Caramel

All of this running is bad for her diet. It should be her feet running, not her thoughts, speeding through her head that she can only slow with caramels when she opens her mouth to say things that she shouldn't.

Sure, she could be stuffing her face with other things, like yet another salad, or even an apple, but her pockets are practically non-existent, and it's not like she is going to start carrying around a purse full of Tupperware, just so she can crack open a dish of boiled potatoes and avoid the question.

The clerk at the store frowns as she passes her change across the counter. Every few days she's in, buying a bag of caramels from her. Sugar free, mind you. Which shaves off a petty amount of calories, but at her rate of consumption, she convinces herself that it's healthier.

If only she could convince herself that her mouth doesn't need to be full to be shut.

She's a stay at home mom. Maybe she should do that, just stay home. Then she wouldn't be running past all the scandal. Then she wouldn't be shoveling in caramels any time she runs into all the neighbors. 

It's better to bite the caramel than her tongue. 

If people would stop doing things they shouldn't, then she wouldn't have anybody to tattle on. It was a chronic problem when she was a kid, tattling on everyone for everything. Her parents would ask who ate the last cookie, or her teacher would ask who drew that picture on the board, and she would spill. It was as if the words couldn't understand the barrier her mouth was trying to create. 

Tattling Tasha, they'd call her. 

"Natasha, if you want people to like you, you can't keep ratting them out," her former friend had called out at her. It wasn't like she wanted to take the fall for all the stuff her friend had tried to steal. She had merely gone to the car when her friend suggested such a heist, and proceeded to call and alert the store. By the time her friend had gotten to the doors, security was waiting.

Is tattling so wrong when it's a matter of morality?

Despite knowing how she wanted to answer that question, she knew that her friend had a point.

That's when the caramels began.

It doesn't matter when she runs. She always seems to be passing the wrong place at the wrong time, seeing things her eyes shouldn't. Like Mrs. Jackson kissing a man who is definitely not Mr. Jackson. With tongue. 

Hot tip: Don't let your very tall secret lover lift you into the air to make out if you don't want your neighbors to accidentally notice you during their post lunch jog.

What was she to do? The Jacksons were her friends, having invited her over for many barbeques this summer. She didn't recognize the man from any of the gatherings. It'd be insane to go to her husband and tell him she is cheating with some nondescript tall guy that she caught for a few seconds while passing by. She is certain it's not him, unless he has changed skin color since seeing him that weekend at church.

When she saw his wife reattached at his side at Sunday service, she popped a caramel. He looked blissfully unaware. She looked bored, checking her phone when he turned away to chat with her.

"Natasha, we're throwing a little dinner party to celebrate our tenth anniversary Friday night. You busy?"

There was so much she wanted to say. If she went to that party, it'd spill out, and she wasn't even sure if it was all facts. 

The caramel dissolved, and she swallowed.

"Afraid so, sorry."

After that incident, she had switched to early morning runs. As in the bird isn't even up yet to catch the worm. Yet she wasn't the only one up at four. The door had slammed at her neighbor's house as she tried to step up her speed to avoid colliding with the slammer.

As fate would have it, the slammer was a very quick angry stomper.

"Sorry," Natasha said, hoping to keep going without getting drawn in.

"Can I ask you a question?" The teen didn't wait for her to answer. "If your kid told you that they were pregnant, would you tell them to get an abortion?"

She wished she had given her time to say no.

"I'd be more concerned as to how three prepubescent boys managed to get pregnant, honestly." If she dodged the question, she could run off before getting details. She did not need to get involved.

If she stayed, she would want to tell her that she was too young to keep the kid. She looked fifteen at most. She would want to ask her to consider adoption, and birth control, and to not concern strangers who are just trying to jog at four in the morning to avoid witnessing their neighbor's affairs.

"I told my mother, and she says I have to get rid of the baby before my dad finds out. He'll totally flip if he finds out."

She looked at the house number, recognizing the address. Her husband's friend lived there.

Great. She was going to need more caramels. One for when she'd talk with Hugh over breakfast before he left for work. More for when his friend came over tomorrow for their monthly game night. 

One for her mouth right now, as she scoots away from the girl.

"You eat caramels on your run? Isn't that a bit counter intuitive?" 

"Yes." 

When his friend came over the next night, she feigned ill and kept to herself in the bedroom. Only when she had come home to grab a glass of water did she run into him. 

"Hello Natasha."

"Hi."

"Hugh says you are feeling under the weather. Probably burnt out from taking care of those boys. I know me and my brothers could be quite the hassle. I really am blessed to have my daughter. She's never any trouble." He grabbed a beer from the fridge.

She chugged her water. She couldn't tell him how terribly wrong he was, that there was a bundle of trouble growing inside of her. 

Smiling, she refilled her glass. "I'm going to head back upstairs. Have fun."

As the door to her room slammed behind her, she sank to the floor and opened a caramel.

Morning runs weren't working out either.

The boys were tucked in. It was half past nine, and she was tired, but if she wanted the bulge to budge, she needed to get that run in. She laced up her shoes and headed out. 

A few blocks from home, she heard someone call out her name. 

"Tasha! Oh thank goodness, come help me." 

"Is everything alright, Henry?" He was crouched down on the ground, holding a flashlight.

He stood up, and she noticed the chalk in his other hand. "I'm proposing to my girlfriend, and was going to write it big on the driveway while she's asleep, but I can't really hold the flashlight and draw at the same time."

She took the flashlight and aimed it at the ground. 

There were so many things she could mention. Like how they'd only been together for six months, and maybe they were moving too fast. Or she could mention how their was a chance of rain in the morning that could wash everything away on him. 

She wanted to point out that his girlfriend was looking out the window, watching him. 

"Marry has two r's in it."

"Good catch."

She cut her run short that night. It was too dark to see, and she didn't want to fall. Besides, it was becoming obvious that no matter what time she went for her run she would run into some secret somewhere. It left her with only one choice.

It was time to invest in a treadmill.

Setting up in the basement, she took in the scenery. The washer and dryer were no substitute for trees and houses, but they'd have to do. Down here, she wouldn't hear any secrets. 

"Babe, what did I say about calling me when I'm at home?" A pause. "I miss you too, but I'll see you on our dinner date. I promise I'll eat more than you this time." 

This was a bad spot for the treadmill. That window let in hushed whispers better than the fresh air she was hoping for. 

She had eaten all of her caramels keeping other people's secrets. This secret of Hugh's, this life altering secret, was no quick caramel fix.

What would she say? Call him a no good cheat and move out? Confirm that all those late nights in the office were really dinner dates? Tell him that she was trying to lose weight so that she could be his trophy wife again, so that he could fall back in love?

She powered the treadmill up higher and ran until she felt like collapsing.

"Natasha?" He poked his head into the doorway.

"Yes?" It came out in a pant, too exhausted to speak. 

"I'm leaving for work. Can you make sure that the boys get on the bus?"

She wobbled over to the stairs, forcing herself up them. "Sure. Have a good date, Hugh."

His eyes popped, and he adjusted his tie.

"What'd you just say?"

She reached the top step. Taking in the sweat dripping from his forehead, she set a hand on his shoulder. There were so many things to say.

Don't come home tonight.

Make sure she's on birth control.

You will be paying child support.

"Have a nice day, Hugh."

"Right. You too, Tash." He shrugged her hand off, skipped the kiss and turned away. She wanted to call after him, instead of stirring in her emotions all day.

But she did what she always did to keep the words from spilling out. Which is too bad for him, because there is one flaw to her plan today.

This is her last caramel.