Lauren smiles. “At least I convinced you to invest in decent running shoes.”
“Which I’ve broken in nicely the past couple months. If I wasn’t so sleep-deprived, I’d say this three-miler is going to be a breeze.”
“That, and it’s eighty-five-percent humidity in Pittsburgh right now. This swamp weather makes runs miserable.”
“Way to sell it, Lo.” I frown. “Wait, how do you know it’s eighty-five-percent humidity here?”
Lauren pauses for a beat, then says, “I checked the weather app. Drink lots of water before you head out, young lady.”
I roll my eyes. “Long-distance friendship has turned you into such a mom.”
“Deal with it,” she says. Then she blows me a kiss. “I’m going to sign off so I can focus on getting around all these slowpokes. Good if we push back our run by a half hour?”
“Perfect.” I mime starting to jog slowly. “I’ll get a head start. And you’ll drive safe, right, speed demon?”
She cackles deviously. “Please. That’s as likely as your giving up Birkenstocks.”
I’m hiding in a patch of shade as I stretch my quads, on the edge of the pedestrian and bike path beside PNC ballpark, my usual starting point for my runs along the Allegheny River.
“This,” I tell Lauren, “is going to suck.” I try to wedge my earbuds in tighter. They already feel like they’re about to slip out, I’m so sweaty.
“It’s disgustingly humid,” she agrees.
I frown. “In San Francisco?”
“Nope,” she says.
Squinting, I rub my forehead. I could have sworn she was still in San Francisco, dealing with the new client from hell. “Then where are you?”
“Surprise,” she says coyly.
My head snaps up, searching the path, just as a woman rounds the bend. Short dark hair tugged back. Long, willowy limbs. A wide, bright white smile.
I run toward Lauren, screaming so loud, the geese perched on the grass nearby startle into the sky.
“Oh my god,” I pant. “I’m gonna die.”
“Mm-hmm,” Lauren says, fiddling with her fitness watch, “me, too.”
I stumble onto the grassy hillside in front of the ballpark and flop down, our vicious three-mile loop complete. “Did I hallucinate you? You look real, but you’re not even winded, which is impossible.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not a hallucination. I’m here, in person, because my best friend’s having a tough time, and I now have enough professional boundaries to take a day off and fly in so I could be here for her.”
I pat her foot. “You’re the best. And the worst. You made me run so fast.”
“It’s good for you,” she says, eyes back on her watch.
“At least,” I tell her between gasps of air, starfished on the grass, “I think I’ll finally sleep well tonight.”
Lauren peers down at me, head tipped in concern. “You sound like a dehydrated camel.”
I lift my middle finger to the air.
“Come on,” she says, offering me a hand. “I’m parked in the lot right up those steps. I have a bottle of water in the car.”
I slap my hand into hers and let her yank me upright.
Lauren says as we walk, “So, you’re not sleeping well.”