The Breakaway(98)

“Sounds awful,” Sebastian said. And it had been. Only Abby could picture it differently. A baby in a trailer, hitched to the back of Sebastian’s bike. Abby riding with Sebastian, telling him stories, making him laugh. The three of them, at the end of the day’s ride, sitting around a campfire, underneath a starry sky; together in the tent, all night long (with the baby conveniently disappearing for that part of the fantasy).

“Do you think you’ll stay in Brooklyn for the rest of your life?” Abby asked.

“I like being there now. But I can also imagine settling down someplace a little quieter. And a lot less expensive.”

“I was thinking,” Abby said, a little hesitantly, “about what we were talking about last night.”

Sebastian grinned. In Medina, they’d gone out for pizza for dinner, and the group had stayed in a boutique hotel in an old stone building, where the rooms were small and quirky, oddly shaped, decorated with cycling posters and paraphernalia. Abby’s room had an antique Schwinn hanging on the wall. And a queen-size bed underneath it.

“Remind me what we talked about?” Sebastian said.

“My job,” Abby said, with a touch of asperity. “We talked about what I’m going to do with my life.”

“Ah,” said Sebastian. Abby cringed a little, remembering the speech she’d given about how she loved dogs but didn’t want to walk them for the rest of her life. She’d been curled against him, her cheek resting on his chest, his hand stroking her hair, and she wasn’t sure how closely he’d been listening.

“So what’s the thing you like best?” he asked.

“Leading bike trips,” she said. “Except it’s not really the kind of thing you can do year-round if you want to live in one place.”

“Facts,” Sebastian acknowledged.

“It’s fine to follow the seasons when you’re in your twenties, but if you want”—Abby hesitated—“kids, or a family, or a house, or any of that, it doesn’t work.”

Sebastian asked if it would be possible to earn enough money during the summer months to support herself during the year. Abby said that it was not. He asked if she’d be willing to take less-fulfilling work—dog-walking or office temping—to support herself in the nonsummer months.

“That’s fine for now. But, again, if I decide I want kids, it won’t work.”

Sebastian pedaled in silence for a moment. “What about doing something with cycling and girls?” he asked. “Like, a program just for girls. You could teach them to ride if they didn’t know how, and lead rides, and take them on trips.”

“I’d have to see what kind of programs are out there. Make sure there’s not something like this already.” It was a good idea. But the thought of building something from the ground up, figuring out what kind of permits and insurance she’d need, and if she’d have to work with a bike shop or an existing organization, and where she’d find other adults to help, and how she’d recruit the riders all left her feeling overwhelmed, crushed, and exhausted before she’d even begun.

“But you’d be great!” he said when Abby told him that. “And it could work. You could stay in one place, in Philly, or wherever.” Abby wondered if wherever meant Brooklyn, but didn’t ask. “It’d be everything you love. Biking, and…” He waved his hand. “Girl stuff. All of the feminist whatever.”

Abby raised her eyebrows. “?‘The feminist whatever’?”

“You could lead trips when it’s warm enough and have classes when it’s not. You could ask bike shops to volunteer or donate stuff.”

“I could.” Abby’s mind was turning as she wondered how it would work and whom she could ask. “Maybe. Maybe there’s a niche.” After a minute, she said, “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You took me seriously,” Abby said. “That’s important.”

“Any time,” Sebastian had said.

Abby leaned over her handlebars.

“How about you?” she asked. She made her voice mock-serious and asked, “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

“I don’t know. I like my job. But I think I’d like… I don’t know. Kids. A house. A family. Not this minute, but maybe someday,” he said as Lincoln put on a burst of speed to join them.

“I think you’d be a good father,” Abby was saying.

Abby was 90 percent positive that she’d heard Lincoln cough the word bullshit under his breath. Sebastian, meanwhile, was looking flattered. “Oh, yeah?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “You can teach your kids all about being prepared, and asking for help when they need it.”

“Hey, I got that flat changed. Eventually.”

“Mister I-don’t-need-your-tire-irons.”

“I wasn’t that bad!” Sebastian protested.

“You were,” said Ted, coasting past.

“Sorry, but it’s true,” said Sue, trailing behind Ted.

“Oh, and you can also model good behavior about listening to your leaders, and following directions and staying safe,” said Abby.

Sebastian smoothed out his vest. He’d kept his promise and had put it on for the past two mornings, without complaint. Without too much complaint, at least. The things we do for love, he’d said, as he’d pulled it on that morning. But he’d only been teasing. Of course.