call and ask me out?” Farrah huffed, her arms on her hips.
    “Because he also thought that you were hot. Just don’t go on and on about that kind of stuff, if you get together with him for dinner. Guys hate that crap.”
    Farrah swallowed hard. It was true. She tended to be fussy about ordering when she went out. Her girlfriends teased her about it frequently.
    “Okay, Ms. Brown Rice is Nice. I’ll just order a burger and brewski or something like that.”
    “Brown rice is nice, and so is my husband. Believe me, chica. We wouldn’t be married if I’d let him know how fussy I am about food when we were dating. I was too busy looking at his hands.” Blanca’s husband’s nickname was Big Bill.
    “You’ve got a filthy mind, girl,” Farrah lightly squeezed her arm.
    “Thanks. Get your mind off organic milk and into the gutter.” Blanca gave her a wink, licked her lips, and then sauntered off into the night sky, her rhinestoned-barrette flashing as it caught the light from the streetlamp.
    Farrah watched her walk away, hips swishing as she moved. She could imagine how her first meeting with Big Bill had gone. She’d probably reduced him to silly putty in under five minutes.
    Turning to go, Farrah glanced up at the lights twinkling from the platform of the elevated train. They were signaling to her they wanted to take her somewhere new. But she was going to have to get on the train first. Gathering up her last ounce of energy, she broke into a slow jog up the hill toward Riverdale and home.
    T HE TEXT WAS short: “Can we talk?” Her breath catching in her throat, Farrah texted back, “Yes,” knowing she shouldn’t. Three years had passed. He was married. Yet the same old feeling squeezed her in the pit of her stomach.
    A minute later, her phone rang.
    “Hi.”
    “Hi.” She wasn’t going to say his name. Why should she? It was better not to breathe life into that one syllable.
    “How’s everything?” His voice was the same. Smooth, polished, urbane. All the things she wasn’t but aspired to be.
    “Fine.” She couldn’t choke anything else out at the sound of his voice.
    “So what have you been up to?” he asked silkily.
    “I’m in sales now.”
    “You stopped teaching?”
    “Yes. About two years ago.” After you left, and I decided to leave my old life behind.
    “Working for a good company?’
    “Very. I travel a lot.” Why had she told him that? And what did he want? To torture her? Re-open a wound that had almost healed?
    “Do you like travelling?” Same old Will. Immediately ready for critical assessment.
    “I did for awhile. It’s starting to get old.” And now that I’m over you, I want to stay put more.
    “Yeah. Things can get old fast sometimes.”
    “What things?” Will. She’d almost said his name. It was so easy to say. But she wasn’t going to. This conversation had to remain where it belonged. In the call out-of-the blue from an old boyfriend category. Why did that category exist anyway? Did it do anyone any good?
    “Huhh—That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
    “Yes?—” I’m not running a helpline, just to let you know.
    Silence.
    “I’m not going to guess, Will.” Oops. She’d said his name. “Just sketch it out for me.” Hadn’t she just decided to move in a new direction by making plans with Jude? How could the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s voice derail her so suddenly?
    “I—may have made some mistakes.”
    “Mistakes with me or after me?” As much as she wanted to keep her voice level, it rose.
    Silence again. Then, it came.
    “After.”
    “I see.” She didn’t, really. But she knew Will well enough to presume he was now second-guessing himself about his marriage. “So what can you do about it?”
    “I need to re-think this whole marriage thing.”
    “Not your tea bag?’ Why had she slipped back into their old code phrase?
    “In this case, no. Not my tea bag.” It had been a joke between them.