Run For Your Knife

Author's Note: The Danforth is the historic Greek district in Toronto. Also, it is

very

difficult to make a living doing online sex work alone, and what happens in this story should be taken as the exception and not the norm.

Tashelle Brathwaite's lungs burned and her thighs threatened to explode. It felt like she was all but dragging her body through the longest stretch of Lakeshore Boulevard she'd ever run, and this was her fourth Toronto Marathon.

Just hammer another nail in my coffin,

she silently cursed what seemed like the thousandth person to jog past her, although a part of her knew she was probably closer to the front of the pack. Most parts of her didn't even know what hour it was; just that she'd soon be reaching the designated cheering station and then the finish line.

BRATHWAITE, a massive, colourful placard off in the distance shouted, telling her the ordeal was almost over, as her dad and brother were waiting there for her. Austin also said he'd show up with a surprise, and Tashelle hoped to god it was a cooler full of electrolytes.

Every inch of her dark oak skin glistened, and her bounce-crochet ringlets bobbed atop her head as she turned the corner onto Spadina Avenue—and then broke into a grin upon seeing that Austin had made it. But his parents were there too, and she'd only met them twice.

What is he... why is he...

Even her brain was out of breath, or maybe it was hallucinating because Tashelle swore her boyfriend was trying to climb over the barriers onto the path... and now he was holding his arms out...? She nearly fell over as she looked behind her, her bearings off kilter while she wondered if he was alerting her to some danger coming up from behind. But then she turned back toward him and stopped, mortified.

No,

she thought, unable to decide which part of this was the worst. The fact that he was down on one knee or the fact that she was losing seconds.

"Tashelle Brathwaite," he started above the roar of the crowd. She looked to her right and noticed a TV news crew coming toward them. Then Austin took out a ring box and opened it.

Oh, helllllls no,

she averred, gently shaking her head and gunning it toward the finish line just 200 metres away. She wasn't even sure anymore whether she was running toward it or away from Austin, but she was sure she was going to be told what was what by everyone in her life real soon.

"Six hundred-and-sixth!" her brother, Viv, exclaimed when her results came in. He gave her a hug and a sports drink, then turned her away from where their dad and Austin's family were standing across the crowd.

"I can cover for you if you want to make a run for it," Viv told her. "Pun totally intended."

"And why should I do that?" Tashelle managed to get out between gulps. Austin was visibly distraught and his parents looked like they were trying to dissuade the news crew from sticking around.

"You snubbed your boyfriend's proposal in front of half the Toronto Marathon."

"Viv, I'm not gonna get into how I'm so exhausted I think I'm gonna die," she said. "I'm not gonna talk about all the people I watched throw up on the street over the last few hours. What I am gonna ask is, why does

anyone

expect me to manage someone else's feelings 10 minutes after I just finished a marathon?"

"Tashelle, you've been dating this man for a year-and-a-half," Viv tried, "and you're talking about him like he's some fling?"

"He's been dating

me

for a year-and-a-half, and he didn't know what a huge moment this is? Even flings would have been more considerate!" As if right on cue, Austin approached them, his parents and Tashelle's dad in tow.

"I can't believe you did that to me," he spit out. She could sense a few eyeballs were turning toward them, even in the ruckus of celebrations at the finish line.

"Austin, let me ask you something," she redirected him, unphased. Her fatigue from the race removed any effort she could have made to filter her thoughts. "What would you have thought last year at your law school graduation, if I'd gotten down on one knee after you were handed your degree? Right on the stage?"

"I—what does that have to do with anything?"

"Would you have been thrilled? Or would you have been put off that I was taking that moment you worked so hard for, and making it about myself?"

Their conversation fell away below the roar of those flanking their loved ones as they crossed the finish line. Tashelle waited for an answer, not looking at her dad either because she knew after years of experience he'd be taking Austin's side.

"You embarrassed me in front of thousands of people," Austin persisted.

"You made me lose seconds off my time and would have made me lose minutes more if I'd stopped. For an event I've been training months for, and run every year for the last four years."

"Tashelle," her father's baritone Jamaican lilt cut in, "you can't do this to a man, dear. It was important to you, yes, but his parents are here too. Do you expect him to just stand here and take this?"

"No, papa, I expect him—and you—to stand there and blow it out of proportion." She took another swig of her drink and wiped her brow with the towel Viv handed her. "About 14,000 people run this marathon every year on average. Do any of you, except Viv, know where I finished just now? Do any of you care?"

"Tashelle, maybe it was an error in judgment for Austin to pick today when you're obviously so distraught." She knew Austin's dad was trying to sanitise how his son had fucked up, but all she really wanted was an apology or an acknowledgement that she'd finished 606

th

out of 14,000 runners, and she wasn't hearing it.

"Distraught?" she repeated. "Sir, I was distraught when he stopped me on the track. I'm over this now. Austin, you just showed me you believe one of the most important and difficult things I could do should take a backseat to an everyday thing you decided to do."

"You're seriously telling me women get proposed to every day?" The race was looking like a walk in the park compared to whatever this was.

"Actually, yes, but they get proposed to during moments that are just about them and their relationship. You wanted everyone to stand up and clap for you." She caught the eye of the news reporter who was hovering nearby, clearly hoping for the human interest story of the year. And before she could stop her hand from waving her and the cameraman over, Tashelle was already watching herself do it.

"So it looks like you just had a doubly amazing day!" the reporter exclaimed as the camera's red light went on. "We're live on NewsPlanet Toronto," she announced to her audience, "at the scene where one of the runners just accepted a proposal in the middle of the race." Tashelle could see the horror in her little brother's eyes and the confusion among everyone else, but it was happening.

"Actually, no, I placed six-hundred-and-sixth and ran a personal best!" she bellowed with just as much enthusiasm above the crowd. "But my boyfriend failed to see how huge that is for me and almost ruined it so I am breaking up with him right now and taking myself out to dinner!" Viv's hands were on his face, her dad's hands were atop his head, and the reporter's free hand was on her chest.

"Austin, you're never going to see me as your equal. I wish you a great future, but I'm not going to be a part of it." She then waved excitedly into the camera with an exaggerated grin and flounced off to a water tent to grab another sports drink.

"You are completely out of your mind and dad is pisssssed," Viv joined her a few minutes later, as she knew he would. "They're begging NewsPlanet not to air what you just said."

"Dad's not that pissed."

"Trust me, he's pissed."

"Remember the time we were at his friend's place and he introduced us and said he wished I'd been a cop like him but instead I chose to be a 'professional asswipe?'"

"How could I forget?" Viv shook his head, unimpressed with how he always fell into the pattern of being the buffer between his father and sister. "You chugged your drink in front of everyone and said, 'well, dad, I guess the wipe doesn't fall very far from the ass!' And then I got you to the car and drove us the hell outta there?"

"Which I expect you to do today as well." The only different thing about this moment was that there was a sports drink in Tashelle's fist instead of a daiquiri. "But on

that

day, dad was pissed."

She supposed it was partly her fault as well—getting her hopes up when she saw him in the cheering section earlier. For a fleeting moment, it seemed like her father was there to support her in what she wanted to do and what she was good at.

If that had been the case, she would have forgiven him for humiliating her at that party for being a videographer. She would have even forgiven him for divorcing her mother, but maybe there was nothing to forgive there. After all, Tashelle and Viv's mom was living her best life with their stepdad in Montreal.

"Imagine I

did

get married but I chose to have Norris walk me down the aisle instead of dad?" Tashelle's eyes glowed fiendishly. She attributed her light, almost exhilarated emotions to the post-race high. She'd probably crash at some point, but not right now.

"I'm going to hold off on imagining that hellscape to ask you something," Viv closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Did Austin do something to you?" The siblings took a glance back to where their dad was still talking with Austin's parents, then Viv followed Tashelle's casual stroll toward the parking lot. "I just want to make sure. You're way too relaxed about this. Did he step out on you or something?"

"Life lesson, my boy," she said, reveling in the cool breeze bathing her skin. This was definitely the post-race high getting out of control.

"It doesn't have to be a single, big, terrible event. What Austin just showed me is what he wants our life to look like. He gets the achievements and I'm supposed to be happy with what he thinks I deserve. Dad was upset because he also thinks that's what a wife should be doing. The moment I suggested we should be cheering for each other, it didn't compute?"

It briefly flickered across her mind the days of celebration she'd planned for Austin when he'd gotten his law degree, and then again after he'd joined his firm.

What he'd appreciated even more was the nights of epic fucking that had followed those days. It was sad he wasn't the type of man to reciprocate, but better she found out now rather than after 10 years and two kids.

"I get it," Viv nodded. "But you kicked that race's ass today and you deserve a party for that. At least let me take you out tonight." It was sweet, and she was relieved Viv would turn out differently from their dad and Austin. But too much had already happened that day and she needed to decompress.

"I love you, and I definitely want to hang out in a few days," she told him as he unlocked his car and held open the door for her. "And I am so thankful for you. But despite how I may seem now, I'm not thrilled this is how it ended with Austin. I need to chill alone for a while."

"Maybe you should keep your promise to the news lady and take yourself out to dinner," Viv said, starting the car.

"Probably. The last thing I wanna do is cook." Tashelle opened his navigation system and started punching some buttons. "What are those Japanese places called? The ones where the chef is right at your table and does all those tricks while making your food?"

***********

Goddamn road closures are gonna block an ambulance one day,

Xander cursed as he flew down his third city block, his knife bag clinking against his side. He meant to make a smoother entrance through the restaurant's back entrance but tripped on the 2-by-4 his boss used to prop open the door on hot evenings.

"Gamόto,"

he growled. "Fuck" would have worked just as well, but it was second-nature to curse in Greek.

Sliding into the staff washroom, he splashed his face with cold water, just about catching his breath on the way to his locker where his apron and double-breasted coat hung.

"Barely made it again, eh, Niko?" If ever there was a voice that made Xander's eyes automatically roll back far enough to see his brain, it was this one.

"For the last time, Albert, it's Nikolaidis," he flatly stated as he stuffed his mop of dark curls into his pleated chef's toque. "And yes, my streetcar took a detour because of the marathon so I ran the last five blocks."

"Well, if you lived any closer than The Danforth—"

"Okay, fuck off."

"Calm down,

baklava

," his colleague laughed. Xander had requested umpteen times to not be scheduled on the same shift as Albert Yoshida, who'd been a thorn in his side since he'd started here three years ago. With his luck, they'd be stationed at nearby

teppans

.

"Well, I guess we're even," Xander concluded as he slipped on his coat. He waited for Albert's raised eyebrow before continuing. "You think I'm some kind of intruder because I'm the only chef here who's not Japanese, and I think you're only here because you came out of your dad's dick."

"I think you're an intruder because this is a family-owned restaurant, and you're the odd one out," Albert frowned.

"Well, maybe you should ask your dad why he decided to own a restaurant when he couldn't make enough chefs 30 years ago." Xander hated dragging Mr. Yoshida into a fight with Albert since he owed him a lot, especially the chance to toss knives around while cooking

and

get paid for it. But he was already drained and this wasn't even his whole night.

"Let's just say I would never apply to be a chef at a family-owned

souvlaki

place."

"You totally should!" Nothing would have made Xander happier than not having to cook at the same venue as this guy. "You want to make

moussaka

, I can hook you up at my aunt's place. And yes, it's on The Danforth."

He couldn't wait to get onto the floor and prep his orders.

He smoothed the black fabric of his chef's coat and grabbed his knives before going out into the dining room to cut some vegetables and ready his station. It was still early and therefore slower than the rush he was used to on a Saturday evening. Within minutes, he'd set up his usual bottles of wine, soy sauce, salt, pepper, and vinegar.

The tension in Xander's shoulders melted away as the handle of his chef's knife melted into his palm. He descended into the rhythm of chopping the requisite bell peppers, broccoli, and zucchini, then prepped his meats.

"Here we are," the hostess seated his first patron 20 minutes later. He automatically reached for his order slip, his gaze still on the cart.

"

Irasshaimase

," he greeted her in the traditional Japanese manner, while making sure he had all his tools straight. "So you've got the bangin' shrimp appetizer and the chicken yakisob—" Xander nearly choked on his own spit as his eyes drifted up. Having to face Alvin first thing had made him believe this night was going to suck, but the absolute nymph sliding onto the raised stool before him was another sign altogether.

She wore a backless dress that shone like maraschino cherries and fell only halfway down her muscular thighs. Black ringlets bounced around her heart-shaped face, and strappy gladiator heels clung to her legs and settled themselves onto the ledge that framed the table.

"Is it... is it supposed to smoke like that?"

Xander looked at her like he'd forgotten where he was standing until he noticed it.

"

Skatá

," he mumbled as he tried to calm down his overheating

teppan

. If he was being completely honest, the stove wasn't the only thing overheating. Maybe he was wrong about his night turning around.

"Look, it's my first time so I'm like an evangelical on her wedding night," the nymph tried, her coal-black eyes amused. "I got nothin' to compare this to. Do your worst. Flip a shrimp over to that other guy's grill, I'll clap no matter what." Xander couldn't help but let a grin slip out, despite trying to regain his composure.

"Sorry," he apologised, as he fanned away some excess smoke. "I'm usually a lot more focused."

That other guy is partly the issue

, he thought, glaring across the dining room as Alvin set an onion volcano alight and pushed it across the grill with a wide chunk of zucchini. "I'm Xander, by the way, and I'll be your chef tonight."

"Is it normal to get a table all to yourself?" The nymph smiled a smile made of pure sunlight and outstretched her hand. For safety's sake, Xander walked around the table and lightly held her fingers. "I'm Tashelle. And I had a lot of exercise today so I'm sort of recovering. I want more tricks than food."

"Who doesn't?" he smiled, spreading out several jumbo shrimp between them. "And no, getting a solo table isn't normal. We're usually booked solid but we're in the wrong neighbourhood for the marathon route this year. The food truck people are gonna make out like bandits, though."

"Yeah, that marathon is a bitch to everyone," Tashelle knowingly nodded. Xander peered at her.

"Wait a second," he took out a couple of eggs and spun them on the heat before picking one up with his spatula. Without blinking, he tossed the egg up a few times on the spatula, then let it land suspended on the utensil's side.

"You didn't run in that, did you?" he asked, taking in Tashelle's delighted reaction. Her shy smile gave it away. "You

ran

in that thing? You ran over 42 kilometres today? Did you finish?"

"Baby, I

always

finish."

Xander almost singed his sleeve.

"Okay, not always," she went on, unaware of her accidental innuendo since she was mesmerised by what he had going on the

teppan

. It was likely she was paying more attention than he was to his work, as he was having trouble tearing his eyes off that red dress. Of course she was an athlete. Virtually no one but an athlete or a mannequin could pull off such an unforgiving outfit.

"I used to do half-marathons and worked my way up, but I'm 30 now so I'm looking at a day I won't be able to do this anymore."

"I think my neighbour ran in a half-marathon," he offered. "She started running after she had her third kid when she was 36, and said it was just to get out of the house." The egg had oozed and solidified enough on the heat, so Xander chopped it up and flipped it. Then it was back to the shrimp.

"Her husband and kids are at every finish line. So you never know," he said, shooting the shrimp with a spray of vinegar and a shot of seasoning.

Support like that must be nice,

Tashelle rued. But she didn't have a moment to think about Austin again before Xander set up a bed of lettuce and bean sprouts on a plate off to the side. Sliding his spatula beneath the shrimp, all it took was a flick of his wrist for the critter to fly through the air and land on the greens. Xander forced himself to concentrate so he could also land the rest of them, but he was distracted by Tashelle's little squeals.

"You are phenomenal," she said, slowly shaking her head.

"Well, I won't be doing that with the egg," he smiled. He could feel his face getting hot and it wasn't because of the stove. "What, uh, what rank did you come in? Do you know?" He chopped up the egg, rolled it in some seasoning, and arranged it around the shrimp. This part he could do in his sleep. What he was really worried about was sounding like he knew nothing about running, which he didn't.

"Where did I place? Six-oh-six."

"Six hundredth?" This girl was a serious athlete. Xander's eyes kept drifting toward the entrance because there was no way she'd be at a fancy restaurant like this without someone joining her, especially not tonight. Especially not dressed like that. "I'd be bragging for the rest of my life if I'd even come in six-thousandth."