Free Beyond Blonde by Teresa Toten Page A

I go on a run.” My God, he sounded so … I don’t know, like other fathers must sound on their way to work, so I own a briefcase . It was weird.
    Papa hugged me goodbye.
    I hugged back hard.
    He was amazing and solid and consistent and … it’s just that there were entire minutes when I didn’t recognize him. Did Mama recognize him?
    As soon as the door shut, I felt claustrophobic. A run would be perfect. I’d run my ass off today and tomorrow, so that by Monday’s practice, I would show dragon boy that I was in fabulous shape, that I was a basketball warrior queen, invincible, superhuman, a leader of leaders.
    Not that I cared.
    I slapped on a decaying pair of gym shorts and one of Papa’s old sweatshirts, pulled my hair back into a massive ponytail, and even though it was almost the end of September, I grabbed my designer sunglasses for good measure. They were my lucky glasses. Mike said so. He and Auntie Luba bought them for me on their honeymoon. They stayed at The Plaza in New York City, which is beyond romantic if youcan wrap your head around the fact that they’re both in their forties. Anyway, while they were there, Auntie Luba bought me these amazing Dior sunglasses from an entrepreneur who was selling them from a blanket on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street. They looked fabulous on me, even though the gold R fell off on the very first day. Kit called them my Dios.
    It was a good decision, good to be there. The park was built over a reservoir overlooking Spadina and St. Clair avenues, so it gave you a feeling of being on top of the world. This time, I almost had the place to myself, just a couple of other joggers and dog walkers. There was a running path all around the outside perimeter of the park. I planned to do at least six cycles, which would be more than two miles. That’ll show him. The colours were turning fast. They got more intense with every lap. The air was just crisp enough that I could pick up a scent of burning leaves every time I rounded the southwest corner. I felt charged, electrified, the hairs on the back of my neck raised.
    Wait a min—
    Was that my name?
    “Sophie! Sophie, wait up!”
    Someone cut the cables holding up my stomach.
    Couldn’t be.
    I ran faster, with my heart knocking around in my chest. My internal organs were a mess.
    “Sophie, wait, hold on!”
    Jesus God! Damn, can a Buddhist Jew say Jesus God? Think it?
    I stopped but did not turn around.
    “Soph, hey, I know it’s you under those glasses!”
    If she was with him, if the baby, if the child, his child was, I would projectile vomit.
    “Sophie!”
    I stopped, inhaled, and turned around. Luke. All by himself. Gorgeous, smiling, adorable Lucas Pearson.
    “Hey, you look great, Sophie.” He flashed his lone dimple.
    I exhaled into his smile and then fixated on the fact that I was wearing gangrenous gym shorts and a fifteen-year-old sweatshirt. In a stupendously pathetic attempt to look better I sucked in my stomach and willed my lips to turn glossy.
    “It must be the Dios.” He looked perplexed. “My sunglasses.” I took them off.
    “Nope.” He shook his head. “Still great, in fact, even greater now that I can see your eyes. How are you, Sophie?” He stepped closer to me. Perilously close.
    Fabulous, Holy Buddha, never better.
    “Good. Okay. You know.” I stuck one of the sunglass arms into my mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully. I saw Farrah Fawcett do that once on Charlie’s Angels and all the bad guys swooned, except I stuck it too far down and gagged.
    A jogger blew by us and shot me a dirty look. Luke took my elbow and led me off the path. He walked us over to a massive chestnut, my favourite tree in the whole park.
    “I watched you run for a while. Hope you don’t mind. Your form is impressive.”
    Well, we can thank your best friend, the drill sergeant, for that. But I didn’t say anything because Lucas Pearson washolding my arm, hence, words were out of the question.