they were Eli’s, which was nice because there was something that felt special about still having a mechanic in the family after our father passed away three years ago.
Eli and Dana continued to bicker as they always did, and I leaned in closer to Casey, who was slurping back her Shirley Temple and not coming up for air. “I know you might not want to hear this,” I said, “but I think you look great. And I know the nausea and all the other pregnancy stuff might suck, but I’m kind of glad you’re suffering.”
Casey’s eyebrows lifted and she unpursed her lips from her straw. “I beg your pardon?”
I spoke quickly to get in the last word before she poked my eye out with her straw. “I’m glad because it means I’m getting close to meeting my nephew.”
Casey melted like an ice-cream cake left out in the sun. Her eyes turned glassy and she smiled as she put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re going soft, Ethan.”
Chapter 5
Kathryn
Thursdays were the only day of the week that I went in late. I started my workdays at ten thirty in the morning so I could get a run in before work. I always ran to a locally owned cafe five miles from my townhouse, where I would meet up with my best friend, Miriam, for breakfast and two cups of coffee. Afterward, I’d catch a cab home and get ready to go into the office.
I left the house for my run at seven thirty. It was raining, but that was nothing new in Vancouver. The sidewalks weren’t busy at this time of day and that was why I preferred to run then. I locked up behind myself, tucked my keys into the bag I wore around my waist, refusing to call it a fanny pack, and set off at a slow jog to warm up while I listened to my morning motivational podcast.
The city was peaceful in its early morning slumber. Rain pattered against the roofs of parked cars lining the streets and danced in puddles I splashed through. High-rise apartments slowly came to life, one room blinking to life with light, followed by another and another. By half past eight, everything was stirring.
I rounded the last corner before the cafe and slowed to a walk. My breath fogged in the air and I knew I looked a mess as I always did on Thursday mornings. My hair sat in a low bun tucked under my baseball cap, which I would leave on during breakfast because my hair was so matted with sweat. I wasn’t slim, and I certainly didn’t have the body type of a runner, but I had the personality type of one.
I first started running when I was in college for stress management. I’d struggled with my weight and stress for years before I finally went to a doctor for it and was prescribed with the remedy I least wanted to use, exercise.
But now over a decade later, I knew firsthand the benefits of staying active. I hadn’t lost weight, courtesy of my genetics and slow metabolism, but I was healthy, and that was what mattered to me. I ate a balanced diet, not one that made me feel like I was punishing myself for being human and liking food, and I worked out four to five days a week, depending on my workload at JDR. It made me feel powerful and in control and there was no better feeling than that for me.
I spotted Miriam through the cafe window, sitting at our usual table. She had her six-month-old daughter, Adeline, with her but had dropped off her three-year-old son, Bobby, at preschool already. She saw me coming and waved as I pulled out my headphones and approached the front door. A bell chimed over my head when I stepped inside and Miriam draped a blanket over her shoulder and began breastfeeding the baby as I sat down.
“Morning,” I said hoarsely, still somewhat out of breath. I reached for the glass of water on my side of the table and drank gratefully. “Did you order already?”
“Yep.” Miriam nodded. This was our routine. She got there as soon as she dropped Bobby off and I usually showed up within ten minutes, during which she’d already put in our orders. It helped me with time management and getting back home so I could get ready for work. “How was your run?”