 
Rejection

a novel

By Meagan Bridges
Rejection, A Novel

Meagan Bridges

Smashwords Edition

Text copyright © 2012 Meagan Bridges

All rights reserved

#  Acknowledgements

Thanks to Isabelle Janes, Mike Doucet, Mya McNulty, Amber Bartlett, Ariel Bourbonnais, Dana Hopkins, Jillian Dempsey, Mom and Dad.
Chapter 1

Interesting fact about love: it's not actually an emotion. It's a drive. It's like your sex drive but far more intense, which makes sense because with sex, you can be denied at night and roll over to it in the morning. But love—love is much harder to find. So when you've been heart-wrenchingly and brutally rejected and you're sitting at home daydreaming of all the ways that destiny will propel you back together—that's not you being sad, alone and desperate. That's your brain faking you out so it can have its love drive fulfilled.

I reminded myself of this whenever I started thinking about all the ways Connor would come crawling desperately back. The amazing speeches he would give. The grand romantic gestures he'd make. The reuniting kisses. I had to force myself to stop, remember it was just my brain messing with me.

I know that little fact about how your brain handles rejection because I work as a researcher for Take Films, a documentary company. I get to uncover interesting stories and purely random facts that prove just how weird and wonderful our little world is. I love the work, but every job has its drawbacks. This kind of environment brings in all kinds of people. Some are cool nerds with incredible passion, and some are just flat-out crazy.

My boss, Sarah Fleming, is an example of the latter. She is incredibly pretentious: she can't give an assignment without describing in vivid detail every possible metaphor and artistic interpretation. She also has a tendency to stand too close and engage in physical contact for awkwardly long durations.

I walked into her office, where she sat fiddling with her fountain pen at her desk. Sarah always seemed to work hard at constantly sounding intellectual and appearing elegant and poised. She put down the pen, adjusted the pale yellow silk scarf around her neck and smoothed down a few strands of light grey hair that were escaping from her otherwise neat, high bun.

She had called me in about Ireland and bananas. We were doing a documentary called Not all the Oil in Your Food is Fat, about how much crude oil is used in the food production process.

"Maggie, I'd like you to look into international trade statistics, specifically the amount of bananas Ireland exports each year," Sarah requested, putting on black square-framed reading glasses and examining the pile of papers neatly stacked on her desk.

"Shouldn't be a problem, I'm fairly sure they are the number one European exporter of bananas," I said, marking down the task in my notebook.

"Strange, you always associate Ireland with potatoes, but they aren't in the top 10 countries that produce, export or import. China actually is the number one producer. I think Ireland should really reposition themselves. Bananas are so virile and phallic, they represent energy and vitality. Alternatively potatoes represent...."

I zoned out as Sarah continued to digress, my mind wondering back to Connor.

"Maggie McKenzie. Can we focus on the task at hand?" Sarah's sharp tone snapped me back.

"Ireland, bananas, very phallic, exporting stat coming right up, Sarah."

I walked out of Sarah's office and proceeded to the kitchen. It's more of a walk-in closet, with a fridge and kettle, than an actual kitchen. Though on the plus side it has an espresso machine, tea and cookies. I put the kettle on, waited patiently for the water to boil. Looking through the various tea options, I read through the invigorating, soothing, stimulating descriptions but settled on the classic Earl Grey. Finally the water boiled, and I made a cup of tea, grabbed a couple of ginger snaps and went back to my desk. I sat down and sneaked a peek at my cell phone, but the little red light remained dormant. I put the phone down and sighed, then started doing some digging on bananas.

I was in the middle of reading about the Fyffees Company, which exports the entire Belize banana crop, when a whiny voice broke my focus.

"My speakers aren't working and I was wondering if you could come and have a look."

Melissa hovered over my desk with a slight pout. She's another researcher at Take, but she isn't given much responsibility. I have a theory that Melissa started playing dumb in school in order to win over the affections of male classmates, but the act took over and became her reality. I get the impression she thinks she's being endearing when she tells the story of buying what she thought was smoked salmon but, upon unwrapping the package, discovered it to be a piece of cedar to grill salmon on.

I've tried to explain to Melissa that I am not IT, but once she gets an idea in her head it appears to be impossible to edit it. Because I wowed her once with my ability to "auto sum" in Excel and can program my email address into the scanner, she assumes I'll fix all of her tech issues. I resignedly followed to see if I could quickly spot the problem.

The actual IT department for our office consists of my friend Fred, who loathes Melissa, and I didn't want to sic her on him unless completely necessary. I sat down at her desk and as I suspected, quickly spotted the problem. In the bottom right-hand corner of her desktop, the speaker icon was crossed out with a red slash, indicating her speakers were on mute. Melissa looked at me as if I were a computer goddess.

"Show me how you did that! " she said in awe.

Several walk-throughs later, I felt confident that she finally got the whole "mute / unmute" thing. On the downside I'd just reaffirmed in her mind that I am a certified IT professional.

Melissa has a tendency to make any situation as socially awkward as possible. A year ago, Sarah made all nine of the ladies who work at Take go out for a "female empowerment and unification" lunch. At said lunch, Sarah asked us each to share our backgrounds in order to demonstrate the "power of the diversity of our experiences." She started at the other end of the table, so I settled in patiently to listen to the others explain where they went to school; an overview of their previous jobs; and what led them to working at Take.

All pretty standard stuff, until it was Melissa's turn to speak. Her epic tale started twenty years ago, when she was eight, and took a half hour to complete. She wept when she recounted how her parents told her she couldn't be an astronaut (which although not supportive, I think was a pretty accurate statement for them to make, given her tech abilities). The story went on and on and she continued to cry intermittently. She told us how she never liked the boys her parents set her up with, how she found the man for her in Spain. They'd fallen in love and he moved here for her, and they had lived together until he had left her two years ago to return to Spain and his ex-girlfriend. She talked with a quickly disintegrating tissue in her hands about how she had then set out on her own and found her job at Take.

When she was finished, it took a moment for everyone to realize that she had stopped talking. With glazed expressions, we watched her finally take a bite of her lunch. All of our plates had already been cleared and coffee brought out to us.

Sarah gave a quick nod to Natalie, from our Sales and Distribution team, to give us her story. Natalie smiled confidently, and pushed a few of her chestnut curls away from her face. She began to swiftly tell us the standard facts about her background.

"I grew up in Toronto, I've always loved this city. I studied Marketing in University. I actually went to U of T with Maggie!" We shared a nostalgic look. We had been friends since first year, when we'd met at the U of T film club. "I was actually really lucky, while still in university I was able to get an internship with the National Film Board. It was an amazing experience and it opened the door for my position here at Take."

I felt a pang of jealousy at Nat's ability to speak with such ease in front of any sized crowd. She demanded attention, while I tended to shy away from it. She was tall, curvy, constantly confident and style conscious. She had blue-green eyes and a small dimple on her right cheek when she smiled.

When it was finally my turn to speak, I cleared my throat nervously.

"Hi, I'm Maggie McKenzie. Let's see... I'm from Halifax. Came here to go to school at the University of Toronto and got my BA in English. After that I moved to Banff to have a bit of an adventure. I decided to come back to Toronto, finding a place at The Victorian. It's a small monthly publication, which mostly looks into the female side of history. Natalie actually persuaded me to apply to a position at Take just over three years ago. I really enjoy the work, and what I get to be a part of."

Sarah smiled, oblivious to the wave of relief cascading across the table: this very long and awkward lunch was now over and we could all retreat to our own little personal spaces back in the office.

A space I retreated to once again now, away from Melissa and her speaker issues. As I approached my desk I saw the little red light on my phone was flashing. I took a moment, then read the waiting text message.

Can I come by and pick up my stuff tonight.

Although I had been expecting the message a wave of vertigo hit me. I still wasn't accustomed to interacting with him as an ex. After much debate about wording and a few false starts I decided to keep things simple and to the point in my reply.

Sure, I'll be home after 8.

I called Abby, my best friend since moving to Toronto. We met at a drop-in ballet class. I always wanted to be cool and graceful, instead of my awkward self. I thought that ballet could give me poise; however, when I tried out the class I just ended up falling down a lot and, at one point, I took Abigail with me while attempting a rond de jambe attitude. She was very sweet about it, and we started to talk after class, which lead to a pint, which lead to a great friendship. She's become the friend who knows me best and always thinks she knows what's best for me.

"He's coming over tonight, to pick up his stuff," I reported as she soon as she picked up.

"Don't freak out, just be calm and strong. Don't get ahead of yourself, just take things as they come," she advised. "I'm really sorry, I have to go. I have an end-of-day deadline."

"No worries, I'll talk to you later."

"Good luck, let me know how it goes!"

I sent Sarah what I had on bananas, gathered up my stuff, shut down my computer and ran home to clean up my place and myself.

# Chapter 2

I live in a one-bedroom apartment in a converted town house, with an appropriate mix of hand-me-down and IKEA furniture. The walls are decorated with a mix of prints, "art" I did myself, and two nicely framed movie posters: Rebel without a Cause and The Graduate. It's usually tidy but there were some dishes in the sink and some clothes scattered on my bedroom floor, and the whole place could have used a vacuum. I threw Dan Mangan's latest album on the old cracked iPod attached to my stereo, and ran around making the place look tidy. Then I jumped into the shower, conditioned, shaved my legs, jumped out, dried off, picked out a confident-yet-casual outfit (white scoop neck t-shirt and dark jeans) and put on makeup. I was ready, and it was only 7:12.

With forty-five minutes on my hands and an inability to sit still, I decided I needed to do something to calm myself down. I settled on baking focaccia bread. I put on my 1950s apron with a cherry pattern, took out the ingredients, measuring cups and two bowls and got to work. I always find it easier to deal with stress when I'm doing something with my hands, and there is something particularly soothing about making bread.

Connor had ended things almost three weeks earlier. We had been together for a year and then unexpectedly, outside of the subway station at Yonge and Dundas, beside a man break-dancing in a Guy Fawkes mask while hordes of people passed by, he ended it. The plan had been to meet there to go out for dinner and a movie. But when I came up the subway stairs and saw him through the crowd, he greeted me with a forced smile. He looked tired and pensive, and I wrongly assumed that he'd had a bad work day and was trying to decide on a restaurant.

"Want to go to that Chinese restaurant down the street?" I suggested.

"Maggie, I really should be at work, we have this rush study that is going out into field tonight," Connor replied with a sigh.

"Do you just want to do dinner, skip the movie and you can go back to the office after you've had something to eat?"

"No. What I mean is I don't think I'm giving my all to this relationship. I think that you are giving 110% and I'm giving 90% and I don't think that difference is fair to you." His hand kept brushing through his shaggy blond hair. "I have to focus on my career and my job takes a significant amount of my energy and I just don't feel like I'm able to do it at the level I need to in order to succeed and be in a relationship." This was obviously a pre-rehearsed speech.

I stood there baffled. His work hadn't come up as an issue before. No issues had. We'd never had a fight or even a looming passive aggressive silence. I didn't understand. Connor had been my first real relationship, the first time I'd done the meet-the–parents thing, and gone to company parties and weddings as the significant other. Not knowing how to handle the situation, I remained silently standing in shock.

"I'm sorry," Connor whispered, looking down at the ground.

"I think I'm going to go," I muttered, deciding that this was a solid course of action. I turned from him, and he didn't react as I moved away.

I felt idiotic with my overnight bag drooping from my shoulder as I trudged home. And just as weeping became bawling, the skies opened up and the rain poured down. Big dollops of rain crashed down on me, making my skirt cling to my thighs while water filled my shoes, wrinkling my toes. I arrived home looking and feeling more pathetic than I would have thought possible.

Three weeks had passed and it still didn't make sense to me. My friends all swore he would come running back in just a matter of days. They said he was just scared but soon would realize what he had done and would want to get back together. I had played out variations of this scenario obsessively in my head but none had come to pass. He'd called to see how I was doing. He'd sent me a message saying a band I loved was going to be in town. But he hadn't come crawling back. I wondered if getting his stuff was just a ruse to come over. I had put his things in a pile, and none of it was really worth coming over for: an old undershirt, a Weekend at Bernie's DVD and a travel backgammon board.

At 7:30, the dough had been kneaded and was sitting in a covered bowl so it could rise. With nothing else to do, I paced around my small apartment, going over all possible versions of the evening ahead. I prepped myself with cool reactions. I didn't want him to know just how cliché and pitiable I'd been these last few weeks.

I first met Connor at his birthday party. Natalie, from my office, had gone to high school with him and thought we would really hit it off. So she invited me to join her and Fred from IT at the now-closed Havers pub.

"That's Connor!" Natalie exclaimed almost as soon as we entered the pub. I looked over to see a tall man, at least six foot two, with shaggy blond hair and light blue eyes, muscular build, with his tongue sticking out while doing a little bobbly shuffly dance.

We worked our way through the crowd and found an empty table. Fred threw his jacket on a stool and volunteered to brave the line to get the first round. I watched as he weaved through the crowd towards the bar. Fred looks the part of a stereotypical IT guy. His ironic t-shirts bulge over his ever-so-slightly growing tummy and his short hair is messy. Probably from chronically holding his head in frustration. But his glasses frame kind brown eyes that glance at Natalie at every available opportunity.

Fred and I had quickly become friends after my first day at Take. Setting me up on the network was more problematic than expected. It took the entire day for him to work it out, and I had nothing to do but hang out at my desk chatting with him.

Natalie slid out of her short black trench coat, folding it neatly on top of Fred's jacket. She adjusted her grey knit dress as she sat down on the stool and repositioned one of her wavy curls. Once seated she made eye contact with Connor and waved him over, and he obligingly moved through the crowd to our table.

"Connor, meet—" Natalie began to introduce me but was cut off by someone shouting "CONNOR!" A group of guys came in and hailed the birthday boy, who turned around and quickly joined the new arrivals.

Natalie gave me an encouraging look, raising her eyebrows, grinning, darting her eyes between me and him and asking "yeah?" over and over again. I looked back, perplexed.

"Really? That guy?" I said, sounding ruder than I had intended.

"He's incredibly kind. He's funny. He's successful and he's a great friend," Natalie explained as she flung her hands around with each point.

I looked over at him again. He seemed extroverted and boisterous. I had always seen myself with someone shy, sweet, nerdy. An avid reader, someone who loved to learn something new and who appreciated my dorky sense of humour. Connor did, however, have something undeniably magnetic about him.

Well, it is his birthday and I'm crashing his party, I thought. And since Natalie wouldn't stop looking at me with a creepy grin and excitedly arched brows, I decided to get him a drink.

I managed to squirm my way to the bar, where I ordered and then worked my way back, this time with the added hazard of balancing two pints. I found Connor, presented the beer and said "Happy Bir—" but I got cut off by yet another cry of "CONNOR!!" The latest arrivals launched into a round of massive birthday hugs and manly handshakes, so I headed back to my seat.

But Connor followed me. He gave Natalie a hug and said hi to Fred before moving their jackets to another table and taking the stool beside mine.

"Thank you for the drink," Connor said with a wide smile.

Fred and Natalie stood up. "We are going to go and play darts!" Natalie announced.

I ignored her entirely. "You're welcome for the drink. Happy Birthday, are you having a good one?"

"I am! I got season tickets to the Jays, and Bill Bryson's At Home. His book A Short History of Nearly Everything is my favourite, so I'm hoping this is as good. Had a really relaxing day, just watched the Food Network. I'm a little addicted."

I laughed with surprise. "I am too."

"Did you hear that Paula Deen was smacked in the face by a ham at a charity event?"

I shook my head and giggled. "How did that happen?"

"She was helping out at a large Thanksgiving dinner and while unloading food from a truck someone had thrown her a ham without getting her attention first. It hit her square in the face. She's okay, so I think it's all right to laugh." He chuckled.

Connor and I were in the middle of comparing favourite concerts we'd been to when my phone buzzed. I pulled it out to see a text message from Natalie, letting me know that she had abandoned me. I moved to drop it back into my purse, but Connor cutely grabbed my phone and added his number into my contacts.

We talked until all of his friends had left, until the lights came on in the bar, leaving us both blinking and surprised at how much time had passed.

"Do you want to grab some Vietnamese food?" he asked.

I nodded, hungry and still unready for the conversation to end. He guided me out of the bar and into a cab, and a few minutes later we arrived at the corner of Spadina and College, Toronto's Chinatown. Although the neighbourhood may not be aptly named because several different Asian cuisine restaurants line the street.

"Sorry, I don't know the name of the place. There's no English on the sign, but I know it's on this block and on this side of the street. We're going to have to wander to find it, if you don't mind walking the rest of the way," Connor explained, his voice much softer outside of the loud bar.

The cab pulled over and Connor took my hand, helping me step out of the car. He didn't let go as we walked down the street, which was still lively with people flowing in and out of open restaurants, getting a post-club, pre-bed snack. We passed by bright red, orange and yellow signs, my favourite of which was for a dim sum place with neon lights in the shape of fish and shrimp. The night was a little chilly and I tucked my free hand inside my jacket.

"Here we go." Connor let go of my hand and opened the door, and a rush of warm air hit me as we stepped inside. A slight, exhausted-looking young woman greeted us by pointing to a small table for two.

"This place is great," Connor whispered in my ear as we took a seat.

I examined the menu, trying to hide how out of place I felt. After an evening talking about food, I didn't want him to find out I'd never eaten Vietnamese food before. And I had no idea what the menu items actually were.

"I think I'm going to get pho, it's great here," Connor mused.

I held back a yawn, just realizing now how tired I was. I looked at the clock. It was 3:30 in the morning. I was suddenly very aware of how surreal and out of character this situation was. Usually I was shy, cautious, not really the type to have early morning meals with strangers. But I thought to myself, seeing as I am going with the flow I might as well have the pho. I knew I had a little too much to drink when the small rhyme made me giggle.

"What are you smiling about?" Connor asked flirtatiously.

"Nothing, I think I'm going to have the pho, too." I looked at him and he returned my smile. He had a demanding charm, and he was so confident in his interest in me.

I could feel my face flush and avoided matching his eye contact.

"You were telling me about your job?" I asked, attempting to steer the conversation into more neutral territory until I decided if I liked him back with as much intensity.

"Right, well, like I was saying, I work for a market research company. I'm a project manager. It's been great for me, 'cause I came right out school and they've just given me a lot of opportunities to move up."

"That sounds impressive! How do you like it? " I asked, noting how ambitious he sounded and struck by how I found it attractive in him.

"The work itself is surprisingly stressful but it's also, I don't know, somehow silly. You'll get these demanding clients who want a huge focus group just of high school kids in Winnipeg, who have recently bought a brand new car, have a lemon-scented air freshener, and have never had a speeding ticket, or some other insanely specific group they want for a test market, and they need it now, but teens with cars are probably not sitting at home filling in surveys," he said with a sigh and a slight shake of his head.

The waitress arrived with two bowls of pho and several small dishes filled with garnishes including sprouts, green onion and chili pepper. Connor began mixing in garnishes, splashing in some hot sauce from a red bottle beside the napkin dispenser. He gave one final stir of the chopsticks before slurping up the noodles. I made similar moves, trying to look as if I knew how I liked my pho. I took my first bite, warm and spicy, hearty but crunchy and fresh with the sprouts and green onion.

"This is delicious!" I wondered what else Connor had up his sleeve.

When we had finished it was after 4, and Connor insisted on taking me home. The whole cab ride, I contemplated what he was expecting at the end of the journey. I was surprised and more disappointed than I would have expected when instead of leaning over to kiss me, he shyly shook my hand and said goodnight.

That look of absolute surety that I was what he wanted was all I could think about tonight, when the knock on my door brought me back to the present and the current state of things. I went to let Connor in. He was wearing a snug, long-sleeved blue t-shirt that showed off the contours of his muscles. I stood awkwardly at the door for a moment, not quite sure how I was supposed to greet him. I decided to keep my distance, heading back into the kitchen where I could once again deal with the focaccia bread instead of my recent ex.

"Your stuff is right there," I called out coolly, pointing to the pile.

"Thanks. So. Can we talk?"

"What about?"

I was happy that I was kneading bread. Happy that I could half-concentrate on what I was doing rather than having to look at him. I could feel his gaze examining me, leaving me exposed. I wished he no longer knew the things he did about me. I felt like he could read what I was thinking, but I maintained composure.

"Well, I guess I just wanted to see if you're all right, I mean, I guess, I just feel like a jerk, how I handled things, and I just wanted to make sure that your okay." He sounded sincere but distant.

"What do you want me to say, Connor? I mean, you basically told me you didn't love me as much as you love work. Which, I guess, would be understandable if you had an interesting job with maybe an odd schedule, like maybe an artist, musician, fire fighter, doctor, pilot. But no, you're a project manager at a market research company! It really must be so enthralling; I can see why you'd want to give it your full attention." I could hear the cracks in my voice, the harshness, felt my eyes well, and so I pushed my weight onto the dough.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, I love you as a person, Mags, but I'm just not in love with you. I've just never felt that way. I care about you a lot, and I think you're great, and have nothing but good memories. But I just don't feel that way about you. I think that continuing on with this relationship is unfair to you."

I was struggling to say something but his last comment made me feel as I if I had been cold-cocked.

"But you said you loved me." A small whimper finally escaped, which I immediately regretted. I knew I had lost all of the cool I was trying to maintain and sounded rather pathetic.

Connor breathed in long and hard. "That's what you're supposed to say."

This couldn't be right. I hadn't made up the entirety of this relationship. I stood there bewildered, thinking of the things he'd said, the sweet moments, the romantic gestures. He would text me a good-night message every night that I wasn't falling asleep next to him. He had sent flowers to the office—flowers that hadn't lasted through lunch, sadly, because Melissa tore them apart for use in her hair. He had brought me home, introduced me to his family. He had bought me a toothbrush and conditioner for his apartment. He had always held my hand when we walked together. These things could not be misinterpreted.

"But you..." I started but I heard the weakness in my voice and stopped mid sentence.

"That's just what you do in relationships, Mags," he said softly as if he knew that I had been collecting memories of his actions to use as proofs. I hated his condescending tone, the look of concern on his face. I felt my whole body tense up and regain the cool I had lost.

"Look, Connor, I'm fine, so you can just take your things and go."

He reluctantly turned around and picked up his things. He stopped for a second; I stared at his back, willed him not to open his mouth again. Luckily he kept on walking, right out the door.

# Chapter 3

The next morning my cell phone's annoying beeping alarm jolted me from sleep. I felt around the bed without opening my eyes, trying to find the thing. I eventually discovered it under a book. I had filled up the usual space Connor took up in my bed with two pillows, three books and my laptop. I felt like a giant scab. I knew I shouldn't be picking at myself, but I felt the itch to pick at the wounds he left with his words. "That's what you say in relationship." He had never loved me, the words were just a social convention, something you say, and I had believed them. I felt exhausted and humiliated; I stared at my phone, watching minutes pass, and calculated how long I could wait before I had to get up.

I did eventually pull myself out of bed and got ready to go to work. After a long, jerky subway ride jammed between a kid's backpack and a middle-aged businessman, then a quick stop at Jiffy Java, I was at my desk, desperately trying to snap myself out of it. I was completely unable to concentrate; I kept rereading the same sentence in an article .

I tried to rally, thought of the plus side of being single again: dating. Images of going to dinner, hockey games, concerts and Shakespeare in the Park, walking around street festivals, having coffee in cute cafes with cute and funny men who told interesting stories and listened intently to mine. But I quickly remembered that these dates were a fantasy. Almost immediately, these images were replaced with reality and the memories of actual dating experiences came rushing in.

I remembered the worst date of my life. I had just graduated from university and I wanted to go on an adventure before worrying about being an adult. I decided to go to Banff, to work, party and explore the Rockies. Banff was perfect because, in a way, it was like going to camp. The town was filled with people in their early twenties from all over the world, all eager to meet new people and go hiking, canoeing, horseback riding or white-water rafting.

I had gotten a job working at a high-end clothing store in one of Banff's biggest and most luxurious hotels and I was going to be living in the staff residence. After the seven-hour red-eye flight and the three-hour bus ride, most of which I slept through, I had arrived.

I opened my eyes to mountains, and I fell immediately in love with the grey epic peaks that surrounded the small tourist town. It felt like walking into a picture from National Geographic. It was surreal to have such a grand landscape as the backdrop to the everyday.

I was confusedly wandering around the huge hotel looking for the residence office. A guy came out of the liquor store wearing a red shirt, black pants and an apron. He was just a little taller than me, a little scruffy, and he wore an amused look.

"Hey there, can I help you find something?" he asked with a friendly smile.

"Hi, I'm looking for the residence office," I replied, wondering if I looked as weary and lost as I felt.

"Okay, you want to go through that archway and turn right. Then go into the large green building, and once you get in, there should be signs, but I think it's on the second level."

I appreciated the welcome. "Thanks." I had come with the preconceived notion that all the men in Banff would have a bit of a snowboarder look to them and he was in line with expectations.

Following his directions I found the office. A guide toured me through the buildings, helping me lug my bags to my new apartment. I showered, napped and set out to find some dinner. There was a little grocer for the residence across the street. It was just one jammed aisle filled with cereal, crackers and chips. The closest thing to dinner was a package of chicken-flavoured Ichiban instant noodles. Passing the liquor store again on my way back, I stopped in to get something for my empty fridge.

Coming in from the warm spring day, I immediately got goosebumps from the overly air-conditioned store. I quickly went to the back, to a small fridge with a limited selection of beers. I grabbed a six-pack of Keith's, thinking it would be a little taste of home, and when I got to the cash, I came face-to-face with my direction-giving preconceived notion.

"Hi again. So did you find it okay?" he asked with a teasing smile.

"Yep, I'm all set up."

"Well, welcome to Banff. I'm Steve." He extended his hand and I shook it.

"Thanks, I'm Maggie."

He checked out my selection. "Oh, Keith's, eh? So, are you from the east coast?"

"Yes! I'm from Halifax."

"Ooh, Halifax is a great city! So where are you working at the hotel?"

I had to think for a minute to remember the store name. "Mountain Air."

"Oh yeah, I've seen that. The new clothing store, right?"

I nodded. "It just opened last month." I hadn't seen it yet, not wanting my first impression to be a jetlagged one. The hotel itself though was stunning. "I can't wait to start" I added, in genuine anticipation to start my life in Banff.

He rang up the beers, took my twenty and handed me the change. I was just about to leave when he made a small, attention-getting cough.

"I'm off in a couple hours. Do you want to go for a drink later? When I've finished my shift? Maybe I could show you around."

I hesitated for a moment, but decided that Banff should be about meeting people and having adventures. "Sure, I don't have a phone number yet, but do you just want to come over and have one of these Keith's? I'm in room 319 in the Red Moose residence."

"Okay, I'll see you at 6:30."

A few hours later, Steve was at my door. He'd changed out of his uniform into incredibly tight black jeans and a grey t-shirt; however, his shirt covered little more than his round and bouncy pecks, while his rotund belly hung out over the top of his jeans. He was holding a small briefcase and leaning against the doorframe as if posing for a magazine.

"Hey, how's it going?" he asked as if I shouldn't really answer but instead should be taking in the manly spectacle he had presented me with.

I opened my mouth but for a moment nothing came out. "I'm good, come on in," I finally said with great uncertainty. He walked in with a bit of a swagger, making his gut jiggle and bounce, and the long chest hairs protruding from his belly shirt waved with each step.

"I brought my art portfolio for you to check out. I'm an artist," he announced.

He handed me the portfolio, which was filled with art that looked appropriate for album covers of 80s metal bands. Image after image of naked women with lopsided breasts in front of neon spheres and cubes. I flipped though landing on a drawing of a naked woman riding a unicorn in space.

Again I was caught with my mouth open but finding it difficult to produce a word. After a long pause the word "interesting" finally escaped.

I closed the book and handed it back, hoping I'd get the chance to wash my hands very soon.

"So, I thought instead of walking around this stupid place, we could just go to a movie. Batman Begins starts in twenty, so we should have enough time to catch it."

At that point I just wanted him out of my room as quickly as possible. I thought it was an opportunity to escape an inevitable confrontation about my thoughts on his "art." Plus I had really wanted to see the movie. I just hoped he wasn't a movie talker.

We left my place, walking down the curved path to the main road.

"I just have to stop by my place; I'm at the YMCA, at the end of the road."

"You don't live in the hotel residence?" I asked curiously, although happy that at least I wouldn't be running into him in the halls.

"No, I actually got kicked out, if you can believe it. It's right here. It will only take a minute, okay?"

We walked through the Y, passing old men in towels shuffling along from the shower to their bedrooms. It smelled of mildew, BO and sadness. When we reached Steve's room, he stripped off his belly shirt and put on a slightly less revealing one, featuring a picture of a wolf howling at the moon. Then he went to his mini fridge, took out a tall boy and chugged it back.

"Okay, let's go!"

For the rest of the walk to the movie theatre he talked about his artistic future.

"I'm going to hit it big one day. People are just not ready for what I have to show. I mean, my work is so edgy and out there, people are just not ready to open their minds. Ya know?"

I mumbled "Yeah" sarcastically but he didn't pick up on the lack of sincerity.

We arrived at the movie theatre, where all conversation would soon come, hopefully, to an end. We bought our tickets and then we headed towards the snack counter. I got myself a box of Milk Duds then Steve ordered.

"I'll have a large popcorn and a large Coke. But I want the butter layered."

The teenage boy manning the counter handed him the popcorn and Coke. "That'll be $11.67."

"No, man, I said layered."

"I did layer it."

Steven glared at him. "Well, do it again. This doesn't look layered to me."

The boy turned around, tried again, layering it several times. He handed the new bag of popcorn to Steve.

"No, man, this is too greasy. How hard can this be?!" he sneered.

The exasperated teenager, once again, took a bag out and layered, clearly trying to do so with small amounts of butter. For the third time, he handed the bag to Steve.

Steve sighed heavily. "Well, I guess this will have to do."

The boy rolled his eyes and resumed his stance, leaning against the candy counter. Mortified to be associated with Steve, I slunk along a few steps behind him into the theatre, where the movie had started playing twenty minutes ago.

"MAN, IT'S DARK IN HERE!" Steve yelled, making me cringe.

Thankfully we found seats without too much trouble. Steve finally shut up, totally consumed by the movie and his imperfectly layered popcorn. It was two hours of peace, but the movie eventually had to end.

"I wonder how the Scarecrow will become the Joker..." Steve pondered as we left the theatre.

"What? He's not going to become him. They are two totally different villains," I explained.

"No. How did you not get that? You must be stupid. That part with the card clearly means that Scarecrow becomes the Joker."

At that moment I knew I'd hit my limit.

"No, the Scarecrow is a different villain than the Joker. It's going to be someone else. Anyway, I think I should probably do some errands while I'm downtown. Have a good night," I said, pushing open the door and turning away from the direction of the Y.

"Yeah, have a good one," he called after me. I didn't turn around.

A couple of weeks after our date Steve came into Mountain Air. I wasn't working that day but the tale quickly became store legend. He bought a shirt and then made a dramatic scene when he was told that the engraved wooden hanger didn't come with it. He yelled at my manager for twenty minutes, demanding the hanger, until she gave in just so he would leave the store.

Now, in my little cubicle, a shiver swept down my spine at the thought of another Steve-like date. Although I think I did learn my lesson and wouldn't be going out with the next guy who asked me out in a liquor store.

"Good morning, Maggie!" The sound of Melissa's voice snapped me back into reality.

I swivelled my chair to face her. "Hi, Melissa, what can I do for you?"

Melissa was wearing a green sweater that was two sizes too small, so it stretched over her stomach, highlighting her belly button. She'd paired it with too-tight black pants, showing off a much-defined panty line. Her shoulder-length blond hair was pulled back in a messy bun. From her crooked half smile, I knew she was going to start telling me about some guy. Melissa was under the impression that all men were constantly falling for her. I have yet to meet anyone who actually has, but she seems to have a lot of stories to tell.

"Okay, so you know how Natalie and Fred have started dating?" Melissa asked.

Of course I knew they were dating. I was the first one to know! It actually happened at the same time that Connor was breaking up with me. The day after my breakup, Fred had come over to my desk and found me green, puffy and dazed. He looked really uncomfortable trying to comfort me, quickly changing the subject to Natalie being in the hospital.

I was horrified as he told me how she had been attacked by her crazed and evil cat, which had caused a serious blood infection. She had called Fred to take her to the hospital. Hours later, lying in the hospital bed in a drug-induced haze, she looked over and saw Fred sitting in a chair snoring, and she realized that he was the only person she'd thought to call. They had been great friends for years and had always had a mild flirtation, but it really wasn't until that moment when it struck her. So when Fred jerked awake in his chair, she flat-out told him that she wanted to be with him, and luckily, he felt the same way.

"I do know that Fred and Natalie are together, why?"

Melissa moved around me, picked up the Magic 8-Ball on my desk, shook it about and looked at the prediction. Unimpressed with the results, she shook it again as she sat on my desk.

"Well, I'm just wondering if Natalie is mad at me now, or I guess not mad but like jealous, 'cause you know how Fred has always had a thing for me."

Fred has told me that he has actually physically hidden from Melissa on a few occasions. His loathing for her is so great that he has seen her in the reflection of the subway door window on the way to work, and has gotten out and taken the next train to avoid the possibility of any conversation or time spent in her presence. "I really don't think she's jealous," I said flatly.

"You've really never noticed how he looks at me? Or how often we end up getting coffee at the same time? Or remember how I let a virus get on my computer and he didn't tell anyone?"

I was intrigued. "How did you let in a virus?"

"See? He didn't even tell you!"

"Well, I really think he's into Natalie and she seems happy so I don't think you have to worry about her taking coffee breaks or viruses the wrong way."

I swung back to face my computer, hoping she'd get the message. A prolonged moment of silence later, she put the 8-Ball back in its spot and wandered away. I again read the sentence I'd been working on for the last hour, but I distracted myself wondering what Melissa was doing when she infected her computer.

It was another fifteen minutes before I finally got some focus and got past the first sentence. Turned out to be a fascinating article about the Boston Molasses Disaster. A giant tank was built to house 2.5 million gallons of molasses. On January 15th, 1919, it exploded. The sides of the tank flew off, one of which cut the support of an elevated train track. An enormous wave, 25 feet high and traveling 35 kilometres per hour, tore through the streets, sweeping people along with it. In the end 21 people had died, drowned in molasses.

I was so amazed by the article that when I finished reading, my first thought was how Connor would appreciate it. My stomach churned again; I was immediately back to picking at his words until the clock struck 5.

After work I headed to the gym. In the changing room I started pulling on my exercise clothes when an elderly woman walked right into me. She huffed, recognizing she had hit a barrier, then shuffled around me. She was naked with only one of the tiny gym towels barely reaching around her body. After rummaging through the locker right beside mine and withdrawing a pumice stone, she took off her towel and sat completely naked on the bench. Lifting her foot to rest on her knee, she pumiced her heels. It was a disturbing sight. I tried to look straight ahead, ignoring the swaying motion in my peripheral vision and the skin flakes flying around.

The gym wasn't that busy. A few people were working out on the machines and lifting weights, but the track around the perimeter was only being used by a solitary speedwalker. I got on the track and started up a nice jog. Like any vice, I knew I should avoid thoughts of Connor and I felt weak for doing it, but still, I let myself dwell on him.

I thought about this perfect romantic evening when we wandered around the Taste of Italy Festival, his hand in mine, trying a little bit of this and that at the different booths, and checking out street performers. We found a restaurant with a secret, amazing patio in back, one that had been missed by the crowds. The mini lights and candles scattered throughout didn't detract from the stars above. I couldn't remember what we had talked about, although I did remember that I had started to laugh while taking a sip of my wine and almost sprayed it everywhere. And I did remember being so happy that I made myself take in the moment and recognize that I finally had what I had so often envied.

Afterwards, we walked to the streetcar. Connor moved to put his arm around me, but instead he whacked me square in the nose. I felt warm blood pour down my lip, tasting the metallic iron. Connor dashed through the door of a nearby gelato shop and grabbed a handful of napkins to staunch the leak as we continued to the streetcar stop. I tried to hold my head back as Connor guided me through the crowd. Luckily the streetcar almost immediately arrived, and for once it wasn't too crowded. We sat perpendicular to a woman who had been watching us since boarding. She clutched her purse, clearly terrified by our presence.

My nose was still letting out a steady flow as the streetcar chugged along, and my bundle of napkins could absorb no more. Connor reached into my bag to find a pair of his own boxers, an old, shrunken pair that I had stolen after I'd unexpectedly spent the night at his place. I had cleaned them and brought them to return to him. Connor tore up his underwear and handed me the strips to try and contain the never-ending nosebleed.

I was steadily jogging, keeping my slow pace when I found myself smiling, but I forced myself to stop. Electric 6's "Dance Commander" came on my iPod. I turned up the volume and moved my jog up to a run. Focusing on my breath, I felt like a runner free and fast. I felt sweat run down and tickle my back. I ran until my lungs burned, until stabbing pains in my side called me to stop. I slowed down to a walk for a lap, to catch my breath.

# Chapter 4

Saturday morning I was returning my usual weekly round to the bakery, fish monger, butcher and grocery store when Abigail called me.

"Morning," I groaned, followed by a grunt as I moved the weighty bag full of food to rest on my shoulder.

"How are you doing?" Abby asked, concerned.

"All right, I guess."

"I think you would be doing better if you had some breakfast. Meet you in an hour?"

"Yeah sure, how about Bonjour Brioche?" I asked, craving croque madame.

I got home, put the newly purchased goods away and quickly went back out the door. It was a beautiful fall day, crisp and full of colourful foliage.

Twenty minutes later, I saw Abigail already sitting on the side patio, two cups of coffee already on the table.

Abigail stood up to hug me. Her long auburn hair was tied up in a loose bun, not a speck of makeup on her face, and yet such a beauty with green eyes, freckled skin and a cool casual confidence. I had to bend down to properly embrace her petite frame. I'm five foot four but still manage to tower over her at four foot nine. She looked at me with concern as we sat down. I could feel her examine me for the severity of trauma.

"How did Thursday go?" Abby asked.

"I'm doing all right, I guess, just feeling really drained. Thursday was lame. He came, got his stuff, told me he never loved me and left," I replied in a matter-of-fact tone, to hold off crying in public.

"Do you believe him? I don't believe that!"

I hesitated for a moment. " I guess I have to, though it just puts this bitter twist on the last year of my life. I keep remembering these moments and imagining them from his point of view, trying to work out what he had actually been thinking." I heard small cracks in my voice.

Abigail gave me a look that made it clear she didn't know what to say. She has been with the same guy since grade 11, Scott. She's never dated anyone else, she's never been dumped, and she's never really been single. As much as she is always there for me and as much as she listens to all of my stories, still, it's hard for her to understand what I'm going through. I decided to change the topic; I was tired of having Connor in my head.

"Enough about him. Let's talk about something else. I can't even remember where I read this, but I think you'll find it entertaining. Did you know that the Victorians used to wear pubic wigs?" Abby laughed heartily, and I continued, "They shaved to combat lice, and then they would wear a 'Merkin.' It's still widely used today by actors in nude scenes."

"How do you find out about this stuff?"

"I'm a researcher, you come across things."

The waiter appeared carry two breakfast plates. Abby, knowing me as well as she does, had ordered for us both—croque madame for me, over easy eggs and bacon for her.

"Ok, miss researcher, did you know that there are two Congos?" Abby tested.

I shot her a questioning look and took a sip of coffee.

"Did you know that there are two countries named Congo?" Abby clarified.

"Oh! Yes, actually, it's the Republic of Congo and the Democratic Republic of Congo, right? Why?"

Abby deflated. "How do you know this?"

"I don't know, I like geography?"

Abby sarcastically repeated, "You like geography?"

"I like to know where things are," I said, a bit defensive now. "What's the big deal, what's going on with the two Congos?"

"I was testing out an entry form for this contest we're having. And I noticed that there were two choices for Congo under the country selection and assumed that only one of the names had to be right." She slunk down in her chair. "And so I very smugly went to Claudia, who constantly points out my errors, and I pointed out hers, but of course she wasn't wrong and sent me Wikipedia articles about each country. Seriously, each country should have its own name, no other two countries are both named the same thing!"

"Well actually—" I began but Abby quickly cut me off.

"Seriously, you stop talking now. I hate this woman so much, it's like whenever she is bored she will just go through my work to find things I've done wrong for fun. And she's so sly and passive aggressive. She'll ask me these rude questions, and I'll just stand there without a reply 'cause I can't think of any reaction that won't get me fired."

"What does she ask?" I said around a mouthful of ham and Gruyere.

"She's asked me to contact IT because my spell check was clearly broken. She's asked me if I had started budgeting some savings for new clothes, and probably the worst she's asked me if I was pregnant."

"You aren't, are you?" I teased.

"Unlike with her, I can actually hurt you and still retain employment."

"Oh, you wouldn't, I'm your heartbroken friend."

I could see Abigail was preparing herself to say something.

"I know you are still getting over Connor. But there is an awesome guy in my running group who I think you're going to really like. It's okay if it's too soon."

I wasn't sure that I was ready to let go of the thought of Connor returning but I was so tired of myself in this current state. I wanted a distraction, maybe even a new beginning.

"What's he like?" I asked cautiously.

"Well, he's funny, sweet, super cute, a bit of a dork. I just see the two of you working well. Meet him and see what you think."

"Okay, I'll meet him," I said, feeling as though I had taken a first step toward mending myself.

"Great, I'll see if he's interested in doing the Habitat build!" The waitress came by and topped up our coffees. "I was hoping to get a few more people anyway. And that way if it doesn't work out you can concentrate on hammering, and if you really don't like him you can always hit him with a sledgehammer."

# Chapter 5

It was early, cold and dark, but I had promised Abby that I would help her out. I had managed to get myself to the Habitat for Humanity build site for the 8 a.m. start. After my hour-long journey, I was ecstatic to discover a coffee urn waiting for the volunteers. Pouring myself a Styrofoam cup full, I took a sip, something I regretted immediately. The coffee was lukewarm, burnt and tasted three days old at least.

I looked around the site, at the tool shed and the neat piles of wood covered in large sheets of weather-protective plastic. 6 houses on the little street all at various stages of construction. I followed a couple of other people who looked like they knew where they were going, into a makeshift storage room in one the nearly complete houses. I set myself up with a hardhat and steel-toe boots. And then I went in search of Abby, still clutching the cup of godawful coffee. Beside the woodpile stood Abby, looking authoritative with her clipboard and hardhat.

"Morning," she greeted.

"Morning." I sounded considerably less cheerful. A few vaguely familiar people I'd met on various social occasions hovered around Abby, but I didn't really know any of them. I cleared my throat. "Isn't Scott helping out?"

"No, he's not really a morning person," she responded flatly. "We're still waiting for people before we start, but look, the guy over in the black hoodie, that's Nathan. Go say hi!" Abby lightly shoved me in that direction.

He was playing with his helmet. I didn't want to admit it to Abby, but he was really attractive. Short, dark brown hair, medium build, a bit of scruff—which I assumed was from not bothering to shave at 6 a.m. There was just something appealing about his sleepy face.

"You know, I do feel really sexy in my hardhat," I said sarcastically.

"You are!"

"How about we give it a minute or two, let me fully wake up, maybe."

"Fine, but seriously if you don't at least talk him today you're going to need the hardhat."

I snorted into my coffee cup. "Why must you always take it to a violent level?"

"Because you're stubborn and require tough love." She patted my shoulder in a motherly way. "Anyway, I think we're all here and I should let the organizers know."

Abby had originally been given the task at work to set up a volunteer day as a team-building exercise for her office. She has one of those unfortunate office jobs where she feels constantly undervalued and therefore homicidal. She had worked with everyone's schedules and coordinated it all with Habitat, but the volunteer count inevitably dwindled. She had to call in reinforcements, meaning there were now a total of three of her coworkers and twenty obliging friends who didn't want to see a charity get screwed over.

The Habitat crew organized us into teams and gave each team an assignment. Somehow Nathan and I ended up on the same team. I suspected Abby's intervention. The rest of the team was made up of Abigail's grandmother, Doris, one of the three coworkers, a middle-aged, slightly balding man named Ted and the Habitat team leader, Frank. We were tasked with fixing a ceiling, which the previous Habitat crew had built incorrectly.

Citing her fear of heights, Doris stayed below, using a stick with a magnet on the end to clean up leftover nails. The remaining four of us went up to the second level to check out the problem. Frank and Ted—who, it turned out, knew his stuff cold—discussed, in detail, what the issue was and how to go about solving it. With no expertise, and catching only the occasional word I understood, like joust, I waited patiently for instructions. They worked out a list of tools, gave me the task of going to the tool shed to collect a reciprocating saw and crowbar.

When I returned, Nathan was holding down the fort, standing awkwardly waiting to be told what to do. He looked at me with a smile, apparently relieved to have some company.

We took a seat at the edge of the roof/ceiling, our legs hanging over the side. Ted and Frank were on the ground floor looking at the problem from below, still debating how we should proceed.

"Have you done this kind of thing before?" Nathan said, breaking the ice.

"Not really, I made a paddle in woodworking class in grade 9." I laughed at myself. "You?"

"My construction experience is non-existent," Nathan replied with a shy smile.

"So what do you do?"

"I teach grade 4 ."

"Oh cool!" I liked the notion of dating a teacher, someone who was caring, patient and studious. "How are the kids of today?"

He chuckled. "Honestly, they are absolutely insane. I know people keep saying that humans are getting smarter but I think I have plenty of anecdotal evidence to prove otherwise."

I snickered. "What are they doing?"

"There is a kid in grade two who is still breast feeding!"

I was dumbfounded. "Wow! Does the mom come in for lunch and feed him in the cafeteria?"

"No, it's just a home feeding thing. But a kid did recently ask me to wipe his bottom, which I of course shot down. That is so wrong on so many levels! Kids aren't even supposed to be in school if they aren't potty trained."

I scrunched up my face, grossed out.

"Anyway, the kids drive me insane. The job has its moments but there are a lot of problems with the system, and it's not as fulfilling as some horrible movies lead you to believe."

As he talked his face changed; when he was saying something serious, he had this classically handsome look, but when he smiled it changed him entirely. He was charming, endearing, and I felt myself drawn in, constantly smiling and laughing.

Ted and Frank finally returned with a plan.

"What we're going to do," said Frank, "is cut out blocks of the ceiling and then use a crowbar to lift up the remaining wood from the beams."

I handed Nathan the reciprocating saw.

"Ok so what you want to do is just cut a square," Ted offered while Frank was knocking on different points of the ceiling.

"All right so you can start here," Frank said, pointing at the spot he had last knocked. "Don't cut into the beams now." Nathan positioned the saw as instructed and Frank and Ted stood back to supervise.

Nathan cut out a small square, which promptly fell down and hit Doris on the head. She had been going about her task of collecting nails directly below us. We all ran down to check on her.

She was still standing under the square hole, looking at us bewildered. Nathan looked guilt-ridden as he walked her over to a seat on by the snack table, and I followed a few steps behind.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Doris?" I asked.

She nodded. Nathan carefully removed her hardhat and looked at her head. "Are you in any pain? Is your vision blurred?" he asked, obviously worried.

I handed her a cup of weak orange pekoe tea made with the water from a Thermos. "I'm fine!" she chided. "Stop fussing over me. I didn't know anything was the matter until you all ran down the stairs and stared at me. Now please go back to work, I think I'll just take a little break."

"All right, well if you need anything please let me know." Nathan breathed a sigh of relief.

We walked back to our project. "You're a very complicated man, Nathan. You spend your days teaching children and your spare time building for the less fortunate, but you also hit elderly women on top of the head with blocks of wood," I teased, hoping to cheer him up.

"Oh, it's much more complicated then you think," he said mischievously. "That wasn't Abigail's grandmother Doris at all! That was a Russian spy. I was simply preventing her from gathering intel. Why else would she be standing right below us?"

"So, really, you're a hero?"

"Yep, that's me." We smiled at one another. I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but Abby had done good.

We returned to the roof, and we managed to lift up the rest of the improperly done work. We moved the beam so that the ceiling for the first story, which would later be the floor for the second story, was level.

At the end of the day, Nathan and I surveyed our work.

"I think it looks exactly the same," I said with a laugh.

Nathan nodded. "But at least now it won't fall down. And it's been fun! I like doing something constructive with my day. Plus, it was great to meet you." He looked suddenly shy. "Do you want to hang out again sometime?"

Exhausted but thrilled, I smiled. "Yeah, that would be great."

# Chapter 6

As soon as I arrived at my desk on Monday morning, Melissa flew at me. "I just heard about you and Connor! Why didn't you tell me?"

I shrugged, caught off guard by the confrontation.

"Well I know it's hard being single but I think that you should get back out there quick! You'd find a man if you would just follow some of my advice," Melissa said, as if she were my older sister providing guidance.

Although I didn't expect that her advice would actually be useful, I was too curious not to ask. "Okay, where do you suggest I meet men?"

"Well, if you see an attractive guy getting out of a car, you could key the car. That's a good conversation starter."

It took a moment to realize she wasn't joking. I stared up at her with eager anticipation. "So, vandalism. Okay, what else have you got, Melissa?"

"You should go up and down the elevator in your apartment building. Elevators are a great place to meet men."

"I don't have an elevator, it's a townhouse."

"Doesn't matter, just go into buildings and go up elevators, I'm sure you'll meet lots of guys that way."

"Even if I met a guy, where could a conversation lead that wouldn't end with me looking like a creepy stalker?" I inquired. "The first question he would ask is what apartment I lived in, and when I said I didn't live there, he would ask if I was visiting someone, right? I would say no, and then he would ask why I was here, and I'd say.... what, exactly?"

"Okay, well," she said, avoiding my question entirely, "you should hang out at Bueno Burrito. There are always guys in there. Or hot dog stands, when the bars are closing. You can really flirt when eating a hot dog."

I was spellbound. "So, you're suggesting that I hang out on the street at 2 a.m. and flirtatiously eat hot dogs?"

"Yes, it will work! Trust me. Or while you're standing there, if you see a group of guys get into a cab, then just get in and say you're going their way. Or if you have a thing for cops, just jaywalk everywhere and eventually you'll be stopped by an attractive single cop. Or just send sexy texts to random phone numbers, until someone texts you back."

Trying not to burst out in laughter, I said, "Wow, thanks, Melissa. That's a lot to think about, but for the moment I should get back to work."

I turned back to my monitor, ignoring Melissa's "hang in there," look. I checked my email; Sarah had sent me a message outlining some points for fact checking for an hour-long feature on nanotechnology and cancer research. I grabbed a tea from the kitchen before starting to go through the back-up sources to verify that the information we had on file was correct. The process was moving forward, albeit slowly, when Melissa returned.

"Hi, Maggie! I just wanted to say sorry if I was pushing you too hard. I just don't want you to give up. You'll find someone one day."

"Thanks, Melissa." It was sometimes like talking to a child, so you really couldn't be insulted by her naïve nature.

"And just so you know, I think Dave Winters has a bit of a thing for you, just something to think about."

Dave Winters was a freelance jazz musician we sometimes hired to perform on film scores. He was approaching 60, immensely talented and very kind. We would innocently flirt, but that was just his way. He was a classic "cool cat," but not a man I could see being my boyfriend.

"Again, thanks, Melissa."

She looked down at me, and I could tell there was more she wanted to say. But she held back, perhaps sensing my reluctance. "Okay. Stay strong!"

~*~

Packing up my stuff at the end of the day, I saw that Nathan had called. Taking a deep breath, I checked my voicemail.

"Hi, Maggie. It's Nathan, hope you're not as sore as me from Saturday. I just wanted to call and see how you were doing, see if maybe you wanted to get together. Give me a call back."

I was torn between excitement and nervousness-to-the-point-of-nausea. First dates are not my forte.

In grade 5 I went on what I thought would be my first date with a boy named Matt. I'd crushed on him since kindergarten. He was my back-up plan if things didn't pan out with Andrew from My Secret Identity. We traded scratch-and-sniff stickers and worked together to capture the flag. Matt was the boy I built forts and snowmen with, the boy who taught me how to play football and how to climb a tree. He was tall and skinny, with a mop of curly, dark brown hair that hid his dark brown eyes.

One day I had gathered all my courage, picked out my favourite dress (white with small lilacs) and combed away my tangled curls in an attempt to look sophisticated and stylish. Though the result was a frizzy triangle, still I had confidently strutted over to him on the playground and asked if he would like to go see Jurassic Park. He shrugged, responding with a mumbled "okay," and I gleefully ran away.

At the movies my whole body was tingly. I fought back the smile that kept creeping to my lips, wondering if he would hold my hand or try to kiss me. Just when the T-Rex got loose, Matt leaned in towards me. He smelled like Fuzzy Peaches and Swedish Berries. This, I thought, was the moment!

"I would rather be here with someone else," he whispered.

I was stunned; I just kept smiling stupidly, staring up at the screen. I watched the movie in silence, leaning as far away from him as possible within the confines of the narrow seats.

Despite my first date record, I called Nathan, leaving a message that was actually less tongue-tied than usual. I took it as a sign that things were moving in the right direction.

# Chapter 7

Sarah had summoned me into her office to discuss a new project. We were sitting at the small meeting table beside her desk. Ever the casual professional, wearing dark slim-cut jeans, a pale yellow dress shirt and grey blazer, her grey hair was tied back in a sleek bun and she was tapping and fiddling with her pen. I felt a little shabby in my pilled purple v-neck sweater and faded jeans but I had my pen at the ready.

"So there have been some discussions on how to improve our website, and we have decided to start creating shorts specifically made to fit into monthly themes," Sarah explained, twirling the pen between her fingers. "This will give us a chance to check out new talent, increase our online visibility, and make our site a little more edgy and fun. The first theme is going to be 'rumour and scandal.'"

"Sounds great!" I said, using my professional voice. "What do you need me to do?"

"Because the idea is to find fresh perspectives and undiscovered talent, we have a call out for proposals, and I want you to go through the shortlisted outlines, verify the sources and check that the story itself is fact and not just rumour."

I nodded. "I'll get right on it."

"Thank you. Here are the proposals." Sarah stood and handed me a large stack of papers; as I took them she lightly, but firmly, grabbed my upper arm and moved her face very close to mine.

"I think this is really the kind of project that makes Take what it is, a place that encourages the potential of today. Don't you agree?"

I glanced at the pristine French manicured hand clutching my forearm. "Yes, I think it will be a very interesting project."

Sarah leaned in even further and for an awkward moment I was concerned that she was about to kiss me. Instead she lowered her voice to just above a whisper. "And how are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Thanks." My reply was a little too bright, but I hoped my exuberance would loosen her grip.

"Please remember that if you ever need to come and talk, my door is always open."

"Thank you, I appreciate that," I said, managing to pry my arm from her grasp.

On the way out of Sarah's office I stepped right into Melissa's path.

"Hi, Maggie! Don't you look like a busy bee?" Melissa spoke in a high-pitched voice. She was wearing another tragically inappropriate outfit; a matching top and skirt with a pattern that looked like curtains from the 70s, a flimsy orange and brown number. The shirt ended just shy of her waist, leaving just a sliver of midriff exposed.

I nodded to the pile, indicating that she was correct, hoping she would conclude that I was too busy to have a chat but she walked with me down the hallway.

"I decided that I really should follow my own advice. I mean, I'm single too, but was I out there like I was telling you to be? I was not! So on the weekend I tried out some of tips I gave you!" Melissa gesticulated extravagantly with every word.

"You keyed a guy's car?" I asked, taken back.

"No, but I did chat up a guy in my elevator, Jeff, and he's amazing, and we are going out on our second date tonight. So just like I told you, the trick is to just put yourself in situations where you meet men."

"Well, that's great Melissa," I said, deadpan.

"It is! I just wish that you could do the same. I mean it's unlikely that you'll be so lucky as to find someone like Jeff right away, but the trick is to keep at it, and just throw yourself at all the available men you meet."

We arrived at my desk and I put down the stack of papers. "Yeah. So. I guess I should get at it."

"All right." She pouted, not leaving my desk. I silently cursed her constant lingering but pretended she wasn't there. Sitting down, I picked up a proposal and started to fake-read it. It took an excruciating few minutes for her to wander away. As soon as she was gone, I texted Abigail, asking if she wanted a pint after work.

~*~

Abigail suggested that we meet at Sin & Redemption, a Belgian pub with great frites and a quality beer selection. I arrived and found a booth in a little nook. Abby got there shortly after me, slinking tiredly into a chair. I waved over the server and we ordered two pints and some frites.

"Work is just unbearable," Abby said with a huff.

"Why?"

"At my performance review last week, I mentioned that I wanted more responsibility," she grumbled. "Something more than rallying friends to fill my coworkers' empty spots at Habitat."

"Well, it's great that you're demanding more, and not just sitting there unhappy. I'm impressed!"

"Thanks! Anyway, this week I was given this small project, to do the weekly analytics. And Claudia just slowly eased in. She originally was showing me how to run the reports and it ended with her taking over the whole thing, with me in charge of formatting."

"Oh, that sucks, Abby! I thoroughly dislike Claudia."

"I know! I don't want to think about her anymore. How was your week?"

I smiled at her in sympathy. "This week I was wrapping up a project on reckless behaviour in the elderly: they have growing rates of STIs, AIDS and recreational drug use. I read that 25 percent of people between 75 and 85 are still getting some. Which in an otherwise alarming topic I found to be comforting, because it means I have more time for the search."

Abby raised her glass in a toast. "That is fantastic news!"

I clinked glasses with her. "The big problem though is the number of men. I mean I find it hard to meet a guy now, imagine how hard it will be when they start dying off."

"True enough. Although I did see this thing online about some guy who made a robot companion from a sex doll, but apparently he programmed it to be ladylike. So he could have a girlfriend that he could bring home to his mom. Maybe by the time we get really old we can just buy robot boyfriends."

"I don't understand why they continue to make robots," I mused into my beer. "Has no one read a science fiction book or seen a movie? It always ends the same. We end up losing control, and they become evil, turn on us and begin killing indiscriminately. Inevitable doom."

"Well, most likely that will happen after years of mistreatment. So at least you'll probably have a few years to figure out your defense for when your sex robot attacks."

"Good point."

"So speaking of men, did you hear from Nathan?" Abby looked at me with a mischievous grin, clearly hopeful that her matchmaking scheme would be a success.

"I did, but it looks like we're playing phone tag, and at the moment, he's it. How about you? How's Scott?"

"He's good, not a lot new." She sounded evasive. "I totally forgot to tell you what happened to my friend Grace! This is, literally, the most disturbing story you will ever hear. She was taking the bus to Barrie last weekend, to visit her grandparents. She was sitting in a window seat, bus was filling up, some normal looking middle-aged guy sits beside her and she doesn't think anything of it. She falls asleep for a bit and then she wakes up just in time to see him looking at a porn magazine and... enjoying himself. She's just about to yell at him, but she's too late. He finishes and his 'essence" lands on her very long, pretty hair."

"EW! EW EW EW!" I squirmed in my chair in disgust. "What did she do?"

"Well she yelled, obviously, and the driver called the police, who met them when they arrived in Barrie."

"Wow." Still horrified. "That is seriously the grossest thing I have ever heard."

"I know, I think I would want to shave my head! But she has such pretty hair."

"I'm now standing whenever I use public transit. By the door if possible," I grumbled. "And speaking of, I should probably get going."

"Okay, I think I'm going to have another. I'd like to just have a nice quiet drink before heading home. Scott always has so much going at the same time, it's nice to just sit and think."

I stood up, put on my jacket and checked my cell.

"Dammit," I muttered.

"What?"

"Missed yet another call from Nathan." I showed Abby my phone, and she returned a wide smile and nudged me. I gave her a hug, said goodbye, even though I was sure she wanted to witness the return call.

I listened to the message as I stepped out of the pub, walking towards the streetcar stop.

"Hey Maggie, it's Nathan. We aren't having much luck are we? Well, hope you are having a good week, give me a call back and hopefully we can connect."

Before I was able to call Nathan, my phone buzzed with a text from Connor. My hand shook with nerves as I looked at the message.

I'm in your hood and thought of you. How's it going?

I froze. I could feel my heart beating loudly in my ears, as I reread "thinking of you."

The memory of our first kiss hit me. On our second date, on our way to his friend's house party, we had cut through a small park. I couldn't recall what we were talking about, but I vividly remembered how he turned, drew me towards him and sweetly kissed me. Releasing me, he said, "Just suddenly got the courage."

Abby had said she didn't believe that he never loved me. I wondered if it could be possible that the break up was the lie and the preceding year could be what was real. I felt like a gambler, who had lost it all on the last hand but remembered the winning streak and desperately wanted to just get back what had been lost.

I'm just heading home, had drinks with Abby.

Oh cool. If you're not up to anything, wanna hang out?

I'll be home in 20—if you're in the hood, come by.

Ok see you soon.

A half hour later we both stood dumbly in my front entrance. He looked contemplative, and it made me hopeful. I finally waved him into the living room and he followed. We sat on my couch and looked at my TV, which was showing an ancient episode of The Simpsons.

"How have you been?" Connor asked at last, in an unsure voice.

"I'm doing okay," I said cautiously. "You?"

"All right, work has been going good. They're talking about moving me into a management position. And then maybe I can finally start focusing on other parts of my life." He looked at me hard, as if trying to gauge my reaction.

"Well, that's great," I said, not turning from The Simpsons. "Congrats."

I felt him shift around on his end of the couch. "So how is everything with Abby?"

"She's good."

It was his turn to stare at the television and now I looked at him intently, trying to figure him out. As soon as the episode ended, he sprang up.

"I should get going. I just wanted to see how you were doing," he announced clumsily.

"Oh." I had no clue what was transpiring. "Okay."

I walked him out, completely perplexed. I closed the door behind him, waited thirty seconds, and then shouted, "WHAT THE FUCK!?!"

# Chapter 8

It was a perfect fall day, with just a bit of a chill in the air. I had the Thanksgiving long weekend ahead filled with nothing but sleeping, eating, drinking and playing board games. Thanksgiving is the perfect holiday: all the relaxation with none of the pressure of gift giving.

It was all going to start with a night of some quality "me" time. I had poured myself a glass of pinot grigio and was making my own kettle corn. I watched through the pot's glass top as the yellow kernels slowly became white and small oil bubbles surrounded them. Each kernel burst and became a fluffy piece of popcorn. I loved watching the transformation. I poured the rest of the kernels in, shaking the pot around so no piece would burn. The kernels made a delightful pinging noise at they exploded and hit the side of the pot. In another pot, cooking sugar had turned into a mass of clear bubbles. As the last of the popcorn popped, I emptied it out on a flat silicone baking sheet. The sugar, just at the point of turning amber, was perfect, and I poured it over the corn, glazing and separating the pieces in hungry anticipation.

As the sugar hardened, I popped The Bourne Identity into the DVD player, the first in my planned movie marathon. Wine and popcorn at the ready, I flopped onto the couch and start munching.

Matt Damon had just stabbed a man with a pen when my marathon was interrupted by a call from my mother.

"Hi, honey. What are you up to this weekend?" My mom was her usual chipper self.

"Just relaxing," I said, repositioning myself for maximum comfort. "Going over to Natalie's tomorrow for games night. What about you?"

"I'm going skeet shooting with my friend Amanda." I yelped but she kept going. "I'm so excited! It's something I used to do all the time when I was in high school. So it'll be great to try it out again."

My mom has been trying out a new thing almost every weekend since left my dad a year ago, saying that she wanted to "find herself." She felt she needed to do that on her own. She's taken courses in weaving, pottery, kayaking and blacksmithing. This is after two years of retirement. She'd owned a small chain of bakeries and sandwich shops but sold it all because I had declined her offer to take over. Ever since she has had far too much time on her hands. She's planning out trips abroad, buying new clothes, trying a new hairdo and attempting to have far too many emotional conversations. So I wasn't surprised by this latest new thing, although I found the image of my mother with any type of weaponry disturbing.

"That should be fun," I said uncertainly. "I hope you have good time."

"It's been a little rainy here this week, but nothing horrible. Just a little overcast now, but it's supposed to clear up next week."

I will never understand why daily weather is a conversation topic. What is interesting about Halifax being overcast?

"It's been nice here," I returned dutifully. "Good fall weather."

"I'm working on a new sandwich," she said, fervidly moving on to the next topic of conversation. "Pepper pork tenderloin, with pear and asiago."

"Wow, that sounds good," I said, perking up. "I made your focaccia the other night, and it was delicious!" The thought of her food made me wish I was back in our kitchen. With a prick of sadness, I remembered that it doesn't exist anymore.

"What else is new?" I asked.

"Well actually, I have something very exciting to let you know about. I know it's last minute, but I'm going to spend all November touring through Italy. I leave November 3rd." She sounded happier than I'd heard her in a long time.

I was stunned, excited for her, and just a bit jealous. "Wow."

"I know! I'll send you the entire itinerary. But I've always wanted to go and you must make things happen, Maggie. Life isn't going to come to you!" she exclaimed. "You need to get out there and not let life pass you by. So I'm going to eat and tour and eat and drink and did I mention eat, and have a great time!"

"That's great, Mom! I hope you have an amazing time," I cheered.

"I'm sure I will. So what is new with you, dear?"

"I'm doing an interesting project at work. We're going to make short films specifically for the website—new theme every month. The first set are about rumours and scandals."

"That sounds like fun!"

"I was reading today about how rumours can affect the markets. For instance, one rumour in China that bananas gave you SARS collapsed the Chinese banana market. Also, a Heineken distributor started a rumour in the 1980s that Corona contained urine. The story caused sales to plummet and Corona spent half a million dollars on a public relations campaign."

"Interesting," Mom mused. "I remember at the beginning when I just opened The Melt, there was a neighbouring café who used to try and spread all kinds of rumours. He sold the worst sandwiches I've ever seen; he topped everything with sauerkraut, his attempt on originality. Still it takes a lot to build up a reputation. That's why it would have been so great for you to take over. You would have built on the reputation we already established."

The guilt trip made my eyes roll. I couldn't think of anything more to say on the topic that we hadn't already argued about a million times. I was twenty-four when she offered me the business and I was terrified of being in charge of anything. I liked my job at Take, I liked being an inconspicuous cog in an interesting wheel. There was a long silence, which my mother finally broke. "Now that some time has passed I hope you moved on. No point sulking over Connor. Are you going out, meeting new people, meeting anyone special?"

I had no interest in this line of questioning, especially as she was being hypocritical, having not had a date herself since the divorce. "Nothing to report there."

"That is okay, darling. You do not need a man to be happy. You just need you!"

"I know, Mom. Well, I should get going, but love you, and hope you have a good weekend."

"Love you too, dear. Good night!"

I refilled my glass of wine and pressed play. I thought about everything my mom was doing and resented that she was taking bigger risks and taking on life more than I was. I was still deep in thought when my phone buzzed again. This time it was Connor. It had been four days since he came over. I still didn't get what had happened but it seemed like he had been trying to tell me something.

"Hi," I said, answering the phone.

"Hey, what's up?" Connor shouted into my ear.

"Not a lot. Hanging out watching The Bourne Identity."

"Oh cool. I went out with some work friends but they have all gone home to their wives. Anyway, I thought I'd see how you were doing and see if you wanted to go out for a drink."

Maybe he was finally ready to spit out what he had been trying to say that night. "Where should I meet you?"

"How about T-Flats?" He asked, sounding boisterous.

"All right, I'll meet you there in 30," I replied anxiously.

I turned off the TV, changed out of my comfy pants into jeans, a white t-shirt and a grey shrug.

An hour and a half later I was sitting in T-Flats. The ceiling was covered with mini lights, the yellow orange tones and the Mexican kitsch covering the walls creating a cozy vibe. We were sitting at a back table in an otherwise empty section. I was trying to stir my second margarita with a weak straw that kept bending with each stir, listening to Connor talk about...not us.

"It's really strange, but the oddest things keep on showing up on lawn. First, there was a collection of encyclopedias, but just the letters M, R, U and V. And then there was an IKEA shopping cart, which I thought was really strange— I mean did someone walk it over from IKEA? That is one long-ass walk. And it's just sitting there in front of my building. But the latest is definitely the best one so far. Today there was a ukulele!" Connor said, wide eyed.

"There was not! You're totally making that up."I could hear my voice straining upward into a giggle.

"I'm completely serious, it was missing some strings but there it was and I just had to have it so I got some strings and am ready to play some Hawaiian music."

"Do you know how to play the ukulele?"

"No I do not." He softly laughed and shook his head. "If you want, you can come over and I can do my best luau song."

I hesitated for a moment before pushing rational thought to the back of my brain. "I could do that." It felt like we were back to being "us." I wanted the night to go on.

We took a cab to his place. After he unlocked the door, I walked into to the narrow hallway, like I'd done so many times before. And, like usual, I almost tripped on the sneakers piled there. Laughing, he caught my shoulder to steady me. He leaned towards me, but then he let go of my shoulder and locked the door. I flushed, feeling completely foolish, thinking he'd—. And then he was next to me again, leaning down... and he kissed me. A slight, soft kiss, a testing-the-waters kiss. I didn't step away, insist on hearing the ukulele and leave. Instead I kissed him back.

Hours later, I lay beside him in his bed, listening to him snore. I generally like the sound of snoring. I find it strangely relaxing, but as I stared at the ceiling, wondering what exactly just happened, I felt anything but at ease.

# Chapter 9

Serious questions about the preceding night's events were crowding my thoughts. After I left Connor's I decided that I needed a coffee and some form of baked good. I stopped into the ironically named café Whole Latta Beans and ordered a large coffee and a massive blueberry scone.

I had almost run from Connor's, I had been so thrown off by the ordinariness of the morning after. He was so casual and relaxed and I was neither. I needed space from the situation.

When I rummaged in my purse for some cash for breakfast, that inconvenient red flashing light from my phone blinked up at me. I dug the cell out and checked: Nathan had called again and left another phone-tag message.

I didn't know what was happening with Connor, but I didn't want to ignore Abby's friend either. I rang his number, and this time he actually picked up the phone.

"Hi, It's Maggie."

"Maggie! How are you doing?" His voice was warm and friendly.

"I'm good, how about you? Have any more incidents with elderly ladies?"

He laughed, a pure appealing laugh that made me smile. "No, no, haven't had to take any more down. Things are good though, actually going to be heading out soon. I'm going camping tonight and white-water rafting tomorrow. What have you been up to? Learn any new amazing random facts?"

"Actually I learned that Vatican City has one of the highest crime rate per capita of any country in the world."

"Wow, what kind of crimes?"

"Mostly petty theft, pickpocketing, purse snatching. The population is so small but they have such an influx of tourists and visiting thieves it creates this statistical anomaly."

"You gotta love statistics!"

I laughed. "I do!"

We ended up talking for an hour, but when we wrapped up the call, there had still been no set date to see one another again. And I wasn't relieved by that—I was disappointed.

I was worn out, so as soon as I got home I took a very long, hot shower. I changed into some lounge pants and a tank and tried figure out what last night might have meant. My head was filled with "ifs" and "maybes." I tried dispel my doubts by breaking down Connor's behaviour into bite -size pieces for analysis, but no matter how I put the pieces together, nothing fit. I decided, in the end, that as he didn't say the words "I want you back" or "I made a huge mistake" or "You are the sexiest, most wonderful women who ever existed, and I was a fool," I shouldn't be getting ahead of myself.

I turned on the TV and channel-surfed, but nothing was appealing. I picked up my latest read, Jane Eyre, but wasn't in the mood for an epic romance. I was restless. Finally I decided to make toffee chocolate chip cookies for the evening's game night at Natalie's. I put on the Marvelettes' "Too Many Fish in the Sea" and cranked up the volume, loudly singing along to the Motown classic. I gathered butter, sugar, eggs, flour, baking power, baking soda, chocolate chips and Skor bars, which I always kept on hand just in case. I mixed the dough together, and chop up the Skor bars to stir in, feeling myself relax slowly.

Twelve and a half minutes later, I took the first batch of what were quite possibly the most delicious cookies in the world out of the oven, set them on cooling racks and later packed them in a tin. By the time I headed for Natalie's, cookies and wine in hand, I felt like myself again.

I took the subway, grabbing a seat across from a man with a giant sock monkey sitting on his lap. I tried not to look too obviously at him, but he caught my gaze a few times, sneering at the attention the giant toy animal was garnering.

Five stops later and I stepped off and shuffled up to the escalator. In front of me, a slight woman wearing skinny jeans and red trench coat picked up a magazine from the ground and threw it at the man in front of her. She then squeezed by him and said, "Sorry." He spun around, completely confused, and made eye contact with me. I shrugged in solidarity. Weird. Perhaps the woman had been taking dating advice on "how to meet men" from Melissa.

Natalie lives in a basement apartment in a cute residential neighbourhood. Very prominently, a few doors down from her building stands a house that boasts a life-sized statue of a white elephant on the front lawn. But other than that the street is perfectly quaint. Natalie's apartment is pale yellow, one wall covered in mismatched mirrors. It's warm and inviting, with lots of interesting pieces that she has gathered from Sunday antiquing.

I came in, kicked off my shoes, handed Natalie the wine and took a seat beside Fred at the kitchen table. A platter of cheese and crackers ready for guests sat in the centre, and I swiped some dill Havarti. Natalie looked flustered, her 50s-style halter blue dress with bright orange flowers swishing as she bounced around, perfecting every surface. I nibbled on the cheese as Natalie told me the plan for the night.

"I have all kinds of snacks. I have chips and salsa, vegetables and dip, cheese and crackers, obviously. So lots to eat, lots to drink and when everyone comes I was thinking we'd just get into it with Trivial Pursuit," Natalie explained, ever the hostess.

"Who all is coming?"

"Fred's brother, Tom, and his girlfriend Jennifer, and do you remember Claire, from my birthday party? Long blonde curly hair, brought me the balloons."

"Oh yeah, she seemed cool," I said vaguely.

I didn't actually think that Claire was cool. In fact, I found her to be incredibly annoying and wasn't quite sure why Natalie liked her. A total know-it-all, she was always making snippy comments to show how intelligent and amazing she was. I got up and poured myself a glass of wine. I was about to take a sip when Natalie's cat jumped out of nowhere hissing at me, punching out her paw and looking angry. I managed to keep from splashing the wine everywhere and slowly moved back to my seat.

Fifteen minutes later, Claire came in with an overly loud, high-pitched "Hello." Although she was slight, her energy overwhelmed the room. Her blond hair bounced in perfectly shaped curls and her makeup was pristine, but I thought her features were too small for her broad face.

I took a sip of the wine and gave a nominal wave, rescued seconds later by the arrival of Tom and Jennifer. I hadn't met Fred's brother or his girlfriend so I went over to introduce myself. We all sat down around the coffee table in the living room where the Trivial Pursuit board was already set up. Claire, unfortunately, sat beside me.

"So how have you been since I last saw you?" Claire asked, picking a piece thread off of her jeans and adjusting her pink cashmere sweater.

"Good," I said noncommittally. "Not a lot new. How about you?"

"I'm doing amazingly, life just couldn't be better!" she enthused. "I love my job. I just bought an amazing condo with my boyfriend. Or I should say fiancée? Last weekend we looked at engagement rings!"

"Wow. Congrats." I could not believe that someone was planning to spend the rest of his life with this woman. Her very existence annoyed me.

"Are you still with that, whatshisname, Connor?" Claire asked, though she sounded uninterested.

"No, we broke up a couple of months ago." I gave a half smile and desperately tried not to think about what happened last night.

"That's too bad... but I'm sure you'll eventually find 'the guy.' I mean, if Nat here was able to find love then you should be able to do it too," she said as if to console me.

I couldn't tell if it was meant to be a dig at me, or at Nat, or both. But either way I decided that she was going to have to be taught a lesson in Trivial Pursuit. I would be kicking her pompous ass all night long; after all, my life's work was random facts.

After Natalie had topped up everyone's drinks and filled every open surface with bowls of snack food, we started to play. I was first up. My roll put me on orange: Sports & Leisure.

Fred selected a card and asked, "What game was created by French mathematician Blaise Pascal, which he discovered while doing experiments to investigate perpetual motion?" This one I knew and quickly answered, "Roulette," managing to hold back a smug look at Claire. I rolled the dice and traveled around the board until I was stumped by "Who was the last president of the Soviet Union?"

Next up was Claire, who sped through eight questions and earned 3 pie wedges. I felt my contempt for her rise; I didn't want her to win. I didn't want her and her know-it-all attitude to beat me. I knew it was childish, but winning was vital.

The questions flew around the table, until it was back to me. Fred asked in a gameshow-host voice, "Before the introduction of the hairdryer in the 1920s, what common household appliance was promoted for its hair-drying ability?" I had no clue, and cursed myself for not knowing the answer: the vacuum cleaner.

I hated how competitive I felt while everyone around me laughed, enjoying themselves. I sat, sternly focusing on the game and beating Claire. I could feel my cheeks go red once again at my next turn. I didn't know the answer; once again Claire had a streak of luck with another two wedges. Shortly after, she got her final piece and moved to the centre of the board for her final question. I selected a card and looked for the hardest question, but luck was on her side.

"What brave Scottish patriot led soldiers to defeat the English at the Battle of Cambuskenneth in 1297?" I said sourly.

Unsurprisingly, she correctly answered "William Wallace" and won the game. I wanted so badly to have a tantrum and throw the board, but instead I took a sip of wine and smouldered.

"What should we play next?" Natalie asked brightly.

"I think, actually, I should be calling it a night." I gathered up my things, saying goodbye, hoping that nobody had noticed how poor of a loser I was being. I was sure that if I stayed and lost another game, I'd end up losing it.

# Chapter 10

I unlocked and swung open my apartment door and was just about to step in when I heard rattling inside. I listened intently before tip-toeing in a few more steps. And froze, spotting the culprit. Sitting amidst the garbage it had strewn all over the kitchen floor was a huge raccoon munching a stale bit of bagel. He must have sensed me, because he turned to look at me, tilting his head to the side, unimpressed. I came unfrozen and shrieked before pelting down the hall.

Slamming the door behind me, I took a deep breath. How had he broken in? My apartment was up on the third floor and I knew I hadn't left any windows open. I stood outside the door, not wanting to go back in but desperately needing to pee. I evaluated the risks of sneaking in to use the bathroom, finally deciding that I'd rather get rabies than wet my pants right outside the door to my home.

I opened the door again and slowly crept in, keeping flat against the wall. The raccoon was still sitting in the middle of the kitchen, his claws scratching at the sides of the cracker box in which his head was jammed. I took a quick survey of the room seeing the heating vent hanging out of the wall, claw marks scoring the paint.

The raccoon pulled the box off his head, looking back up at me. I froze, willing myself out of my need. I do not have to pee. I do not have to pee. I DO NOT have to pee!

After he decided that I wasn't a threat, he bent down to fetch his cracker box, again stuffing his head inside. I carefully continued my way along the hall until I finally reached the bathroom. I slid in and carefully closed, then locked, the door. Filled with anxiety that there may be more hidden intruders, I drew the shower curtain aside, looking for raccoons in the tub.

Nothing leaped out to bite my face. So I'd quickly solved one of my problems. But the moment of reprieve was short lived. I heard the raccoon scuttling around the apartment towards the bathroom door. I heard him stop, then the sound of him scratching at the wood. One paw appeared under the door, fishing. I screamed and it retracted. A few seconds passed, and the paw reappeared. Though I knew it couldn't reach me, I stared horrified at the black claws. I desperately tried to think through the wine haze to formulate a plan of escape.

I was thrilled, but also a little dumbfounded that it took so long to remember I had my phone with me. I pulled it out and texted Connor, partly out of reflex since he had long been my go-to person, partly just to contact him.

Hey, can you come over? I'm in an awkward situation and I need your help.

Hey. I meant to give you a call, last night was great, but weird, right? I think we should really take some time... ya know? I just don't want to be in a situation where I lead you on.

I stared at the phone in disbelief. After all, he was the one who'd texted me, he was the one "thinking about me." He invited himself over, then asked me to come out the next evening. He kissed me. He initiated!

I saw the claws retract again as I repeated the word "weird" in louder and more furious decibels.

"Weird! WEIRD! What kind of man sleeps with a girl and then doesn't help her when she is imprisoned by a raccoon. WEIRD. I'll show him wei-"

The claws appeared again, stopping me mid-thought-rant. I went through the list of who else I could call, but it was Thanksgiving weekend and the only option was to interrupt Natalie. But then Claire would probably come and judge the contents of my garbage. I decided that I would have to do this myself.

I cracked open the door and peeked out. I didn't see him! Gathering my courage, I took a step out, scanning for any movement. I turned and crept to the kitchen, where the garbage was still covering the floor, but no raccoon. After a methodical search of the rest of my apartment, I decided that he wasn't hiding anywhere waiting to scratch my eyes out. My front door was ajar. I stepped out to the stairway, and there he was, looking up at me in an adorable, potentially rabid way. "Okay, Maggie," I self-motivated. "You can do this!" I slowly backed into my apartment and closed the door firmly behind me. How did a person go about moving a raccoon? I settled on an old throw and a radio.

I went back into the hall and cranked the radio to maximum volume, creating a wall between the garbage thief and my body with the throw. I methodically moved one step at a time; giving him plenty of time proceed down the stairs. Luckily he decided to cooperate, scuttling down to the front door. The whole way down I was freaking out about what I was going to do once we reached the front door. I couldn't figure out how I could open the door while still blocking the stairs and maintaining my distance.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I hit the bottom step: a guy was out on the stoop having a smoke. "HEY, can you open the door?" I yelled through the glass. He turned, perplexed.

"Can you open the door?" I yelled again. He took a step forward, saw the raccoon and paused. He opened the door, keeping himself behind it. The raccoon strolled down the street, crossing the road into an ally.

"Thanks," I said to the smoker.

"No worries." He shrugged.

There was an uncomfortable pause. I waited to see if he had follow up questions but he looked uninterested. He just took another drag from his smoke and played with his phone.

I went back to my place; I did one more search just to be sure I wouldn't wake up with a raccoon snuggled in my bed. I cleaned up the garbage, put the vent back in place, then moved my bookcase in front of it. Still antsy, I took a hot shower and went to bed. But every creak of the building troubled me. I lay there waiting for a pack of raccoons to come back and attack.

Sometime around 4 a.m., I decided that I needed to get away. Just go to an island, spend a week on a beach, take some time to think; away from everyone and everything. I was sure that, just like in a movie montage, I would return transformed. The person returning from this vacation would be a brand new version of me, one who was confident, focused and together. All I needed was time away from my life to gain a little bit of perspective.

# Chapter 11

I was combing through the shelves at my favourite book store, trying to limit myself to only buying three but already with five curled in my right arm when my phone buzzed with a text message from Abby.

This is not the relaxing weekend I was hoping for.

Yeah, mine isn't shaping up how I wanted either. What's going on over there?

Scott's parents decided that this would be a good weekend to let everyone know they're thinking of selling the house and getting a condo. Scott and his siblings aren't exactly taking it well.

"What are they doing?" I typed, moving over to biographies.

Freaking out about what is going to happen to their rooms, fighting about who gets what, bringing up old arguments to refight them. Honestly, Scott's brother's wife Beth and I have mostly just been watching the insanity.

Sounds like fun.

No its really not. I used to love their house, it was relaxing, everyone just ate, watched old movies and played copious amount of pool. But we can't play pool now because the pool table is a big point on contention. Anyway what is going on with you?

"Last night's game night wasn't really fun, I really dislike one of Natalie's friends. I came home and a raccoon had broken into my apartment. I'm thinking of taking a vacation, I want to go away and figure myself out." I put the stack of books in my arms on the shelf so I could look at a biography of Charles Dickens.

Can I come with you?

"Sure, where do you want to go?" I asked, not expecting her to follow through on the notion.

I want to do an all inclusive thing, in Cuba or the Dominican, I want to sit on the beach and read and drink rum-based beverages.

"Okay, let me look and I'll see what I can find." I stared at the stack finding it difficult to cut any of my selections but not able to afford the lot.

I'm serious.

"Good. It'll be fun to travel with you." I was surprised but happy that she was serious.

I mean I'm not doing one of those flaky 'oh let's go away' travel talks that don't mean anything. I really want to go.

"I really want to go away too. I'm going to look up travel packages now and send you what I find." I decided what I really should do was look at the travel section.

Sounds good. Okay, I'll talk to you later. Beth and I are going to escape for awhile.

~*~

Three weeks later, I was sipping a large iced coffee concoction in the Dominican Republic, while Abby slept-in in one the two double beds in our room. We had quickly found a last-minute vacation sale, made the decision and booked our trip. The last few weeks had been a blur of preparing Melissa for covering my projects, getting my passport sorted, and setting myself up for the trip with a new swimsuit and copious amounts of sunscreen.

With my journal and large coffee in hand I walked towards the beach.

It took a while to find an open spot; early-rising leathery topless women and their red beer-bellied husbands were strewn all over the beach. I finally found two open lounge chairs under a canopy, sprayed my whole body with sunscreen, and settled into one while draping my towel over the other in case Abby came down.

I laid back on the lounge chair, opened up the journal and wrote 'What I Want Out of Life' . I underlined it twice, and paused. I tapped my pen against the journal; I played around drawing a couple of houses without lifting the pen from the page. Then I shut the journal and decided that for my first hour I should take in the view of the ocean and enjoy some people-watching.

I was still taking it all in when Abigail sidled up sleepily.

"This is awesome," Abby said with a yawn. She was wearing a sheer emerald cover-up over her simple black one piece and her pale freckled skin. My own pasty pale skin was so bright white, it was blinding.

"Yeah, it's nice, although I'm finding it a little weird. It smells the same as it does in Nova Scotia. I guess the whole Atlantic has the same smell?"

She cocked her head at me. "I guess—that is odd, though."

We looked out at the crowd, which was composed largely of middle-aged couples bickering over the mundane details of their trip. One woman was insisting to her husband that he demand a new room that wasn't on the first floor. Another man was trying to suggest any activity other then lying in the sun, which seemed to be the only thing his wife was interested in doing. Watching these little scenes made me content to be single and here with a friend. I was still eavesdropping on the surrounding couples when a young handsome Dominican man selling scuba lessons came over. He stared at Abigail.

"Hola damas, can I interest you in some scuba diving this afternoon?" He maintained sole eye contact with Abigail.

"I think we're just going to relax today, thanks," I answered but his gaze remained fixated on Abby.

"I'm sorry to stare but you are just the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in world."

Abigail looked up, confused. "Oh! Thank you?"

He looked over to me. "You...you are all right, but you." He returned his gaze to Abby. "You are very, very beautiful."

"Thanks. I think we are just hanging out today, but I'll come find you tomorrow if we want to try diving," Abby replied politely.

"Have a good day, belleza."

He meandered to the next loungers.

"Is that like a tourist scam?" Abby whispered, still perplexed by the attention.

"I think you're just prettier than you realized," I answered truthfully, not really minding the slight.

Abby rolled her eyes. "Do you want to get some breakfast?"

We left our beach towels on the loungers, in hopes that the spots would still be there when he returned, and ventured into one of the many restaurants on the resort. We took a seat on an outdoor patio. I had a light breakfast of toast with jam while Abigail opted for a giant spinach omelette.

"So Mags, have you figured out the meaning of life yet?" Abby asked dryly, cutting into her omelette, which looked overdone and spongy.

"No, not yet. What do you want out of life?" I asked in hopes of getting some ideas.

"You think too much. Just do what you enjoy. Take care of the people you love, it's not that complicated. If there's an area you're not happy with do something about it," Abby replied avoiding the question.

"Yes, I do think too much. But I've also got raccoons breaking into my apartment, I have rejection coming at me from every possible male angle, I like my job but it has no next step. I thought that life was going to be this big adventure filled with epic romance, travel and exploration. But instead what I am doing? I read about other people's adventures for a living, and I feel like I'm wasting what little time we've got."

"I think you would be wasting an opportunity if you came here and you didn't have some fun," Abby remarked. "How about you just enjoy yourself a little? Let's do a little exploring around the resort. Maybe go for a walk on the beach? Have a couple drinks? And then tomorrow you can get back to your soul searching."

"Okay, deal!"

Four hours later, I was back in the hotel room, I was a little tipsy with a little bit of sunstroke. SpongeBob SquarePants chirped at me in Spanish from the tv. My sunglasses sat broken on the side table. Abby and I had been clumsily swatting at each other in the pool because I had drunkenly made a comment about never finding love and Abigail had followed through on what had previously been her hollow threats of violence.

Abigail still had energy; she had joined a group of people playing beach volleyball. I flipped over, facing the cushions, and closed my eyes. I replayed a conversation I had had the week before with Connor. He had come over again because he was "in the neighbourhood and thinking about" me. I had let him come over, because I had felt like such a foolish idiot, because I was so infuriated, and ranting too long in my head at him for it not to come out.

I had been expecting him to look sorry and reserved. I expected him to be quiet, to hang his head when he came in, and to listen to me and my rant. When I opened the door, though, he was his usual boisterous self. He kicked off his shoes and jumped on the couch, and he tried to put his arm around me. I shifted to the other side of the couch with a harrumph.

He looked confused at my coolness. "So I heard you had a problem with a raccoon?"

"Yes! I did. A bloody raccoon broke into my apartment and I was trapped in the bathroom! I stupidly called you thinking you'd actually help but you couldn't get off your ass because the night before was 'weird'." My voice was high pitched and shaky.

"I just didn't want to lead you on. I don't think I should be the one you call anymore when you're in a fix. We broke up. That's really not my role anymore. Why didn't you call one of your friends?"

"I took care of it myself. That's not the point."

"So what's the big deal? You didn't need me."

"You said being with me was weird!" My voice had gotten higher and shriller but Connor remained cool.

"Well I guess it just wasn't expected, and then you were there in the morning and I didn't want you to get the wrong impression. I'm really trying to be a good guy here, Mags. I still feel the same way I did a few months ago. I mean I'm attracted to you, but I'm not in love with you, and I don't think we should be together. It was just a weird night."

I was feeling more moronic by the moment that I could have ever expected a grand speech. "What the fuck were you after, if that wasn't what you were expecting?"

"I don't know. I guess I just missed hanging out with you; we have fun. I was hoping we could be friends." He sighed. "But I think I should get going."

Days later, in a different country, I still felt embarrassed by the conversation. I fell asleep thinking of ways the post-trip transformed Maggie would be wiser. I woke up an hour later, my pillow moistened with drool. I felt groggy and kinked up, so I took a long hot shower, brushed my teeth, pulled my hair back in a ponytail and threw on some shorts and a tank top.

I stared long and hard into the mirror, looked at the flecks of gold in my blue eyes, the sun-burnt noseand the freckles. I tried to take it all in, feeling like I was in some terrible art film, as I waited for a revelation from the reflection.

Instead I got Abigail clomping into the room, shouting, "I'm starving, can we go to dinner?"

We tried out the resort's Italian restaurant, where we got a repeat performance from that morning. The waiter stood gawking at Abigail, mesmerized until I said, "I think we'll need a few minutes with the menu," which seemed to snap him out of his trance. He blushed, backing away.

As soon as we put the menus down he rushed back to our table.

"Hola, do you know what you'd like to order?"

"Yes, I think I'll have the pesto linguine," Abby replied cautiously.

"And I'll have the shrimp scampi," I said, wondering if I'd become invisible.

The waiter jotted down our order and turned his attention back to Abby. He looked at her for an inappropriately long moment before saying, "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. My heart aches for your beauty."

"Thank you," Abby mumbled.

He bowed awkwardly and retreated.

Abby rolled her eyes. " I bet it's all a ploy to win you over, by over-complimenting me to make you vulnerable and jealous and ready for the picking."

I appreciated the thought. "You're really sweet, but I think we just need to accept that you are some kind of Aphrodite in the Dominican, and all the men here are under your spell," I said sincerely, though my ego was starting to get a little bruised.

# Chapter 12

The next morning I woke up in a fantastic mood. Abigail was still asleep in the next bed. I stayed in bed and let my mind drift, playing through memories.

I was in grade 5, before the humiliation at the movie theatre with Matt. My school put on a giant talent show. Students auditioned in front of their class and then the class voted to decide who would represent them in the show. On audition day, a couple of kids sang, one played the violin, and one played the recorder to a level above our grade. I sat there and thought to myself, I can do that.

When the teacher asked if there was anyone else who had a talent they wanted to show, I shot my hand up and announced that I was going to play the piano, saying, "I'm a composer. I've composed this myself." I had never had a single piano lesson.

I strutted up to the piano and began to strike the keys. I sat up straight and played with vigour. I even pressed down on the foot pedals. I thought that I was a musical prodigy! I thought I sounded fantastic! And when I thought it seemed like the point where a song should end I stopped and stood up, curtsied and returned to my spot. I took the complete silence in the room as quiet awe of my immense talent.

I missed being the kind of person who confidently jumped into the unknown. I leaped out of bed with determination to have a better day!

Hours later, I was happily sucking down the last slushy bits of my piña colada while Abigail gulped her margarita before blurting, "I quit my job."

"What!?" I gasped.

"I'm not on exactly on vacation," she said, squirming a little. "I quit my job. I didn't tell you before because I know this is your whole quarter-life crisis thing. I quit and I don't even know what job I would actually want or where I want to apply, I'm kinda buzzed and I'm freaking out."

"So... what happened?"

"I got to a point where I felt dread every night going to sleep because I knew that when I woke up it meant work. I got sucked into all the politics. I had coworkers whose very presence made me angry."

I took a large sip of the newly delivered strawberry margarita, and gestured for her to continue.

"I just was angry all the time over the silliest things. I literally spent a whole afternoon on the brink of tears, pissed off because Claudia was attempting to correct my use of the word alternately. Which I of course was using correctly all along, but still she called me out in a staff meeting for it." Abby was getting higher-pitched and louder. "See? Look! It's irrational to still be pissed about this, but I am!"

I blinked. "The work version of you is a little scary."

"Yes, I know. Also, I realized how much bitching I did throughout the day. Felt it come out of me almost uncontrollably. Then, last Tuesday, I'm just sitting at my desk working on something pointless, and I decide to leave."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. I open up a new document and write a resignation letter. Walk over and hand it to the HR person, this crazy woman with a plastic-looking face. She always has her head tilted to one side and a fake smile. " Abby imitated her. "I hand her the letter and it was done."

"Good for you, Abby!" I held up my girly drink with its fruit and umbrella and we "clinked" our plastic cups. "So what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know. I've been thinking of going back to school, but I don't know for sure what it is I want. The thing is I don't mind working hard or staying late but I'd like to have a job that I actually care about."

"So no ideas on what you're going to do next?"

"None. I think when I get back I'm going to pick up some temp work while I figure out my next move. Maybe I could be a mail carrier. Our mailman is always so happy, and it'd be nice to be outside and walking."

"But only when it's a nice day," I offered. "Plus, I don't think the phrase 'going postal' came from nothing."

"Maggie, sometimes I'm just appalled by your jokes," Abby said but still laughed.

We both laid back on our lounge chairs. I was struck by how Abby had just gone for it. I admired that she saw what wasn't working for her and decided to make a change. I remembered again how I had raised my hand and played the piano, really not caring what anyone thought. I wondered how I had become an over-analyzer, on a vacation making lists about life.

# Chapter 13

That night we were hanging out on the balcony of our room, playing gin rummy and drinking beer from our mini fridge. The night's warmth was punctuated by a cool breeze coming off the ocean, which still reminded me of home. Abby sat with her torso across the chair and her right leg draped over the side. We were both so quiet, having spent most of the day thinking about what we were going to do when we got back. I was tired of being in this introspective state, and tired of the sulking silence that loomed over both of us.

"This isn't the first time I've tried to figure myself out. It's the first time traveling in an attempt to work stuff out but I was totally that kid in school who couldn't figure out what they wanted to be. I tried everything," I announced.

"Like what?" Abby picked up the queen I laid down and put it down with two from her hand.

"I joined the track team, went to a match and came in last in six events. I think the thousand-metre was the most pathetic, everyone finished a full lap ahead of me."

"I can just see little Maggie now in her tiny track shorts, shuffling along," Abby teased.

"Then I tried to get all spiritual, so I stopped talking and eating for a week."

"You didn't talk or eat for a week?"

"Well, it was meant to be a week. It may have ended up being half a day. I got a phone call. Plus I really wasn't feeling any different. Then I thought I'd try acting, so I auditioned for the school play and was cast as Woman #2." I picked up a card and just as quickly discarded it.

"I'm impressed!"

"As you should be! Then I thought I would be a rebel, so I shoplifted a lipstick and started smoking."

"You smoked? I didn't know that. Were you ever the school slut?"

"No, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Apparently you just can't give this away," I said while my hands made a display movement at my body.

"Oh come on!" Abby shook her head.

"I tried being brainy, into music, and into politics. I'd learn a clever fact or two and then talk like I knew what I was talking about and always get caught in a conversation with someone who actually knew what they were talking about."

"Why didn't you just learn more facts?" Abby asked as I smacked down all of my cards in victory and started adding up my points.

"Good question. I guess I gave up too easily. One humiliating moment was always enough to make me move on."

"Well no wonder you've never found your niche. It's unlikely you're going to fall into something, know everything and be awesome immediately." Abby took a second like she did whenever she was about to say something serious. "But at least then you were actually trying things! Honey, now you're just doodling in your notebook."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm not really getting far in my doodling."

"Don't be afraid to take a step in any direction, you never know where it will lead. It's standing perfectly still that's the problem."

I nodded. Silence overwhelmed the table. Mutely, I shuffled the cards and tried to think of something off-topic and funny to say.

"So a couple of weeks ago I was at the gym on the elliptical, and this guy was beside me—a big guy like 6 feet tall, middle aged. And I think he was self-motivating, but he was doing it so loudly and passionately, it sounded like he was making sweet love to his elliptical machine." I imitated his moans. "Ohhhh, Oh yeah, that's right, woooooo! Let's go, just four more minutes!"

"I don't think that last one comes up that much during sex," Abby said, laughing.

I dealt out the cards, continuing to imitate the man's deep voice while avoiding talking about any of my own problems.

# Chapter 14

Four days later we were in the lobby, waiting for the 6 a.m. bus to the airport. Abby was curled up in a ball, asleep on one of the chairs. She kept pulling down on her turquoise board shorts, and trying to move her arms into her shirt, clearly freezing in the intense air conditioning. I unzipped my hoodie and drape it over her.

So it was up to me to make sure we got on the bus at 6:15. I'd spent the week doodling in my journal, drinking rum, swimming in the ocean and walking along the beach. I'd burned a few patches of skin that I'd missed with the sun block, had long talks with Abby and been prematurely rejected by at least six men. But I hadn't figured out a life plan.

I closed my eyes, stretching my arms out over my head as I yawned. I thought again about what Abby had said a few nights before, and I finally admit to myself that this might not have been the best plan to find myself.

The bus arrived, and I nudged Abby awake so we could load our stuff and start our journey home. Hours later we arrived at Pearson Airport, dragging ourselves from the plane, and wearily waited for our luggage. Another hour crawled past before we retrieved our bags and cleared customs. We pulled our luggage outside and scouted for a cab.

"I didn't find myself at all," I admitted sadly.

"I think when people find themselves through travel, they do so by immersing themselves in a different culture, challenging themselves to be in the unknown, eating exotic foods, taking a different view point. You sat on a beach, drinking margaritas, eating cereal at breakfast and pasta at night. Seriously, what did you think was going to happen?" Abby's exasperation and exhaustion made her surly stare genuinely frightening.

"I don't know," I said quietly. "I just thought some distance from Connor and my life would help put things in perspective."

Abby rolled her eyes, but I was saved from responding by the cab coordinator, who pointed to a driver a few car lengths down. We shoved our belongings into the trunk and took our seats in the back.

We arrived at my place, having not said a word to each other the entire ride. I handed Abby thirty dollars for the cab and got out. Abby got out of her side too. She gave me a hug and whispered in my hear, "Thanks, I needed the trip." As she released me, she looked me in the eye, and I could feel her trying to articulate a thought. But it didn't come out, and instead she smiled and got back in the car.

I was elated to be back in my own place. I took a thorough look around for traces of raccoons but found none. I tossed a frozen garlic-and-mushroom pizza in the oven and quickly took a hot shower, timing it just right to collect the perfectly done pizza after I'd towelled off.

I turned on my cell phone, the first time it had been on in a week. It buzzed furiously to let me know I had incoming voicemails and texts. Most were from Connor: he was thinking about me, asking if we could be friends, suggesting it may just take some time to figure out the expectations of our new friendship. There was also a voicemail from my mom, saying she was back from Italy and had to speak to me as soon as I had a spare second.

I deleted everything from Connor, even his contact information in my phone. Then I started up my laptop and proceeded to cut any and all possible ties with him. I felt a sense of release. I grabbed another slice of pizza and munched on it as I opened my work email. Only about a dozen emails were waiting for me, most mass messages that I would have probably ignored even if I had been at my desk. Sarah had sent a meeting request for first thing tomorrow morning to go over the next round of videos for the website.

I picked up my cell and called my mom. Though she had sent a few emails during her Italy trip, I hadn't spoken to her on the phone since she had left. She'd written to me about what sights she saw, what activities she was up to, the weather and long vivid descriptions of the new dishes she'd tried.

"Hi, honey!" she answered, sing-songing cheerfully.

"Hey, how was your trip?"

"Oh! It was amazing! Absolutely amazing! It is so gorgeous there. I was so happy to just walk around and eat everything I could and drink wine. The architecture is spectacular; the whole feel of the country is just intoxicating. I can't wait to go back again."

I was a bit envious. She'd clearly had a better vacation than I had. "That's great, mom. I'm glad you had a good time."

"I did. How was your vacation?"

"Oh, good. Just relaxing, nothing too exciting," I replied, attempting to hide my continued disappointment with my unexecuted plan.

"Great! Well, honey, I really wanted to talk to you. To let you know I'm home, see how your trip was... But I also wanted to let you know that I've started dating."

I was stunned. Not that I hadn't thought that the day would come. I had encouraged her to meet someone new over the last year while mentally preparing myself for the day. "That's great, Mom," I managed to say as I tried to absorb the news.

"Yes, I met a man in Italy. Rocco."

"Was he a part of your tour, or does he live in Italy?"

"He's Italian."

I had to admit I was proud of her. She had gone off on an adventure and had had a love affair with an Italian man. It was hard not to be impressed. "What's he like?" I asked with a giggle.

"Well I know it's a cliché description, but he really is tall, dark and handsome. He's sweet and kind and makes me very happy."

I pictured a man in his 60s with wavy salt-and-pepper hair, tanned skin, retired, sophisticated yet adventurous. If our roles were reversed, my mom would be bombarding me with questions. I felt it was only fair to enjoy the moment from the interrogator side.

"So what does Rocco do?"

I hear her breathe in before blurting, "He was the tour guide, but he is also studying architecture."

"Studying? Is he a mature student?" I asked, perplexed.

"Something like that."

I continued to grill her. "How old is he?"

"Twenty-eight."

I tried not to sound too shocked by this revelation but was a little disturbed by the idea that my mother was a cougar. "Wow. Wow. I guess, good for you, Mom. So is this going to be a long distance thing?"

"I don't know. He is going to be taking part in a student exchange and will be here in January, but after that I don't know. We had a lot fun in Italy. He took me on these private tours, showing me all of the architecture in Rome. And we sat out on patios, people-watched, we went out dancing. Dancing!"

"I'm glad you had a good time," I said despite really still processing all of this information and wanting some time. "I really should get going; it's been a long day of travel. Have a good night, love you."

"Love you too, g'night!"

I sat bewildered for a full minute. I didn't know how I felt about my Mom's younger beau. I was happy that she was happy, that was certain, but thrown off by the age gap. I was a little sad, or maybe embarrassed, that my mother's love life was more exciting than mine. I picked up my cell again and called Natalie.

"Hey, how was your trip? Did you a find a sun-soaked hottie and have a nice fling?" Nat asked with a giggle.

"Vacation was all right, I didn't have a fling, they were all after Abby." I took a deep breath. "Question: do you happen to have any incredibly handsome, charming, funny and single men in your life that you have neglected to introduce me to?"

"Sorry. Don't know anyone who I think would be good for you. Have you ever thought about online dating? I know a few friends who have found awesome people that way."

"I don't know. I've always felt that online dating was a little like reading a book before you see the movie. No matter what they are like, they are not going to be what you have built in your head. You can always read things how you want to."

"The trick is not to spend too much time talking online. Meet them fast, that way you don't have this longstanding image of who they are in your head that will be shattered when you actually meet them."

"Well, maybe I'll give it a go. I don't seem to have any other prospects right now," I sighed.

I chatted with Natalie for a while, enjoying her updates on the latest work misadventures while dealing with Melissa and Sarah.

After we said goodbye, I turned to my laptop again and looked at the various dating sites I'd heard about. I settled on one that I thought looked fairly reputable, MatchPoint. I started filling out a profile, answering a long list of questions. It took me almost two hours to finish it all, mostly due to my struggle to find words to describe myself and who I wanted to be with. Finally, I uploaded a photo, sat back and waited for flocks of men to line up to date me.

# Chapter 15

Monday morning found me sitting in Sarah's office, sipping coffee while waiting for her to get off the phone. I looked through my notes, trying to appear distracted and unable to hear that her husband was being a complete asshole. I had tried to step out of the office to give her privacy but she had stopped me, indicating with her finger that she would just be another minute. She eventually slammed the phone down.

"So," she said, settling back into work mode, "the next web theme is going to be 'Close Calls.' Like the times we've come close to the end of the world, and then someone saved us or someone chose not to 'push the button.'"

I wrote "close calls" in my notebook.

"For example Stanislav Petrov, who was a Soviet lieutenant in the 1980s. His job was to monitor the satellite warning system, which would warn if the US had fired missiles at the USSR. The system went off, and so he should have immediately sent word for the Russians to launch a counterattack; however, he recognized it for what it was, a system blip."

"Incredible," I gasped. It was astonishing to think that the world was still turning.

"There is much debate on what he reported and when, but the point is, had another man been sitting there, we may not be sitting here." She said the last words as if they were profound and life-affirming.

"Great idea for a short," I enthused, wondering if I should have written some of that down—the words "close calls" looked a little strange sitting on otherwise blank page.

"So again, I need you to go over the short-listed proposals, verify the sources and make sure that the events actually did occur."

"Can do!" I closed my notebook.

I returned to my desk, and put on my headphones and Kylie Minogue playlist. After a few minutes of reading through the pile, I looked up to see an email had come in. I clicked on it and saw it only had one line: Nice chair dancing! What are you listening to?

I quickly spun around, and although I couldn't see anyone, I felt eyes on me. I hadn't even realized I had been dancing in my chair. Glancing back at the email, I saw the name of the sender, Alan Brooks. I didn't know him. I clicked through our directory; it turned out Alan worked in Sales and Distribution with Natalie. I cautiously replied to the email with the song name. A response came back in a few seconds: Cool! Well I was mesmerized.

I was caught between feeling flattered and disturbed. I debated responding but eventually I decided to leave it and went back to my work. I felt self-conscious and found my posture straightening, my body stiff and completely still. A moment later Natalie came over.

"Coffee?" she said, with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, sure." I slid on my jacket; she grabbed my arm, pulling me towards the door. As soon as it closed behind us I asked, "What's going on?"

"So, I heard something this morning that I think you will be happy to hear about!" Natalie said as she buttoned up her cherry red pea coat over an overly professional (for our office) black sheath dress and white button top.

I gave a quizzical look back.

"Sarah put in her notice!" Natalie said brightly.

"Wow! I literally just got out of a meeting with her and didn't pick up on anything. Where is she going?"

"She's moving to TV Ontario. But this means that you will no longer have to have long talks about symbolism, or deal with her 'close talking' or the odd overextended physical touching." She skipped a little ahead of me.

I laughed. "Very true! Any talks about who'll be filling her role?"

"I have no idea."

Alarm teemed through me at the thought of the end of Sarah's reign. I had a level of comfort with her. Even if I was annoyed, I knew what to expect.

"On another topic, you work with a guy named Alan, right?" I asked, trying to sound casual and not nearly as curious as I actually was, just in case he was more creepy than cute.

"Yep, he started like a month ago maybe, he sits almost kitty corner to me, behind the post. Why?"

"I just got an email from him and I was trying to put the name to a face."

"He's six foot, light brown hair, blue eyes. The one who kind of looks like a ferret, but in a good way."

"I think I know who you mean." Thinking about him, I recalled he was about my age, sort of attractive, had held the door open for me on a couple of occasions. I wondered if he would be writing me more emails.

"So, what are you up this weekend? Do you want to check out a movie or something?" I asked.

"I don't know. Let me check with Fred and get back to you."

When we arrived back at the office I settled in to read through a proposal on the Spanish flu, which killed up to 100 million people. It wasn't the most uplifting reading I'd done.

When I was done, it was time for lunch. But after reading about pneumonia and massive haemorrhages in the ears I wasn't all that hungry. Instead I checked my MatchPoint account. There were a couple of messages from potential matches.

The first one was from a guy named Gary, who said "Hey how are you doing darling?" Most of his photos showed him hanging out without a shirt on and a third of his profile talked about his love of the gym and his own body. Clearly not the one for me.

The next message was from a Bill, who just said, "Hi, I think you're hot! Want to meet up sometime and learn do what the birds and the bees do?" Eeeew. I quickly deleted.

The last messages was from Nick: "Hey, do you want to go out and grab a drink sometime, I'm great, sweet, fun and hornets. You will not be disappointed." Hornets? I looked up the word to see if it had a slang definition that I was unaware of, perhaps an updated version of being the bee's knees.

Hornets, it turned out, was a slang term, but it was used during the American Civil War to mean bullets. It wasn't until I read the message out loud that I caught on that it was a typo/spelling error, and he probably meant to end it with a "y" instead of "ets."

I trawled through profiles, trying to find someone to catch my eye. I found Eric, who seemed cute, laid back and witty, but when I began to write him a message I couldn't think of anything to say or even where to start.

I hadn't been the initiator or the pursuer since a rather unfortunate series of attempts in high school. I wasn't an outcast back then, but neither was I one of those girls who owned the halls. I was happily in the middle. I did my own thing with my friends, and could comfortably traverse the high school ecosphere.

When I was 16, there was a guy in my calculus class, Ben. He sat on the opposite side of the classroom, a few rows ahead. He always wore wrinkled, untucked dress shirts and jeans, and he reminded me of James Dean. When I revealed this crush and my subsequent plan to my friends, they were more than encouraging.

I had put on my jeans skirt with floral spaghetti strapped tank top and stolen a red lipstick from my mother's makeup bag. I had sat in calculus class waiting for the delivery of the spring fundraiser candy-gram I had ordered, along with a mix-tape I had made him. The cheerful candy deliverer arrived at an inopportune moment: I was working on an equation at the board. She only had a few treats for our class; a couple, who sat beside one another had bought each other a treat, took their delivery and kissed. One girl giggled and screamed when she received hers, although we all suspected she had made up her boyfriend.

Finally she handed Ben the chocolate and mix-tape. He looked up at her, confused. He read the note that dangled from rose-shaped chocolate on a stick. It read, "I'm not being obtuse, but you're acute guy." I looked over and saw him quickly shoving everything in his bag. He was squirming in his chair, looking distraught. My face turned bright red and I quickly wrote an answer on the board, sure it wasn't correct but desperate to no longer be in front of the class. I dashed back to my seat and started the three-year-long game of avoiding Ben.

By the time I was 18, I decided to keep my humiliations less public. One night after a school dance I was tipsy from drinking peach schnapps (stolen from my parents' liquor cabinet). I decided to call my best friend, the unfortunately named Winston, and let him know that I was in fact in love with him. I had watched him all night trying to dance with all these girls and striking out. I was a horrible mixture of incredible jealousy and a desire to let him know that someone wanted him. I had made tragic extra effort that night to look amazing, to be seen in a different light by everyone, or at least by him. I couldn't remember everything that was said but I do remember that I was still talking when he hung up the phone.

Being back in the pursuing position made me feel unbelievably self-conscious, even via the internet. I did my best to write something charming.

"Hi Eric, You mentioned in your profile, that you like exploring the city, do you have a favourite neighbourhood? It's such a great time of year to be out for a walk. I'm partial to the Danforth myself. So if you want to talk Toronto walks, let me know."

I sent it, and resumed reading about how close we've come to obliteration.

# Chapter 16

Public speaking has never been my strong suit. It always reminds me of a grade five project I did on the octopus, when I didn't pronounce the word "tentacles" correctly. I'd been asked to say a few words of farewell to Sarah from the underling's perspective—not that that's how management worded their request to me. I went over the speech again in my head, and, luckily, I didn't think there are any parts where I might accidentally start talking about balls.

The building had a conference/party room on the top floor, which was equipped with A/V and a bar that someone had fully stocked for the send-off. I got myself a glass of wine and joined Natalie and Fred. I envied how graceful Natalie looked in her navy A-line skirt and simple white button-down. I wished that it was her about to speak. She would be articulate and charming, whereas I could already feel myself fumbling the words.

I hoped that I could get a bit of last-minute advice from her but I'd barely said hello before a clink of glasses called our attention and the first of the four speeches commenced. I couldn't pay attention to what is being said, too preoccupied with my own speech. I tried to relax and take a sip of wine, but my hand was shaking too badly to reach my lips. Suddenly it didn't matter because it was my turn to speak.

"Good afternoon, I'm Maggie McKenkie. I'm a researcher. I've been working with Sarah for two years. Sarah is a great boss. She has been very supportive of me. When I first came to Take, a director for one of our feature films, I won't say who, bumped into me in the hall, stopped me and urgently requested a statistic. As this director was a bit of a mumbler I didn't understand what he was saying, but nodded my head, agreeing to take on the task. I ran to Sarah's office, explaining someone, I didn't know who, was requested something urgently, but I didn't know what. Sarah just very calmly had me repeat the mumbled noises. Something like 'hooy ulng s ocar weeeld imporv eand.' She then picked up her phone, called the director and to my relief said 'Oscar Wilde was imprisoned for two years from May 1895 until 1897.'" Relived to hear the sweet sound of polite laughter, I continued. "So Sarah, thank you for all of your guidance, and I wish you the best of luck at TVO."

I felt a bit giddy as I left the podium, relieved that I hadn't made a fool out of myself.

Sarah moved to the podium and started her speech by thanking individuals for their contributions on specific projects. Twenty minutes later, my glass of wine was empty and my lower back was aching. I restlessly shifted my weight from one leg to the other as she talked about the skills she had gained at Take. The exit and the bar were on the other side of the room; I couldn't see a clear path to either.

Over half an hour passed, and Sarah was still talking. Natalie slid in front of Fred, leaning against his chest. I straightened my posture, trying to look somewhat engaged. Sarah finished her speech in tears as she expressed how important every individual in the room had been to her. She finally thanked everyone for coming and stepped away from the podium.

The crowd immediately lurched en masse towards the exit. I was just about to taste freedom when something latched on to my arm and brought me to a halt.

"Maggie! Thank you so much for you kind words," Sarah said, enunciating each word.

"Of course, Sarah, it's been great working with you. I really hope you enjoy TVO," I said sincerely, hoping this would be a short conversation.

Sarah's hand remained wrapped around my arm like a tentacle, keeping me trapped. "It's really a great opportunity. However. I will miss it here."

"And we will miss you."

Another long moment ensued, then I felt her fingers loosen their grip. Another co-worker came by with well wishes, so I took the opportunity to wrench free and make my escape.

# Chapter 17

After a slight recovery, my nerves regrouped from the speech. I was walking toward my first date with Eric. After responding to my initial email, Eric had continued to seem cute and laid back. We had emailed almost every day for the past two weeks. I had decided if I was going to be the initiator then I should ask him out. So I sent him a message asking him if he would like a slice of pie in the Kensington Market neighbourhood, and he agreed.

I arrived first, found a table, draped my leather jacket over my chair and adjusted the white ruched shirt over my dark jeans. I read the list of pies on the menu board, seriously debating between pecan and apple, visualizing how each would taste.

I sat anxiously, looking up every time the door opened. I was concerned that I wouldn't be able to recognize him from his picture, but when he came in we quickly made eye contact.

He walked over. "Hi, Maggie?" I nodded. "Eric," he said, shaking my hand. He was as cute in person as his photos, friendly, and things seemed promising already.

"This place is nice, where did you find it?"

"I actually work not too far away, I'll often come to Kensington for lunch. I've walked by often but I haven't had a chance to try some pie here before so this is great."

We went to the counter to order together. I asked for a latte and a slice of apple pie. He ordered water. Just water.

I gave him a quizzical glance. "You don't want a slice of pie?"

"Actually I don't really enjoy a lot of foods. I only usually eat hot dogs, or pizza. I also like strawberry smoothies."

I was annoyed that he hadn't mentioned this before or made a suggestion to meet somewhere that he'd also enjoy. I was sure Sarah would have loved this and tied it into one of her usual discussions of phallic symbolism. The thought of what it would be like to kiss him, how gross he must taste, crossed my mind, but I pulled my focus back to the date.

"Which part of the city do you live in?" I asked, before self-consciously taking a bit of pie.

"I share a place in Corktown with three of my friends. It's definitely a neighbourhood with a lot of character. One of my roommates couldn't come home the other night because there was a naked dude singing outside of our building who wouldn't let him near the door."

"Oh my God! What did your friend do?"

"He just went out for a coffee and texted us once in a while asking for updates. It took almost an hour for the guy to mosey on his way."

"Why didn't you just call the police? Sounds like he was maybe in need of some help."

"I don't know. Guess it didn't come to mind."

We stared at each silently. I looked around the café, then took another bite of pie.

"I had a pretty great day at work today. We received printed copies of our latest work," Eric said proudly. He'd told me in an email that he was an illustrator working under his mentor, a well-respected graphic novelist.

"That's great!"

"It's amazing to hold a new book in your hand, they have this great new glossy-page smell. But the greatest is when I just happen on them in bookstores, or I see someone reading them on the subway. It would obviously be more exciting if my name was on the cover but still, it's exhilarating to see my work when it leaves the studio!"

"I've never actually read a graphic novel, do you have recommendations on where to start?" I asked, my interest piqued by his animated description.

"You've never read a graphic novel?" He sounded totally aghast.

"Nope. Not yet, anyway."

"Oh. Just don't know how you haven't read one, " he said unimpressed. "Well, I guess start with Maus, it's classic, or Watchmen."

He stood up and pulled on his coat, and I followed his lead, although there were still two bites of pie on my plate.

We left the restaurant, realizing outside that we were heading in opposite directions.

"It was nice to finally meet you," I offered.

"I guess I'll see you around sometime."

I felt discouraged walking home. I had just been blown off by a man who, if you go by the classic expression "you are what you eat," would in fact be a giant wiener.

# Chapter 18

The next day I woke with a jolt, rolled over to look at the time and discovered I should have left the house five minutes earlier. I ran around my apartment, tying my hair back, throwing on a violet dress, stuffing some makeup in my bag to put on at work and flying out the door. I raced down the street, then down the subway stairs only to hear a muffled voice announce that the eastbound train had been delayed and they were sorry for the inconvenience. The train came four minutes later but was packed. Worried about being extremely late, I dashed for a door when I saw a few people get off. I slid in and found myself pushed to the centre of the car with nothing to hold onto. I bent my knees to keep my balance like a surfer riding a wave and aimed my possible fall from the person carrying two coffee cups.

I arrived at work over 35 minutes late, briskly passing Alan from Sales and Distribution as I rushed to my desk. I had barely sat down and caught my breath when a new email came in from him, another single line: I like your dress.

Once again, I wasn't quite sure how to take it. He'd sent a few emails since commenting on my chair-dancing, though most had been just quick notes saying what he was listing to. I was still debating if he was cute or slimy. I replied with a safe "thank you."

At lunchtime I leaned against Natalie's desk, waiting for her to finish up an email, when Alan appeared. He gave me a quick smile before sitting at his desk, putting on his headphones and proceeding to do a mock-performance of my chair-dancing. I giggled.

"What's up?" Natalie asked with a whispery, confused laugh.

"Nothing, are you almost ready to go? I'm starving," I said innocently, not wanting to draw attention to my attempt at flirtation.

"We just have to wait for Fred."

I felt a prick of irritation. I hadn't been able to get Natalie alone since she'd started dating Fred. Any time we went out these days she dragged him along. I love Fred but sometimes, like right now, I just wanted to hang with her.

A moment later Fred joined us; I gave Alan a wave as we passed his desk, decided that he was officially on the cute side. I had never had an office romance before; it was against my usual practice of avoiding uncomfortable situations. I decided I needed a casual circumstance where we could hang out and I could get to know him.

"I think we should do drinks after work Friday, invite a bunch of people from the office, blow off some steam," I said nonchalantly.

"Sure, Fred and I are free! I'll spread the word," Natalie said brightly, lacing her arm with Fred's. He nodded but didn't say anything.

"You should invite Alan. 'Cause he's new and it'd be nice to talk to him outside of the office," I offered off-handedly.

"I'll invite him, but I doubt he'll come out," Natalie said. "I think I remember him saying that Friday is date night with his wife."

"What!? He's married?"

Both Natalie and Fred looked at me surprise. "Yeah," said Natalie. "Why is that so surprising?"

"He sent me an email today just to say he liked my dress. He's been sending me flirty one-line emails for a couple weeks!" I said defensively.

"Oh, gross!" Natalie yelped, and Fred shook his head in agreement. I noticed he still hadn't offered anything to the conversation.

"I know, I mean, we haven't actually had a conversation but, but..." I could hear that I was talking too loud and fast.

"His poor wife, I can't imagine." Natalie gave Fred a disapproving look, and he returned with a "I don't do that" shrug.

I felt icky and on edge. I hadn't had the office romance but I was still experiencing the uncomfortable situation.

"What about your date last night? How'd that go?" Natalie asked, eager for details and trying to divert my attention.

"He only eats hot dogs and he lives with a bunch of roommates in a neighbourhood where it's not unusual to have a naked man singing outside your door."

"That good?" Fred mocked.

"Oh, it gets better. He's the one who was like thanks but no thanks."

"So? He recognized it wouldn't have worked out, you did too, didn't you? So why does it bother you that he said it first?" Fred asked, sincerely wondering why I was upset.

"Maybe as my first attempt at online dating I was hoping it would make it to the second date...I don't know, doesn't rejection always suck?" I said rather pathetically.

I really wish Fred hadn't been dragged along. This was a side of me I didn't want him to see. And then I realized that I missed my friendship with Fred too. Fred and I used to have pints after work, bitch about the office, go to concerts of obscure bands he loved and I was happy to discover. But now Natalie and Fred were a package deal.

"Not really, I mean he's not saying there is anything wrong with you. He's just saying the you-and-him combo doesn't go together. Lots of awesome things don't go together, like peanut butter and molasses cookies," Natalie suggested.

"Those would be kind of gross. I hate dating!"

She slid her hand down into Fred's and beamed at him. "Yeah, I know, but in the end it'll happen."

"Ugh." I mumbled, feeling envious and annoyed.

# Chapter 19

A week later, I walked into a pub looking for another familiar face from MatchPoint. His name was Josh, and according to his profile he was in IT, liked hockey and golf and was looking for a sweet girl who could make him laugh. I found him in a booth, looking over the menu.

"Josh?" I asked nervously.

"Maggie! Have a seat." Josh gestured to the empty seat across from him.

I sat down and shyly smiled. "Hi, how are you?"

"I'm all right. Long day at the office, how about you?" His voice was deep, almost gruff, but cheerful.

"Good, thanks."

I was desperately trying to think of a topic of conversation that would make me sound charming and fascinating when Josh came back with, "You work in documentary films? Are you working on anything interesting right now?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, actually, we've just uploaded new videos on our website. We have this section where we showcase short films by new talent, and some of them are really captivating."

Josh looked distracted, as if were trying to place a sound. He riffled through his carrier bag, pulling out his vibrating smartphone. He looked at it and for a moment, and I paused my commentary. But then he looked back up at me so I continued.

"So the theme of this set of shorts is 'Close Calls.' Times when either by war or disease or natural disaster humankind almost came to an end. But either by the chance or the actions of some extraordinary people we averted disaster."

Josh was now texting a reply. "Mm-hmm," he managed.

I tried to bring the topic of conversation back to him in an attempt to engage his wandering attention. "Anyway, you're in IT? Some people think I'm IT at my work but I'm not. I just take that second that a lot of people don't seem to take, see if I can figure out the problem. One of my coworkers asked me to fix her speakers, but she just had her computer on mute."

I lamely laughed at my own anecdote. Josh looked up for a moment and smiled.

"Do you get a lot of silly questions?" I asked, hopeful that I'd hit on a topic that interested him.

"No, not really, I'm not in support." Although he was finally looking at me, he continued to play with his phone, flipping it over and over with his fingers.

The waiter came by, interrupting the awkwardness. "What can I get for you tonight?"

"I'll have a Mill Street Organic, thanks," I ordered.

"And I'll have a Coors."

"Will you be having anything to eat tonight?" the waiter inquired.

Josh firmly replied, "No, just drinks, thanks."

I sat back in the booth, waiting for him to say something. Josh stopped fidgeting with his phone, only to have it vibrate again. He chuckled at the text and worked on a reply. The beers came; he finally put the phone down and looked at me.

"You mentioned that you're into cooking on your profile, what do you like to cook?" Josh asked, like he was filling silence or killing time between texts, rather than asking a genuine question.

"I really love baking, especially bread. I find it really relaxing. I also make Skor chocolate chip cookies, which I could argue are the best in the world." I laughed again at myself and took a sip of beer.

Josh nodded and downed the last swig of his beer. I'd only had a few sips of mine. The waiter came back to see if he'd like another but instead Josh just asks for the bill. I took another sip of mine, staring into the pint rather than at the uninterested man across from me.

When the bill arrived, Josh swirled his hand around the bottom of his carrier bag half-heartedly. "Uh, Maggie? I must have forgotten my wallet."

I rolled my eyes, unimpressed. "Well, I guess this is on me," I laid a twenty on the table and took another sip of my beer before standing. Over a quarter of my pint sat abandoned on the table but, feeling pressure to leave, I marched out without waiting for the change. Josh followed me outside.

"It was nice to meet you," I said robotically because I wasn't not sure what else to say.

"You too, Maggie. Sorry about the bill, but you have a great night," he said coolly as if this was his standard dating manoeuvre when he wasn't into a girl.

Later that night I decided to go for a long walk. I strolled through residential streets, avoiding the noise of busy intersections. I could see my breath in front of me when I exhaled. I felt alone, there was no one I missed, no one I wanted, no one I was willing to call. I was taken aback when my phone rang. I pulled it out, saw the caller ID and answered.

"Hi Mom" I said, not sure how she was always able to sense when I needed her.

"Hi, sweetie, I was just wondering if you've figured out what you're doing for Christmas yet."

I had been dreading Christmas since my parents' divorce. It was a complicated mess. Last year was easier because I was with Connor and had already made plans to spend the holiday with his family. But this year I'd been putting off the decision: both parents were vying for me to spend the holidays with them.

I hesitated, not knowing what to say.

"I miss you so much, I haven't seen you in months. Come home, we'll spend the whole time baking your favourites," she coerced. "We'll make banana bread, shortbreads and candy cane bark. Plus we can do a ham, so we can make croque madames for breakfast. And I'll make you crème brûlée for Christmas dessert."

I was getting hungry at the thought of it all. "Well..."

"There's just one thing." She cleared her throat. "Rocco is able to come to Canada early before he starts his exchange in January, and so he'll be able to spend Christmas with us. I wouldn't want to do anything to make you feel uncomfortable, but I'd really like you to meet him." She sounded anxious, as if she were a teenager asking if her boyfriend could come on the family road trip.

I didn't want to let her down, but I was unsure if I could handle a family Christmas with my mom's 28-year-old Italian boyfriend. I decided to push the decision to some future point. "I have to figure everything out but I'll let you know, okay?"

"Okay, I just miss you so much! Sorry to make this such a quick call, but I have to go. Just wanted to give you a push about the holidays."

"Have a good night," I said, wracked with guilt.

"Yes, you too."

I missed when Christmas wasn't a torturous journey through the minefield of everyone's emotions. I felt pathetically hollow and alone walking back home.

When I was back on my couch with my laptop, I checked my online dating profile again and found that I had been matched with a Nathan. Clicking through, I realized it was Abby's friend Nathan from the Habitat build. And he'd sent me a message.

Hi Maggie! It's great to see you on here, a little unexpected, I just joined and find the whole thing a little surreal. Did you want to hang out some time?

I looked over his profile; I'd never looked at the profile of someone I'd already met, seeing how the online identity compared with what I knew about him in the real world. I felt almost sleuth-like, reading about his love for Turkish cinema. He'd written a paragraph about how Western movies almost never made it to Turkey, where copyright laws were not well-adhered to, so filmmakers would use the scenes, special effects and music from classic films to make their own stories.

Nathan also claimed to be a fan of Rubber, which was, in fact, a movie about a homicidal tire. Reading through, I found him as charming and authentic as I had a few months ago. I thought long and hard about what would make a good first date, settled on suggesting we go to a trivia night and immediately texted Abby.

You weren't the only one to connect me with Nathan, MatchPoint did too, and he asked me out!

Awesome! I haven't actually seen him in awhile, I had to quit the gym to save money, no more running group. That's great though, hope we can double date soon.

Let's see how the first one goes. I can run with you sometime, my slow pace and panting will make you feel like a superstar.

Sounds great. I've got to go right now though, just in the middle of prep for an interview tomorrow with a recruiter, they are going to be testing my computer skills and I need to remember how to make a macro.

Ok, have a good night and good luck.

# Chapter 20

When I got into the office the next morning Melissa was already waiting for me at my desk. She was wearing black leggings and a large bulky orange sweater, giving the impression she was performing in an elementary school Halloween play. The sweater wasn't quite long enough to make it okay to wear with just leggings.

"Hi! So I have some ideas on the holiday video!" Melissa exclaimed.

Every year Take makes a holiday video, which we send to stakeholders instead of a holiday card. It's something that is intended to be fun, but which in actuality is something that no one wants to take part in except for Melissa, who loves any form of attention.

I sighed. "Good morning, what's your idea?"

"I think I should sing 'Santa Baby' and get all the men in the office to dress up like Santa and it would be a little like the Madonna video for 'Material Girl,' but they would be dressed like Santa and I would be in a cute red number."

With Sarah gone, I wasn't sure who to deflect this decision onto. They hadn't hired a replacement yet, so we had all been asked to maintain our own projects until after Christmas break. If anything major came up we could send it up the ladder, but this didn't really qualify.

"Maybe it should be a little more inclusive, with parts for several people," I suggested.

She looked wounded and befuddled by my criticism. My phone rang and I apologetically shrugged to say "hey, gotta work." She meekly wandered off to harass someone else as I answered.

"Hello, Maggie McKenzie speaking."

"Hi Mags, it's Dad. Sorry to bother you at work, but I just saw a seat sale and wanted to check if you've decided to come home for Christmas. It would be great to see you."

Hearing him made me feel overwhelmingly guilty for thinking of abandoning him for the entire holiday, versus letting down my mom just to avoid having dinner with Rocco.

"Yes, I think I'm coming home," I said cautiously. "Just let me figure out which flights and I'll send you my itinerary."

"Great! I'll let you get back to work. Have a great day."

As soon as I put the phone down Melissa popped back into my cubicle.

"Trevor and I are having problems," she announced.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm just not attracted to him. He gets sweaty when we have sex, and he has some back hair. It's totally unappealing and I have no interest in sleeping with him."

"Well, do you think you're going to end it?" I asked but immediately regretted it because I knew it was the type of question that encouraged the notion that we were gossipy girlfriends.

"I don't know. I don't know what to do. What should I do, Maggie?"

"If you're having this issue and you've only been dating for a few weeks then you probably should end things."

"But he's a nice guy. I like hanging out with him. It's just I used to be such a sexual person but with him I have no interest in sex. But I do really like him so maybe I'll give it some time."

Melissa looked lost in her own world. I took the opportunity to duck away. "Melissa, I think you have a lot to think about. Maybe you should go for a walk, clear your head."

"Good idea, do you want to come with me? Maybe we could get some coffee?"

"I can't right now, so much work to do, but you go."

Melissa looked appreciative of my suggestion and left for her walk.

# Chapter 21

After I've met someone, I can never recall their face. This is especially true if it's an attractive man. I sat at the pub perusing the trivia booklet, twiddling a stubby pencil and looking up every time the door opened. I at least knew he had dark hair but all the other details were escaping me. I was nervous that I was going to wave down the wrong person. The door swung open again, and in came someone I recognized, not Nathan but Claire with a man I assumed was her fiancé. She, unfortunately, saw me and came right over.

"Hi, Maggie! How are you?"

"Hi," I muttered.

"Are you here all alone? Can we join you?"

Just as Claire was about to hoist herself onto one of the barstools at my table, out of the corner of my eye I saw a guy who I thought might be Nathan.

"Actually, Claire, I'm kind of—" Nathan was next to the table at this point.

"Hi. Maggie?" Nathan glanced at the three of us questioningly.

"Hi, Nathan."

Claire wore a ridiculous, patronizing grin as she quickly stood back up. "Oh, I see! Well, I'll leave you guys to it." Claire and her fiancé sat down at the table right beside ours as Nathan took a seat.

"Just someone saying hi," I explained.

I was relieved that we'd successfully found each other and that he was, in fact, handsome. His smile was contagious.

"Oh, really? So they aren't your back-up in case this dates goes downhill?" Nathan said with a light chuckle.

"Really, no, just ran into them. So how are you at trivia?"

"I think I'm fair. I know some random information. For instance, did you know that dolphins can focus their sonar and basically create a death ray that can kill small fish?" He said excitedly.

I swooned a little bit. "I did not, but dolphins are totally badass. It's funny that people think they're so friendly and playful, but I think they are known to murder other animals for kicks and I'm pretty sure that I read that they like to hump pretty much anything."

"Yeah, I heard that they've been known to check people out getting it on in submarines," Nathan said flirtatiously.

"Pervs. Although really how often does that come up? Submarines aren't really a lovers' getaway destination. Where did they get this information?"

"I'm guessing frisky research scientists," he mused.

"I guess that makes sense."

The announcer welcomed us all to Trivia Night over a scratchy microphone. As he went over the rules, I could feel Claire staring at us. Whenever I looked up she was gazing back at me, smiling at me like I was an infant who has just found a new toy.

The first round of trivia started, and Nathan moved his chair closer to mine. I gave him the stubby pencil because I was embarrassed by my penmanship. He seemed impressed when I knew graham crackers were the right answer for "What popular snack was first developed to curb masturbation?" We debated who said "Beam me up, Scotty" in the original Star Trek but Nathan was correct in thinking it was a trick question: the line is actually a famous misquote. There were four answers we had to just randomly guess at.

When round one finished the announcer went through the answers. We ended up with 7 out of 10 right. The waitress collected our score, then the results were announced. We ended up middle of the pack but Claire and her fiancé had a perfect score. Claire got up from her table, and when she passed us she gave a quick motion for me to join her in the bathroom. I didn't move.

"So what's the story? Who is she?" Nathan asked in hushed voice.

I lowered my voice so her financé couldn't hear me. "She's just a friend of my friend Natalie. I don't know why but she gets under my skin. She's one of those people who gets everything she could ever want with ease, while patronizing everyone else's efforts."

Claire came back and paused at our table. "Hi again, you two. Hi, I'm Claire." Claire extended her hand to Nathan, who shook it.

"Nathan," he said politely.

"Well, you two look like you're having a good time. Nathan, I just want you to know that Maggie here is a great girl, so I hope you give her chance."

"Nice meeting you, Claire, but looks like they are starting round two."

Claire smirked, walked the few steps to her table and sat down. Nathan leaned in and whispered, "So, we're taking them down, right?"

I breathed him in, this indescribably masculine scent that made me wish he had leaned in to kiss me. But he sat back with a look of trivia winning determination. Round two commenced.

Things were looking good after the first three questions. We had a solid answer for each but when the question "Who was Amelia Earhart's navigator on her fateful flight?" was asked, I had no idea. Nathan was equally stumped. I stared around the pub, hoping to pick up the answer through osmosis, when Nathan poked my arm. He surreptitiously motioned to Claire. I looked over and was elated when I saw that she was using her iPhone under the table. Claire was cheating.

At the end of the night Claire's score was higher but I was no longer even slightly enraged. We earned every point we got. We put on our jackets and quickly waved goodnight to Claire before heading to the subway.

As we walked Nathan placed his hand at the small of my back, guiding me away from a cyclist who was trying to get by. It was another cold, crisp night. I wondered if he was going to kiss me. I thought about making a move myself but I chickened out before reaching the subway. We descended down to the platform and found ourselves waiting for trains travelling in opposite directions.

His train arrived first. He extended his arms and gave me a quick hug. "It was great to see you again," he said before he released me and hopped onto the train.

Fifteen minutes later, I was at my own station. I checked my phone as I walked home. I'd received a series of texts from Abigail.

I got a temp job working for the City of Toronto, as a receptionist .

I don't fit in at all and feel really out of place.

The woman who sits beside me at the front desk, she falls asleep while sitting straight up, and takes naps on the lunchroom couch on her breaks. She will then become furious if she wasn't updated on anything she may have potentially missed while being asleep.

Just feeling really discouraged.

I called Abigail; a tired whimper answered me on the third ring. "Hello."

"How you doing? Are you okay?" I asked, concerned.

"Yeah, fine. I just don't know what I'm doing."

"No one knows what they're doing, even people who have their life figured out don't know what things will come up and change the plan. You're going to be fine. You've got a source of funds now so that you can live and you can do that until you have an idea for your next step."

"I guess. What are you up to?"

"I'm just walking home, back from my date with Nathan," I said giddily, hoping the distraction would cheer her up a bit.

"Oh, I forgot that was tonight, how did it go?" Abby still sounded distant.

"Really good, he's cute, funny, silly... I like him."

"I knew you would."

There was a long silence as I tried to think of something else amusing to say, but Abby cut off my train of thought.

"Well, I'm going to go and stare at my wall and ponder my existence."

"It'll work out Abby, I promise."

"Night," she said with a yawn.

I hung up the phone. I continued thinking about what I could do to help Abby out, then I realized that I had looked at my phone ten times in the last few minutes. I was already hoping Nathan would call me. I knew I was in trouble.

# Chapter 22

Later that week when I arrived at Take, Fred was sitting in my chair, uncurling paper clips.

"Hey," he said urgently, small beads of sweat on his temples.

"Hi, what's up?"

"Last night a few of us went out for a couple of drinks at Sin and Redemption after work. Melissa came in and just sat down next to me. She ordered a drink, than she started talking to the table about the issues she's having with that Trevor guy. She told us how she's not attracted to him, how she doesn't want to sleep with him and goes into far too vivid detail about his back hair." Fred's voice was frantic.

"She mentioned something about that to me yesterday as well," I concurred. "I don't know why she doesn't just end it. I mean they've only been dating for two months."

"I don't know! Anyway, so at one point I went to the bathroom and on my way out she cornered me! I couldn't get by her and she started touching my chest and telling me how she used to be a 'very sexual person.' And then her hands moved down and she tried to shove her tongue down my throat. I pushed her off and told her 'you know I'm with Natalie!' And then I went back to the table and she left. But I'm freaking out!" He groaned and messed up his hair with his hands.

"It'll be okay. How did Natalie react?"

"I haven't told her yet. I got home late last night and she was in some budget meeting till ten. But Melissa seems to think you're friends which means you sort of know her, which means you can tell me how I'm supposed to handle her at the office."

"I think she lives in her own reality, I'd just pretend that it didn't happen. Maintain the distance you usually keep and you'll be fine."

"I can do that." He sounded reassured with the plan.

Fred got up and I sat down and checked my email; my inbox was empty. I went to the kitchen to get a cup of tea; after I'd filled the kettle, Alan came into the kitchen. I was in utter disbelief when he gave me "the guns." I gave him a wary smile and turned my gaze to the bulletin board, willing the water to boil fast. He grabbed a cup from the cabinet.

"So how are you doing?" Everything about him oozed smarm, and his words seemed to slither out of his mouth.

"I'm good," I said flatly.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and pulled a single portion yogurt out of the fridge that was clearly labelled 'Susan' in black marker. He leaned back on the counter, opened the yogurt and took a spoonful.

"So, have you been listening to any good tracks recently? Anything to get you dancing in your chair?"

"Not really," I mumbled, wishing he would pick up on my lack of interest.

The kettle whistled, so I manoeuvred my way around Alan to make my tea, Irish Breakfast with a splash of milk.

"Well I should get back to it," I said, moving away from the kitchen.

"Have a good one."

I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away, and I refrained from outwardly squirming. When I returned my desk I noticed the red light was flashing on my cell phone. Nathan had sent me a text!

Hi. I hope you're having a great morning. Would you like to hang out again some time? If you're you're available, how does dinner on Tuesday night sound?

I giggled and stupidly did a happy dance just as Alan walked past my desk. He smirked and winked.

A few hours later, I was busily typing up notes. I like the sensation of quickly typing, the sound of the keys being tapped. It reminds me of this racing game I played when I was little, where I typed as quickly and accurately as possible to power my race car. I realized now that I was totally tricked into enjoying an educational game!

"So, have you heard the latest about Melissa?" Natalie asked in an amused voice, interrupting my train of thought.

"Yeah, Fred told me this morning. What are you going to do?"

"No not last night's performance, today's tantrum?" She raised her eyebrows and moved in closer.

"No, what did she do now?"

"Well, I guess she really did have too much to drink last night, so she's a bit weary and on edge today. Anyway, she went to the bathroom this morning and the paper towel dispenser flipped open and hit her on the hand. She totally freaked out. She found someone from Building Maintenance and went ballistic. She was screaming her head off at the poor guy. She made such a scene that HR called her in and gave her a written warning; she's now on probation."

My jaw dropped. "Oh wow. Still, are you going to go over and bitch-slap her for messing with your man?" I asked, amused by the idea of Natalie in her red and orange floral silk dress and black high heels getting into a brawl.

"Actually, I know I should be mad but I find the whole thing seriously hilarious. Plus I really think she is unstable. Anyway, how was your date last night!?"

"It was really good. He's cute, charming, we're going out for dinner tomorrow."

"Nice! Well, I guess I should get back."

"All right, let me know if you change your mind about Melissa. I'd totally have your back if you want to take it outside."

# Chapter 23

On my way to dinner with Nathan, I peeked at myself in the glass reflection of storefront windows as I passed them. I was worried that my shy, awkward side would come out in full force, that I would start blushing, talking too quickly and not finishing sentences. I took one last calming breath, and as I exhaled I could see the puff of air float into the chilly night.

Stepping into the Korean Grill, I was hit by the sudden heat and loud chatter. I quickly scanned the restaurant and saw Nathan was already sitting at a table waiting for me, reading over the menu. He had dressed up a bit with a charcoal sweater and black dress pants.

He greeted me with a charming grin. "Hi, you look great."

"Hey." I sat down across from him. "So do you."

It only took a moment before I felt relaxed. Nathan had a warm, easy manner that made me feel comfortable.

The waiter came by to get our orders. We decided to split the dinner for two and Sapporos.

"Abby tells me that you're a great chef?" Nathan asked.

"I love to cook," I said. "It's a bit of a family passion. My mom used to own a bunch of bakeries and lunch spots. Spent my childhood haggling with produce vendors and learning to perfect the ultimate sandwich. What about you? Any hobbies?" I almost recoiled at my own question. It sounded like something my parents' friends would ask me when I was 12.

"I guess my thing is that I love to try new things. There is nothing better than a good adventure and I really like to challenge myself. My thought is that if I do enough things that scare me, then everyday life will be a breeze."

He was so enticing, he drew me in. "So what is the craziest thing you've done so far?"

"I guess skydiving, which, I know, everyone has done."

"I haven't."

He chuckled. " Well then you'll find this entertaining. It was a solo jump and we were in the sketchiest looking plane. The door was actually held together with duct tape and everyone had to lean forward in order to take off."

"Whoa, so, did you like it?"

"It was pretty amazing! I was on the last flight of day so when I jumped it was right at sunset. After your shoot opens and you know that you're okay, it's actually really peaceful."

I was impressed. "Do you have anything new lined up?"

"Nothing too exciting, I guess. I'm heading to Mount Tremblant for skiing and hanging out with the family for Christmas. But that will be more relaxing than adventurous. What about you? Plans for the holidays?"

"I'll be heading home to Halifax."

"Do you have any siblings?" Nathan asked as our drinks arrived and the grill at our table was lit.

"No, only child, what about you?"

"I have a brother and a sister. I'm the youngest. Both of them are married and have kids so it'll be a big group. My nephew is pretty cute. He's six and just learning how to snowboard, and my niece is just turning three, so it'll be fun to play with them in the snow."

"I'm actually going to be spending Christmas Eve and morning with my dad and Christmas dinner with my mom and her new Italian boyfriend who is just two years older than me. That should be fun," I said sarcastically.

Nathan returned a sympathetic look.

"My parents split up about a year and a half ago, and this is the first time since that I'll be going home." When I spoke to him he focused right on me and took in what I was saying. He wasn't distracted, he wasn't playing with his phone or checking out the group of girls giggling at the table across from us, he kept his gaze steady on me.

The waiter arrived with a tray of marinated steak, Korean ribs, shrimp, chicken and vegetables. We were grilling, eating and swapping our best anecdotes. I tried, perhaps a little too hard, to make him laugh. Still the night flew by in a whirl of conversation until we were playfully bantering and bumping into each other as we walked to the subway station. He grabbed my hand as we descend the stairs and when we reached the platform he lifted my hand and kissed it. He leaned in further, and I breathed him in, again struck by how great and manly he smelled.

"I had a great time," Nathan said as his train came screeching into the station. "Have a good night."

He stepped on the train and gave me a wave as subway the doors closed. I waved back before turning around to wait for my train. I giggled with excitement. An elderly woman with frizzy hair, bundled in a large winter jacket, gave me a knowing smile. I couldn't help but smile back.

# Chapter 24

I had dragged Abby out for a walk on Saturday morning in High Park. It was a little grey and muddy, and most of the leaves had fallen off the trees. The whole park was in muted shades of brown. I greeted Abby with a to-go cup of tea at High Park station and a big smile, hoping a long, vent-filled walk would help her solemn mood.

"Morning," Abby said as she yawned and took the cup from me. She perked up when I reached into my bag and pulled out my homemade doughnuts. "Aaw, you know I love them."

"How's the new gig going? Is it getting any better?"

"Not really. It's really odd because I tend to feel simultaneously like I'm both too smart and not smart enough for this job. People will be talking about policy and my eyes will glaze over, I won't understand what they are talking about, and there is an expectation I should already know how the office works, the structure, and who all the elected officials are, and I don't. But on the other hand they have all these processes that are just so over-complicated and I've come up with a lot of suggestions on how they could become more efficient."

"That's good!" I replied proudly.

"Well, it would be but no one will actually change how they do things, all I hear all day long is 'that's not my job.'"

I sighed sympathetically. "How about that co-worker? Is she still falling asleep in her chair?"

"Yes! Do you know how weird other people's reactions are? Someone comes up to the front desk, I'll be on the phone or something and she'll be sitting straight up with her eyes closed. They try and cough, or tap on the desk. Eventually they'll just move over to my side and wait for me to be available. And then when I get to them they start to whisper, so as not to disturb her."

"Well it's not forever, you'll find what you actually want soon enough," I said while trying not to pant as we ascended another hill.

"It was sweet though, Scott took me out to the ballet to celebrate my return to some form of employment. We went to The National Ballet's Hamlet."

"Oh," I said on the inhale, "nice," I continued on the exhale.

"Yeah, we have been out of sync or something recently, but he knows that dance is my weakness and it was great to go out on a proper date," Abby said with a swoon.

I smiled, not saying anything. I was starting to wheeze and I didn't want it to be so obvious that I was out of shape. We walked for a while, following the trail that circled us back to the starting point. We crossed the street to the subway and made the journey home. When I got aboveground I felt the vibration of my phone in my bag against my hip. I dug it out and answered.

"Hey, its Nathan. How are you doing?"

I suppressed a squeal of delight. "Good, how are you?"

"Great. Just thought I'd check in," Nathan said sweetly.

"I'm good, just went for a walk with Abby, and now I'm heading home." I wondered if he could hear how stupidly large my smile had become.

"Are you up to anything tonight?"

"Nothing planned. Did you want to hang out?" I asked, hopeful.

"Yeah, I do. Do you just want to come over and watch a movie?"

"Sure, sounds great."

Hours later I was being buzzed into Nathan's apartment building. Riding up the elevator I was trying to calm my nerves, and release the insane smile that kept creeping up.

He was in the corner apartment, 603. His apartment was a quintessential guy's place, leather couch, large TV, video game consoles, dark wooden bookcase filled to capacity.

I leaned on the kitchen table as Nathan went to the fridge. "So how was your day?" he asked, turning back and handing me a beer.

"It was good, had a nice walk with Abby." He walked over to me, standing just in front of me "Didn't do much this afternoon." He swept a wavy curl from my face. His forehead came down and met mine, and for a moment we stood there quietly, taking each other in. Until finally inexplicably we were kissing.

The next morning I woke up at Nathan's. I always woke up early when sleeping in a foreign bed. I was under a hunter green comforter with my head resting on a striped pillowcase, and over Nathan's sleeping body I saw the alarm clock on his bedside table: 6:32 a.m. I slipped out of bed and quietly tiptoed to the bathroom; having not planned to spend the night I of course didn't have a toothbrush. I found a bottle of mouthwash behind the mirror and took a swig. My mouth was now decently kissable. I looked in the mirror, cleaned up the eyeliner that had smudged, and tied my hair back, as it had become a massive mess. Then I slipped back into bed beside him.

I played over the preceding night's events. First times always scare me a bit. My almost-first time was in my second year at university. It was a friend I'd had a crush on since Frosh Week. He was tall and athletic; he played on every intramural team that was available. He was also outgoing, fun and charming.

One night we ended up dancing together, and dancing had turned into making out. And then he was back at my place and just as I thought some fantasy had come to life he asked me to put on pantyhose. Not stockings but ugly control top panty hose. Of all possible images of what my first time would be like, this possibility had not crossed my mind. It freaked me out, so I pretended that I had had too much to drink, was feeling sick and asked him to leave. Weird fetishes are now a concern when I meet a seemingly sweet, cute man. There was, however, nothing creepy or off-putting about Nathan.

I stared at the freckles on his back, mentally playing connect-the-dots until he rolled over and said "Hey" in a groggy, half-awake voice. He wrapped his arm around me and I lay my head on his chest, perfectly content.

# Chapter 25

I was still giddy on Monday morning, until an email came in with the details for this year's office holiday video. They luckily had not gone with Melissa's plan. Instead everyone was to sing a line from "Baby it's Cold Outside." Because they were late, filming would happen today and tomorrow, then the video would be obsessed over by our perfectionist editor for a week and sent out next Monday.

Another email came in, letting me know my lyric would be "If you caught pneumonia and died." I tried singing it quietly at my desk. This was unfortunately, inevitably the moment when Alan came by. He positioned himself so that he was half-sitting on my desk. His leg was uncomfortably close to my arm, and I shifted as far away as possible.

"So now you dance and sing?" he asked with a definite leer.

"Just practising for the video," I said.

"Ahh. So any big holiday plans?"

"No, not really, just heading home."

"Do you get a little sad at Christmas? I mean, I know you're single, right? And it seems to be a season for couples, with so many parties to attend, so many romantic opportunities and so many people getting engaged around this time of year. I mean one of my buddies is proposing to a girl, but they actually aren't dating. It's kind of a funny story, she's a stripper, and he was a regular at the club she worked at. Anyway, she is flying home to Australia, and he got a ticket on the same flight without telling her. His plan is to propose on the flight. I think it's probably going end in disaster, which would be hilarious, right?"

He shifted closer to me, and I scooted my chair back even farther until hit my filing cabinet.

"So anyway, I just wanted to say if you ever do feel like you're getting down, or you're feeling lonely, you know, I'd be happy to go for a drink."

"Thanks, really I'm great, but am quite busy so I should definitely be getting back to work."

"All right, we'll just keep it in mind."

He slid off my desk and left. My body convulsed in a creeped-out spasm.

Later that afternoon they shot me singing my line. I was horribly off-key; my face was bright red with embarrassment. They made me sing while wearing a Santa hat and holding a comically large candy cane.

Melissa was waiting off to the side for her turn in the spotlight. She didn't get to make her vision come true but she still managed to wear a ridiculously low-cut red shirt that clung to the roundness of her stomach and highlighted her belly button. I stayed to watch her attempting to be like Marilyn Monroe, singing the line "I ought to say 'no, no, no sir'" in a high and squeaky voice while also trying to position her cleavage at the best angle to be captured by the camera. No matter how good or bad the whole video turned out to be, nothing could top the entertainment value of Melissa.

# Chapter 26

Two weeks later, I was sipping my complimentary beer on my Porter flight to Halifax. The last couple weeks had been a blur of holiday parties, dates with Nathan, slow days at work, overeating, over-drinking and general happiness. My laptop was sitting on the tray table; I was watching BBC's Life series, which Nathan had given to me for Christmas. David Attenborough's voice was calming my fried nerves. Between the politics of two Christmases and meeting Rocco, I was not looking forward to the week ahead.

I still couldn't believe that my mother had a boyfriend who was actually a year younger than the guy I was seeing. It was a little unnerving. The pilot announced that we were beginning our descent. I closed my laptop and put it in the bag under the seat in front of me. I leaned back, closed my eyes and remembered how simple and fun holidays used to be and wished I wasn't quite so grown up.

My dad was waiting to give me a huge hug at the gate. We picked up my luggage and drove to the house I'd called home since I was 15. It was strange; the house had totally changed since I had last been home. Pieces of furniture I expected to see were no longer there, the walls were a little bare and the whole place had been rearranged. I toured around while my dad proudly commented on what he had decided to do with his place. It was different, masculine; a lot of brown had come in, but it was still comfortable and still felt like home.

The next couple days were relaxing and fun. I slept in, played cards with my dad, cooked too much for just the two of us to eat and watched Die Hard, the greatest Christmas movie ever. It was nice to be home, and my dad was putting in a lot of effort to make it a good holiday. But then it was finally time to go over to my mother's place and meet her new boyfriend.

When my parents split my dad got the house and my mom got our cottage, down the shore near the town of Chester. She still rented an apartment in the city, but the cottage, which was much larger, was where she was spending the holidays and where I was going to be for the next few days. She was coming to pick me up and drive me back down.

I was just putting on my boots when the doorbell rang. I opened the door for her, and my dad came over. There was an awkward, long pause. I hadn't been in the same room with both of them since they split. The whole thing still felt surreal.

"Merry Christmas," my dad said at last. She smiled and returned the well wishes, and off we went.

"So, how has your holiday been so far?" Mom said, smiling brightly, as I started to sort through the CDs in her car to find some common ground on musical taste for the drive.

"Oh, great, relaxing." I didn't really want to get into the details, knowing she would want to compete over who had provided the most holiday cheer.

"Rocco and I have been having the best time. I'm so excited for you to finally meet him. Just look what he gave me for Christmas!"

She thrust her arm at me, showing off a clunky orange, turquoise and yellow, sparkly bracelet: possibly the ugliest thing I'd ever seen.

"What is new with you, dear?"

"Not a whole lot, really." I finally found Nat King Cole's album and put it in the stereo.

"How's your place? Any more issues with raccoons?"

"No, the place is good."

"You should really think about buying soon. You're just throwing your money away renting," she said with the motherly advice tone, which still makes me want to rebel.

Halfway through "Deck the Halls," the song became a stuttering, skipping mess. "I just don't think I'm ready for that kind of commitment," I said as I ejected the CD.

"You should be smarter with your money, Mags."

I nodded my head and she moved on, looking again through the poorly kept stack of CDs.

"How's the man hunt going? Have you found anyone special?"

"Actually dating a really nice guy, Nathan," I said proudly, happy to have something to say on this count.

"And what does Nathan do?"

I found another classic, The Rat Pack Christmas Album. "He's a fourth grade English teacher."

"Well, where's he from? What do his parents do? Does he have any siblings? Is he close with his family? Does he enjoy working as a teacher? Is that what he hopes his career will be or does he have other aspirations?" She tittered and took a breath. "Isn't this fun, to girl-talk about our boyfriends?"

It was a long ride to the cottage.

We finally pulled up in the cottage driveway and Rocco came out, greeting us as he took my luggage. He was slim but short, and he was wearing a thin burgundy turtleneck over black dress pants. He had voluminous hair, which I thought must require a lot of mousse. When we came in, he dropped my bag in my room and then hugged me.

"Merry Christmas, Maggie," he said with a slight accent. "Buon natale!" He seemed really excited to meet me, like he was genuinely trying to make a good impression.

He offered me a glass of wine, which I happily accepted. He had a warm smile with slightly crooked teeth. Once we all sat down there was a long, uncomfortable pause. I wasn't sure what to say to this man; everything that popped into my head seemed inappropriate.

"So your mother tells me you like to play games, perhaps we can have a game of Scrabble after dinner?"

"Okay," I said, politely.

"Maggie, why don't you tell Rocco, about your job," my mother pushed.

"Well I'm a researcher at Take. We make documentaries, mostly one-hour shows for TV but sometimes feature-length. We also have a website which mostly has short films by new filmmakers. I mostly do fact checking. My mom said you're a student?"

"Yes, studying architecture. Living in Rome, surrounded by so much history and beauty. It's incredible what can be accomplished when you combine a great vision with workmanship and craft. I want to be a part of that. I want to build things that stand the test of time."

He took my mother's hand and held it in his, and another awkward moment took over the room. My phone broke up the silence. I found my purse, retrieved the phone, and read the text message from Natalie.

I'm ENGAGED!!!!

I was stunned. They had only been dating for a few months. I was happy for them, but also a little worried. Natalie had become all-Fred-consuming. She couldn't seem to do anything without him since they'd started dating. The only time I had been able to catch her alone was a coffee break at work, and even then it was only when Fred was dealing with a server crash. I loved Fred, but sometimes I just wanted to hang out with them individually. I didn't even feel like I knew her views on the relationship because I never saw them apart. I was also perturbed that she'd texted me the news. Engagement announcements aren't texts, they are face-to-face conversations, or at least phone calls.

I quickly texted back. "Congrats, Can't wait to hear all about it. Just meeting Mom's boyfriend right now."

Rocco had gotten up and started to cook dinner, and my mom went into the cupboard, bringing out an apron for herself and one for me.

"Rocco is a terrific cook, not as good as me, but he's good." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek as she passed to the knife block. She pulled out a knife, grabbed a pot from the overhead rack, placed them in front of me and pointed to the pile of potatoes on the counter.

She gave me a small squeeze as she passed to put on some Christmas music. "I'm so glad you're here."

I set myself up on the island and slowly started to remove the peel from the potatoes, in long thin vertical slices. I watched as they moved around one another, grabbing spices and pots, looking casual and comfortable. Their movements were fluid, no collisions or bumps as they grabbed spices and passed olive oil. Each knew what the other was doing, and it looked like they had been doing so for years.

I felt a little out of place. I used to love the cottage because going there meant reading by the sea, movie marathons, night-time beach walks, fishing, making preserves and pies with my mom and sleeping in. It used to be everything that was comforting, and now it seemed foreign. The Italian invasion was marked all over the place. Photos of my parents had been replaced with photos from Mom's trip, paintings had been taken down and replaced with Rocco's architectural sketches.

"So Maggie, your mother claims that you're a better baker than even she is. I hope you make something on your visit," Rocco said, looking up from the vegetables he was chopping. His face showed his effort, his dark brown eyes seeming to beg me to be nice and engage him in this conversation.

"I'm sure I will. We have a long list of Christmas baking traditions, and we always seem to be adding to it," I said cheerfully. Rocco's face relaxed, and he return to chopping up carrots, onion and celery. "What do you normally do with your family in Italy?"

Rocco described for us how he celebrated Christmas at home, and all about his mother and his sisters. His father had passed away in a car accident when Rocco was 11, he had helped raise his four younger sisters. He was a very protective older brother. I could see my mother swoon as he talked, when she wasn't looking at me for signs of approval. He was nothing like what I had envisioned. I had pictured someone slimy who was after her for citizenship or money, or in general up to no good. But he was magnetic, although I was still a little suspicious; he was in fact very slowly winning me over.

After dinner we did play Scrabble, and Rocco won twice. We all sat for a while until Rocco went into the master bedroom and came back with a little box. He handed me the present. I felt guilty and a little selfish for not having thought at all about getting him a gift and instead just freaking out about his existence. I apologized but he shrugged it off and suggested I open the present. It was a small crystal giraffe with gold eyes.

"Your mom told me it was your favourite animal," Rocco explained.

"Thank you so much, it's really sweet of you." I was taken aback by the obvious thought that had been put into the gift.

Although it was early, I decided to go to bed and process the day. I took my phone with me to see if Natalie had sent more details, but instead I saw a text message from Nathan.

Hey. I hope you had a great Christmas and it wasn't as uncomfortable as you thought it would be. I know it's really cheesy to say but I miss you. Can't wait to see you when you get back.

# Chapter 27

The night before I had to go back to work, I was filled with dread. I had become accustomed to sleeping in every morning and didn't like the whole notion of waking up early. The rest of the time with Mom and Rocco could best be described as pleasant. Natalie sent text after text on random ideas for her wedding. Rocco did his best to impress, and my mom continued to have as many girl-talk chats as possible when she wasn't providing motherly advice. I was now on my couch soaking in the last few hours of vacation in between loads of laundry.

I had to go to the laundromat, half a block down the street. I longed for the day when I would have en-suite laundry, but until then I dragged the heavy laundry bag, into which I had just transferred all the clothes that had been stuffed into my luggage, down the street. The usually bustling laundromat was fairly deserted, so it was surprising when I only found a few available washers. The rest were filled with white towels. Two men came in and stuffed the last remaining washers around me with more white towels. The whole place felt off, like coming in halfway on an inside joke. But I trusted that they wouldn't steal my wet, dirty clothes and went back to my couch.

I had just settled down when my phone rang. I looked at the display and saw that it was my mom. I hesitated for a moment and sighed. I had wanted to avoid humanity for the rest of my vacation but I answered on the third ring.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, sweetie. Did you get in okay?" she said lightly, but I could hear her exhale at the end and knew that something more serious was coming.

"Yep, just home now."

"So, what did you think about Rocco?" She sounded very serious and concerned; worried, I guess, that my niceness at the cottage was just me being polite. Which in part it was, but he had been kind and sweet, showing genuine affection for her, and making a real effort with me. I couldn't fault him for anything other than his horrible taste in jewellery.

"He seemed really nice, and you seem happy." I said it sincerely; I could hear the sound of her smiling.

"Thank you, dear. Yes I am, I feel like I'm back in high school or something, I'm so girlishly happy, I find myself smiling constantly, but it's really important to me that you approve."

"I approve."

"Now I just need to meet this Nathan. I'll have to plan a trip to Toronto soon. But it's okay too if it doesn't work out with Nathan. I would of course be coming to see you, not him."

"Okay, well, we'll see how that works out. I should be getting going, have to move my laundry into the dryer." I really wanted to end this conversation before she went into her "you don't need a man" speech, while simultaneously pelting me with questions about the one I had.

"All right, love you," she said, sounding relieved.

"Love you too."

I hung up and went back to the laundromat. I saw the same two men now unloading the wet white towels into large garbage bags and tossing the garbage bags into an unmarked white van. I thought it was curious before but now was baffled. I was tempted to ask them what was going on, but I thought it might be something sketchy: if I asked, it was possible that I might also end up in the back of the white van. I got back home and called Nathan, looking for his opinion.

"I don't know, maybe a gym or a hotel has a running dryer but their washer is broken," Nathan answered, clearly not as intrigued as I was by the mystery.

"But it's like twenty-five loads of white towels, how many dryers do they have? They'd be up for days doing loads. And towels go funky so quickly," I pressed, in an attempt to get him to agree that it was strange and help me figure out what happened.

"And the van didn't have a logo on it?"

"Nope. And if it's a business, why can't they afford the forty bucks to dry them all at the same place?"

"Do you think people are going around towel-whipping people? I can picture gangs putting down there guns and knives and picking up a towel to twirl up and whip at their enemies," Nathan said with a laugh, now sounding amused.

"It's possible. Maybe it's a weird, elaborate prank." I was unconvinced but I liked that he was joining in with conspiracy theories.

"Actually I did see somewhere that some people make origami out of wet towels, so maybe it's a large art installation of orgami'd wet towels," Nathan said with a light laugh that turned into a full chuckle. He had a good laugh that made me want to say funny things to coax more laughter from him.

"It's a mystery. I should have asked," I said, letting the topic go.

"You should have! Now I'll always wonder. So what are you up to tonight?"

"Just laundry, you?"

"Nothing, do you want to hang out? Maybe watch a movie?"

Two hours later I'd folded my laundry and stuffed it in various dresser drawers. Nathan was sitting on my couch, his arm wrapped around me, his fingers playing with mine. My head was on his chest. I was comfortable and happy.

"I just wanted to talk to you about us for a minute," Nathan said with a serious tone.

I quickly sat up and shifted towards the other end of the couch.

"Okay." I was trying to remain calm, but I heard my voice come out in a crackling pitchy whisper.

"Well, I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. So... I'm just not looking for something serious right now. I'd like to keep things casual. I mean, I'm not seeing anyone else or anything, but I just don't want things to get too intense."

I was unprepared for a talk and hadn't really been thinking about the future, or what I did or didn't want out of the relationship. I had been enjoying the moment. The last month was just fun and sweet. My stomach flipped, and I thought for a moment in uncomfortable silence.

"Well, I guess I'm cool with going slow and just having fun and seeing where things go," I said slowly, examining each word as they came out of my mouth. Scrutinizing them for accuracy.

"Great, I just wanted to check in and make sure that I wasn't giving you the wrong impression or anything. I really like you, I think you're great. You're sweet and pretty and I really like hanging out with you, but I just want to make sure we keep it light."

"Thanks?"

There was another long, uneasy pause and then we both turned our focus back to the movie.

"Come here." He put his arm out and I settled back into the nook, but I was no longer happy or comfortable. Instead I wished he would leave so that I could actually think about how I felt.

# Chapter 28

I had a restless night, so I was grumpy and in desperate need of coffee when I came into work the next morning. I considered all meanings of the word casual. I don't like things undefined. I like to know what the parameters of relationship are. I decided, though, that I liked Nathan enough to keep things as they were for a while and see where everything went. After all, one conversation didn't mean that things would always be this way.

I got to my desk and listened to the waiting voicemails, all of which were just a series of someone's attempts to fax to a non-fax line. I went through my emails but I hadn't missed anything while we were closed other than spam and Christmas greetings. I had been back at work for fifteen minutes and already needed escape, so I hauled on my winter jacket and went to get a large coffee and a blueberry muffin from the place on the corner.

It was a grey, dull day. The wind hurled snow in my face, which made my skin burn from the cold. The coffee shop was only a block away from the office, but I was still shivering when I returned. I didn't have any work to do, so I put some work-related research sites on my computer screen and listened to podcasts while enjoying my first sip of warm coffee. I really hoped that I would be left alone for the entire day.

Unfortunately just as I took a bite from my muffin, Melissa appeared at my desk, in her now-standard winter ensemble; tights instead of pants and a longish sweater worn as her dress. I could actually see the lace pattern of her underwear through her tights.

"Hi, I'm having trouble with my computer. Can you come and have a look at it please?" Melissa asks in a girlish pleading voice paired with a pout. I was very tempted to direct her to Fred, but decided not to be so cruel.

I grudgingly got up and followed her to her desk. Her computer was prompting her to log in.

"What do I do?" Melisa asked in a high-pitched whine.

"You just enter in your username and password," I returned flatly.

"How am I supposed to know what that is?" she snapped. I looked at her quizzically but only a blank stare answered me.

"Haven't you had to log in whenever you turn on your computer?"

"I've never turned my computer off before. I'm not sure why it was off now."

I winced. "I'm sure they just shut down the power while we were off."

"So can you fix it?"

"No, I don't know what your password is."

Melissa pouted again and I walked away, thoroughly annoyed. I got back to my desk to find Natalie sitting on my chair. She jumped up and gave me a hug.

"Congrats, Nat!" I let her go and she quickly shoved her hand at me. I examined the elegant ring on her finger. "It's really a beautiful ring. Well done, Fred."

"I don't think I've told you the proposal story, have I?"

"Nope."

"It happened on Christmas Eve! We were at my family's house. But the place was full! My grandmother was visiting and she'd stolen my bed, so we had to sleep on the pull-out couch. Which was really uncomfortable so neither of us could fall asleep. We were tossing and turning, and the couch was squeaking and the middle bar was jamming into my side. And then Fred asked if I wanted to go for a walk. We bundle up and go out, it's lovely and quiet and snowing but Fred is really quiet and I think that he's mad at me or upset that he's with my family instead his. So I start babbling about how happy I am that he's there and how much I love him. After a little bit we turn around and go back to the house, and I walk up the steps and I'm looking for my keys while trying to keep my mitts on. I finally find them and turn around and Fred is kneeling on the steps and holding this ring out. He gave this amazing speech about how much he loved me, and yeah, it was amazing." She sighed with utter happiness.

"That's great, Nat, I'm really happy for you guys." I felt a swell of love for both Natalie and Fred.

Nat beamed. "Thanks. I'm so excited, but I should really get back to work! We'll do drinks soon so I'll be able to gush some more."

Natalie hugged me again and practically skipped off to her desk. I took my second sip of coffee, which was now cold and gross. I went to the kitchen and made plan-B tea, and settled back into pretending to be busy. The rest of the day slowly chugged along. I wanted to take a nap but instead yawned uncontrollably and continued to suck down various caffeinated beverages.

It was late afternoon when Melissa came back to my desk.

"So Fred was able to get me logged in, but it took a long time to get my computer in working order. Fred said there had been a lot of updates that I had missed out on somehow."

"Yeah, you should really turn your computer off regularly."

"But I hear he's now engaged to Natalie," she said in a snarky, jealous tone.

"Yeah! It's exciting news!"

"How long do you think they will last? I give it three years, tops."

"I think they are going to make it forever," I responded firmly.

"Really? You don't think they are going too fast? I think so."

I could tell that Melissa was disappointed by my answer. I wasn't not sure if she really had a thing for Fred or if she just didn't want anyone to be a step ahead of her in life, but it seemed she really wanted to bitch about them. I wasn't in a mood to indulge her lunacy.

"I'm going to pack up for the day," I said putting my keys and phone in my purse . "You have a good night, Melissa!"

# Chapter 29

Abigail and I went out for coffee after she begged me to break up what she called yet another mundane evening. We hung out on a worn couch by a fireplace, drinking lattes. Abby was twisting a thread from her navy long-sleeve cardigan, which was too large for her. The mass of long auburn hair fell wildly around her face, hiding her whenever she sulked back.

"How's the job hunt going? Have you figured out what it is you want to do?" I gently asked, trying to sound supportive and encouraging.

"The job hunt sucks. I'm still trying to figure it all out. I've been applying to a lot of non-profit stuff." Abby sounded frustrated and looked depressed; she kept starting at the foam swirl on top of her latte.

"That's cool. Non-profits, I mean."

"Yeah, I just really want to do something that is valuable, something that I'm passionate about. I just don't want to spend my days in an office doing pointless paperwork."

"What are you passionate about?" I asked, hoping that in her answer I could find a solution to her problem.

"Dance, but I'm not dedicated or talented enough to be a professional, and that's why I'm thinking non-profit. I think I would be all right doing paperwork if it was helping someone."

"You should start doing some more volunteer work and put 'organizing the Habitat day' on your résumé."

"Oh, good plan!" Abby had raised her focus back to me, and I could see the wheels turning as she pondered ways to get involved. I was happy that my advice might be of use.

"So how are things with you? How's work? How's it going with Nathan?" Abby asked after a few moments in her head.

"Work is all right, I guess. I haven't had much to do since Sarah left, but my new boss starts this week so that will be interesting. And things with Nathan are good."

I didn't want to get into a conversation about our "casual" status. I could hear the long list of questions I wouldn't have answers to because I didn't have the guts to ask Nathan. So I left it at that, smiled and shifted the conversation.

"Oh, I have joke! If big-breasted women work at Hooters, where would a one-legged woman work?" I said animatedly.

"I don't know," Abby replied, rolling her eyes.

"IHOP!" I laughed too hard at my own joke resulting in a snort, which caused Abigail to laugh and for a few moments we collapsed into giggles.

"You're such a dork!" She circled the conversation back to serious. "I am so bored, Mags. All this figuring out what I want to do when I grow up is keeping money tight, which means a lot of nights staying at home watching Scott play video games. And every time I try to play I just end up walking into a wall for ten minutes and can never seem to turn myself around, which frustrates Scott, which frustrates me. All this time together I think is really starting to make us get at each other. I keep on flipping out over nothing and will know I'm being insane and that it's nothing but can't help feeling pissed."

"See, another great thing about volunteering, you get to get out of the house and attend some cool events."

"Very true." She sounded hopeful.

"It'll all work out, Abby!"

# Chapter 30

The next night I was bundling up, pulling snow pants over leggings, a jacket over a sweater over a t-shirt over a tank top, a scarf, a toque, mitts and snow boots. Nathan had asked me to go sledding at Christie Pitts, a lovely park in the west end of the city. My pants made a swooshing sound every time I took a step. I had never gone sledding at night and was apprehensive. I walked up the street along the edge of the park, which was a giant snow-covered bowl. Looking down the empty, dark and rather aptly named Pitt, I saw nothing but boot and dog prints in the snow. I finally came to the main entrance of the park, where Nathan was sitting on one of the benches, a plastic sled leaning on the bench beside him.

"Hey babe, are you ready to do some sledding?" Nathan asked, sounding excited as he stood up and kissed me hello.

I look down again, visualizing how I would manage to get down the steep slope. Though partially lit by streetlights, it was dark at the bottom.

"Yeah, I guess so," I responded sheepishly.

He brought the sled over to the flat top of the hill and motioned for me to sit down. I stared at the sled for a moment, and not wanting to actually back out, I sat down. Nathan shuffled in behind me.

"You ready?" he whispered.

"As I'll ever be." I nodded. He pushed the sled forward. Just as we reach the tipping point he wrapped his arms around my waist.

"Okay, lean forward a little," he coached.

Our weight shifted forward and the sled careened down the hill. I screamed, and yelled a wide variety of profanities, until we reached the bottom. He steered the sled sideways to slow us down until we finally came to a stop.

I caught my breath and exclaimed, "Let's do it again!"

We climbed back up the steep hill, and then sledded down again and again and again, and then one last time. I felt exhausted, exhilarated, and a little lame for getting as a big of a rush out of sledding as a five year old.

"I think I'm ready for some hot chocolate," I suggested.

"Sounds like a plan."

We climbed up the hill one last time, and I guarded the sled as Nathan ran into a coffee shop across from the park to get a couple of hot chocolates. He came back, handed me a takeout cup, and put the sled under his free arm. The night wasn't that cold and we were well bundled, so we decided to walk the half hour back to his place.

"What did the children learn today at school?" I asked, liking the sound of the playful question and hoping to avoid any more serious relationship talks.

"I'm not sure they actually learned anything, but we are reading The Cay."

"Oh, I remember The Cay! I always thought it was such a melancholy book. Are you guys watching the movie? Doesn't it have James Earl Jones in it?"

"I think it does. Maybe we'll watch it, depending how fast we get through the book. If today is any indication, we won't be seeing the movie."

"My English teacher in grade ten was completely mental. One time a girl asked what the word fuselage meant, and her response was 'oh don't worry, that's a boy's word.' She was weird with words, she had this long list of words we weren't allowed to say because their original meanings were derogatory. But have taken on new widely used inoffensive meanings, like 'hysterical.'"

"I don't let the kids say 'ninnyhammer,'" Nathan offered.

"Ninnyhammer?"

"Yeah, look it up, it's an insult, and it will not be said in my classroom."

"All right," I laughed. "Anyway, all we did was watch movies and although the movies were often based on books, we hardly ever read. Halfway through the year she had a breakdown and never returned."

"What did you to do her?" Nathan accused teasingly.

"Nothing! Although I did point out to her that I knew what fuselage meant so maybe that blew her mind."

"Oh, so you were no ninnyhammer, you were one of those know-it-all kids!"

Nathan finished his hot chocolate and tossed his cup in a bin, and then grabbed my mittened hand with his ski-gloved hand.

# Chapter 31

The morning was slowly ticking along at work. I stared at my screen and ran through all possible ways to look busy. I had cleaned out my email. I had organized my files. I had actually dusted my desk and used that green goop to clean in between the keys of my keyboard. I played with the goop, making it emit farting noises when I stuffed it back into the container.

It was 10:05 and I had nothing to do. I stretched and went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, returning to my desk to find Melissa sitting in my chair. She sat wide-eyed, staring at me with a foolish grin.

"Have you met him yet?" Melisa asked in an ecstatic whisper.

I sipped my coffee and then gave in. "Have I met who?"

"William, of course! Our new boss."

"No, not yet. Why, have you?" I asked, surprised.

"I have indeed! I think he's handsome, for an older guy. He has some grey hairs but he's tall and you can tell he works out. I think he kind of likes me, he shook my hand a little too long. Maybe there's a chance for a little office romance."

Melissa's usual craziness was now a welcome distraction from a tedious, slow day.

"What about Trevor?"

"I don't know. Things are still not going well with him. I mean, I just don't find him attractive, but I don't know what to do."

"I think you should probably end things with him."

"I don't know. I really like hanging out with him. We have fun, but I just don't like the hair on his back or how much he sweats, or how he smells, or tastes, and I don't like how he pronounces the word 'time.' But he's sweet and I like him. Anyway I guess I should get going, I actually have a lot of work to do today."

I looked at the clock. 10:15. I headed to the bathroom because it was something to do. In the hall, two men were talking. One I recognized, but whose name I couldn't remember, waved me over to join their conversation.

"Maggie, this is William Franks."

William held out his hand and shook mine with vigour. He was tall and athletic; he was wearing a blue button-down shirt tucked into dark jeans and his hair was thoroughly grey, almost white around the temples. He looked like he could be one of my dad's friends, and he had a warm smile and pale blue eyes.

"Great to meet you," I said, releasing his hand.

"Actually really happy to catch you. Would you have some time this afternoon to go over your current workload?" His tone was serious but friendly.

"Of course! My schedule is pretty flexible this afternoon."

"Excellent. I'd really like to find out more about your role and discuss a new project. Let's say 2:30?"

"Sure, see you then."

I retreated from their conversation. Unease churned in my stomach, but it wasn't until I returned to my desk when it hit me. I was going to get fired! What was I going to tell him that I'd been doing with my day, staring off into space and listening to the love-life issues of a deranged person? Since Sarah had gone, no one had been assigning me anything. Should I have been asking for work? Was there something I should have been doing all this time?

The clock, which had been dragging with every second, was now speeding. It was 11:30. Okay: I had three hours to figure out what to say.

I went through my inbox to come up with some kind of list of activities. The scene was playing itself out in my head. He'd ask what I was responsible for, and I would shrug and start speaking about past projects but it would soon become clear that I didn't offer anything to the company. He'd give a slight sigh and ask me to pack up my things and go. After all, it would be a way to show his authority while getting rid of some dead weight. I looked at the clock again. Somehow it was 12:30.

I wondered how long I could get by if I were to get fired. I quickly did the math and discovered the answer: not long at all. Maybe I should give a speech about how I was underused but how much I could offer before he had a chance to fire me.

Then came the moment. I gathered up my notebook and pen, and walked to his office. I passed the elevator and for a moment thought about running away. Just leave the building before he had the chance to outright sack me. But instead I continued down the hall to face the inevitable. I knocked at his office door and a friendly voice welcomed me in. I opened the door and walked into his office, which was still bare from Sarah's departure. A pile of framed photos and art leaned against the wall in the corner, and his desk only had one photo propped up, I presumed of his wife, along with a hammer and a neat row of different sized nails.

William stood up, shook my hand again and gestured to the open chair opposite his desk. I sat, debating whether to jump in now and explain myself or wait to see where this went.

"Maggie, you do research and fact-checking, correct?" William asked, his voice remaining serious but warm.

"Yes." I felt as though I should add more, but I was drawing a blank.

"Great, I really wanted to hit the ground running and was wondering if your schedule could handle a new project. It would be an hour-long feature for TV, an in-depth look into the science and history of sports riots. I have the proposal so I just need you to go over it, fact-check, and probably do some research as it comes up."

"Okay, that sounds great. I can definitely do that," I said slowly, feeling my body relax as I quietly exhaled.

"Excellent, I'll send you all of the materials. Other than that I just wanted to have a chance to say hello, and let you know I'm thrilled to be working here. I don't plan to reinvent the wheel, but I'd like to improve things where I can. With this first project I may rely a little bit on you to walk me through how you guys work, so I hope that's okay."

I nodded. "Definitely."

"Great, that's it for now. Thanks for coming in." William smiled broadly and pushed his hand through his hair, and I noticed that his posture had relaxed slightly as well. I realized that he might have also been nervous on his first day.

I got up and speed-walked to my desk, giddy, starving and pretty embarrassed at my flip-out over nothing.

# Chapter 32

I was still stupidly happy when I got home. Nathan was on his way over for dinner, a meal I had spent far too much time deliberating over. It had to be casual and yet impressive in its deliciousness. I finally settled on homemade pesto sausage and feta pizza.

Nathan knocked a few minutes after 7:30, and I practically ran to the door to let him in. He stood there with a bottle of white wine, a DVD of MegaShark vs. The Giant Octopus, and a goofy smile. Following me into the kitchen, he threw his jacket on a chair, went into the cupboard for glasses and poured the wine. I noticed the easy actions and felt as if I was actually in something real.

"Smells awesome!" he exclaimed. "What can I do to help?"

"Can you cut up some mushrooms? There's a cutting board beside the knife block."

He shuffled behind me, putting his hand on the small of my back and kissing my neck before continuing down the counter and grabbing the necessary equipment. He set himself up across from me on the island and cleaned the mushrooms. I searched my mind for something to say that didn't reference my work day, because I didn't want him to think I was neurotic.

"Do you have any plans to try out something new soon?" I asked as I grated mozzarella cheese.

"I don't actually have any at the moment. Why, did you have something in mind?" He looked at me with a suggestive smile, as if I was about to ask him to do something kinky.

"No, I just like to hear your stories." I jammed the last little bits of cheese through the grater, being careful not to grate my finger in the process.

"I want to hear one of yours. What's the craziest thing you've ever done? I don't think you ever told me." Nathan was very carefully and slowly cutting the mushrooms into thin slices.

I thought for a moment. "When I lived in Banff, I decided to go for a hike on one of the smaller hills."

"I didn't know you lived there, did you like it?"

"I loved it, really. I went right after graduating from university; it was a little like hitting the pause button on adult decisions. The mountains are beautiful; the whole landscape seems to constantly be changing. I could just be walking home, and maybe that day there were a few more clouds in the sky and you'd just be hit again by how beautiful the whole place was. I even got to see aurora borealis a couple of nights."

Nathan gave me a look, which I believed meant he thought I was being endearing. "So, tell me the story."

"It was my day off and because all the working schedules are all over the place, none of my friends were off. I decided to go hiking by myself. I was totally unprepared. I was wearing sandals, and I didn't bring anything like water or a map or even a bag with me."

"So I'm guessing you weren't in Girl Guides as a kid?"

"I did Brownies for a year! Maybe it's not surprising that I lost the trail pretty early on. So I'm walking through heavy brush deep in the woods and every sound is freaking me out. After trying to find the trail for maybe a half an hour I decide I should just climb down and hopefully find a street and figure out where I am. I'm being totally torn up by the brush and my sandals got filled with muddy water and I just kept heading down until I finally hit a road. I turned, walking in what I hope is the direction back towards town, when I see this big bear crossing the road, maybe ten feet in front of me. It stopped, looked at me and I did nothing but stand there like an idiot. Then it ran back into the woods right where I had been caught up a minute before."

"Wow! That's insane!" Nathan chopped the last of the mushrooms. I handed over a bowl of red and orange bell peppers. "I haven't actually had much interaction with wild animals, except of course for the bird that flew into my head."

"You're kidding!" Moving over to the oven I checked the sausages. Golden brown and just about to burst, I took them out and placed them on the stove.

"No, check out the cool scar." He parted his hair on the side of his head and I could see a three-inch scar.

"How did that happen?" Grabbing the ball of dough that was resting in the fridge, I threw some flour on the counter and rolled the dough out.

"I really don't know. I was just walking down the street and a pigeon hit me. At first I was more surprised than hurt, and my vision doubled. He hit the ground and he looked a little jarred and wobbly, but he flew away. Meanwhile blood was gushing from the side of my head!" He shook his head as if to clear the memory of the double vision. "Please tell me you are going to whirl that dough around on your finger and throw it in the air."

Putting the dough on my fist I tried to spin it around, surprised how well it is actually started working. After a few spins but no throws, I put the dough back down.

"That's hot," Nathan said, impressed, and he kissed me.

We piled the toppings on the pizza dough and threw it in the oven.

"So are you ready to watch some giant animals fight each other in an epic battle?" Nathan asked, displaying the DVD.

I grinned. "Yes, yes I am."

Later, after Nathan had left, I stayed on the couch in my uncomfortably silent apartment. I searched my memory for something more exciting than a close-call hike but nothing came to mind. I felt as if I had been wasting time. I wanted to get out of my head and do something thrilling, but I couldn't think of a thing.

# Chapter 33

Natalie had forced me to wake up unreasonably early to help her pack up her apartment for her move to Fred's. I was wrapping up plates in packing paper in between yawns and sips of coffee. Natalie was in a closet down the hall, a closet that she had thrown things into for the last three years. She was trying to organize the toppling tower. Fred had gone out to get us breakfast.

"So, have you guys set a date yet?" I yelled down the hall.

"Actually, we have. I know it's insane but it's in two months, March 21st."

"Wow, that's fast." I was surprised by the speed everything was going. I folded the paper around another plate.

"I know, it's just that the off-season prices are so much lower and we are paying for it ourselves. Because as soon as someone else starts paying for it, they get decision-making entitlement and I really want it to be ours. I know I've bombarded you with all kinds of ideas over the last couple weeks, but I think I really just want something light, easy and fun. We are just having seventy-five people and we aren't going to have a wedding party. So the money you would have spent on a dress you can now spend on my present."

"I thought that packing was my present to you."

"Yeah. No!" We both giggled.

Fred came in with a bag of croissants and a tray of coffees. I eagerly grabbed breakfast, as Fred and Natalie began to talk about what they should keep, and where it would go in Fred's place. I zoned out as conversation moved to the big picture and words like mortgage, equity and renovation started coming out of their mouths. I focused on the deliciousness of my croissant, which was gone far too quickly. I felt like the kid at the adult table. With nothing to offer the conversation, I returned to packing plates.

As the day continued, I felt more and more like I didn't belong there. I hadn't said a word in the last half hour while Fred and Natalie continued to discuss the fate of the items she dredged from the mystery closet. I was continually caught off guard by how much it felt like I didn't know them.

Eventually the closet was cleaned out and we all started to pack away CDs, DVDs and books. And with that we were suddenly a group of friends again. Fred asked if I was going to the Willows show after finding the CD he had given to Natalie. Natalie started singing "I Still Love Technology" when she found Napoleon Dynamite. Fred and I both incessantly made fun of Natalie because of her entire Breaker High DVD collection, which we found hiding behind a collection of Take documentaries.

By evening Natalie's apartment was just a pile of boxes ready for the movers to take the next day. My body was worn out and in desperate need of a hot shower. Fred offered to drop me off on their way to his place, an offer I gladly accepted. It was twenty minutes to my place. Natalie started talking about the list of things that needed to be done tomorrow, and once again in the back seat I felt like a tag-along kid sister.

# Chapter 34

William had sent over a large stack of material. I started reading about research being done on sports riots psychology. Researchers were focusing on decoding the contributing factors of mob mayhem, with a goal of preventing outbreaks of violence.

"How's the reading going?"

I jumped with the unexpected greeting. William was behind my desk, a smile on his face. He once again wore a blue dress-down shirt tucked into dark blue, straight-cut jeans.

"Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you," he said with a soft chuckle.

"Just in my own world, reading everything you sent over."

"Fascinating stuff, isn't it?"

I nodded. He moved around my chair and leaned on my desk.

"I was just reading about a baseball riot at ten-cent beer night."

"Sounds interesting, tell me about it."

"The Cleveland Indians were hosting the Texas Rangers. This was in '74. The Rangers got an early lead and the Cleveland crowd, revved up on cheap beer, got unruly; a naked man streaked to second base, a woman flashed the crowd from the Indians' on-deck circle and a father-and-son duo ran into the outfield and mooned the crowd."

"Sounds like a few parties I've been too," William said with a small shake of his head. "So what happens next?"

"Another fan came onto the diamond and attempted to steal one of the Rangers' caps. Thinking that his player had been attacked, the Texas manager ran into the field with the rest of the team behind him, wielding bats."

"Who knew baseball could be this interesting! Go on."

"Then a lot of intoxicated fans, some armed with knives, chains and bits of the stadium they had broken apart, also came down. So the Rangers are fighting the fans, and then the Indians grabbed their bats to back up the Rangers. Any fans left in the stadium were throwing their folding chairs. The umpire finally forfeited the game to Texas, and the police riot squad arrived."

"What's the take-away?"

"Well, Cleveland didn't learn much. The Ten Cent Beer Night didn't promotion didn't end, but a four-beer limit was put in place. "

"Do you think we should make it?"

I must have looked a little bewildered.

"Do you relate? Do you spend your nights in full blue body paint, yelling at Leafs games?" William asked, adjusting his tactic.

"Actually, no," I said with a bit of a surprised laugh. "I do get a little competitive when I play Trivial Pursuit, but I don't paint my face like a multicoloured pie either."

"But can you put yourself in their position? Have you ever been in a caught up in mob mentality?"

I quickly shook my head and wondered where this conversation was going. Sarah had never really left her office and had always beckoned me to her. She also had never had a casual conversation with me. It was either an awkward attempt at an overly personal conversation or a list of what she needed from me.

"I have. I think that's why I was so drawn to the material. It was really the most ridiculous story. I was a teenager, like 14, 15. I grew up in a small town, and after my team won a hockey game there was some celebrating. The party was on a pumpkin farm and one of the kids threw a pumpkin against a tree. Suddenly there were a hundred kids all throwing pumpkins. My parents gave me such a talking to when they saw pumpkin remnants all over my clothes when I came home." William looked down, chuckling to himself. "The next day we were all strongly encouraged to go back to the farm and help clean up and it was amazing the amount of destruction we caused, not to mention the financial hit the farm would have taken, losing a chunk of crop like that. And thinking back to the night before, it almost seemed unreal to me. I hadn't felt like myself during it all and couldn't figure out what I had been thinking after."

I wished that I could come up with a response that made me sound clever or impressive.

"Anyway back to the Cleveland story, do you think we should make it?" William pushed.

"I'm really not sure," I said. I thought it could be a contender it was intense but pointless, however I couldn't think of how to articulate the argument.

"I'll let you finish reading, but I do really want to get your take when you're done."

"Okay," I said in anxiously.

# Chapter 35

Snakes and Lattes, the board-game café on Bloor Street West, was bustling with people, but Nathan and I had managed to find a small table in the back. It was a tight space. Occasionally I would be hit by a hair flick from the girl who sat behind me, and I was creeped out by the tickling sensation. Small tables, some of which were so tiny they couldn't support the entire board game being played on them, surrounded us.

We were currently playing Settlers of Catan, and he was winning. To be fair I had never played before and I wasn't really sure what was going on. I knew we were gathering different kinds of resources, like wood and wheat, to build settlements in a new land, but I was having trouble with the strategy. Nathan was building a long road, and he kept wanting to trade his sheep for my ore, which was really the only thing I had an abundance of.

"What were you up to this weekend?" Nathan asked as he moved cards into one pile and took a little red house from another pile.

"I helped Natalie pack up her stuff. She's moving in with Fred. They're getting married on March 21st, so she can really use all the help she can get," I replied, shuffling my chair away from the flinging hair, hitting the table with my knee and making the table shake. We both froze, but everything on the board remained intact.

"Oh, wow. That's a short engagement. So am I your plus one?" Nathan asked with a flirtatious grin.

I was taken aback by the question. I hadn't really expected him to want to come. A wedding date didn't really seem like a casual thing. I tried to hide how excited I was by his question.

"Sure. If you want to come that would be great."

"Great. Weddings are always fun, and it'll give you a chance to check out my dance moves." He shook the upper half of his body, flinging his arms from side to side to demonstrate his moves. I tittered.

"Also, I was wondering if you wanted to come ice climbing with me next weekend?" he asked, dropping his arms and straightening out the board, which had once again been jostled.

"Ice climbing? With, like, a pickaxe?"

"Yeah, you wear crampons and have axes and you climb up a frozen waterfall. My friend does it and he's taking a group of us. It should be really fun."

"What's a crampon?"

"They go on over your boots, well special boots. What's your size?"

"Seven and a half."

"Okay, great, my friend Richard knows a guy who runs a course and he can get the boots and the crampons. So the crampon fits almost around the underside of your boot, and there are metal spikes coming up the front and underneath so you can grip into the ice. So do you want to go?" He looked at me expectantly.

The idea made me nervous but I didn't want to be lame and say no, and after thinking forever about doing something adventurous, here was an opportunity. Plus, he was asking me to meet his friends, which seemed like a big deal.

"Sure," I finally replied with a forced smile.

"Awesome, you should bring those snow pants you wore when we went sledding, and a pair of gloves that have some grip, and if you have one, a ski jacket, something where you'll have a little more movability than your pea coat."

"Okay." I made a mental list.

He then threw down some cards and declared, "Ten victory points! And that means I win."

I mock-glared. "Just because you know how to play the game."

"Why don't you pick out the next one?" Nathan asked, clearing away the game pieces.

I went over to the wall of games. The cafe had over 2000 different games, organized based on type across four bookcases. I walked back and forth scanning titles I didn't recognize until I found a childhood favourite: Connect 4. I brought it back over to our table and Nathan chuckled.

I set up the yellow stand and handed Nathan a pile of red pieces, sorting out the black ones for me. I dropped the first piece in the yellow stand. A few moves later I won. I released the pieces in the stand and we chuckled with nostalgic glee as they tumbled out. I made Nathan play again, and it only took a few moves before I was in position to win again.

"We used to play this at our cottage growing up. I was the champion! I beat my brother, my sister, my father and my mother all the time, and now look at me suffering defeat," Nathan declared, teasing me.

"I'm sorry that my Connect 4 gameplay is so superior."

"Oh, you just have luck, my friend. But that luck is about to turn!" Nathan smiled and put in a red piece to block my four.

"Not quiet yet," I said, placing my black piece on top of his last drop and winning a diagonal four.

I took the last sip of my hot chocolate while Nathan packed up the game. It really lost its novelty after a few minutes. I was a little gamed out, so we bundled up and got ready to leave. Nathan looked through the change holder that was attached to his key ring and found a token for the subway as we headed out into another cold night.

"Can I ask you something?" His tone was suddenly serious. It put me on edge.

"Sure," I said, and for a moment wondered if this was going to turn into another relationship talk. My stomach flipped.

"Do you think it's weird that I have a change purse?" he asked, examining the change holder.

"Well it's not really a change purse, I mean it doesn't have a clutch or anything," I said, exhaling and giggling.

"Yeah, I guess," he answered, still sounding unsure.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

# Chapter 36

William stopped abruptly by my desk. He was wearing what now I considered to be his work uniform, another blue dress-down shirt, this time with an almost unnoticeable pinstripe, tucked into dark jeans.

"Do you have lunch plans?" he asked, tapping his finger on my desk.

"Not really, I brought some soup." I displayed my sad little can of condensed soup. William rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Okay, come on, I have a craving for pulled pork."

"All right." I picked up my coat and followed him out of the building, making polite small talk.

He took me to a small sandwich shop, which had only four tables and one long line. Although there was a decent-sized menu, there really was only one question, according to William: pulled pork or brisket? He had pulled pork and I had brisket. We had some luck with timing and managed to get the sandwiches just as a table was opening up.

"Can I ask for your opinion?" William asked, looking at me intently.

"Sure." I breathed in hard, not knowing where this was going, focusing on unwrapping my sandwich.

"Tell me, what don't you like about Take's work, or I guess if you don't want to bash any particular home project, what you don't like about documentaries in general."

I took a moment to decide how to answer, if there was a safe way that would be sure not to attack his kinds of projects. He was giving me a look that reminded me of my favourite teacher, Mr. Milligan of grade seven English, who always challenged the status quo and begged his students to do the same.

"I dislike all the 'this is where your food comes from' docs because I always leave feeling angry or disgusted but also completely helpless because I'm unable to do anything about it," I began, and he nodded encouragingly. "For example, I learned from one of our projects that even though it says 'free-run eggs,' that only means the chickens have access to outdoors. One company had just trained the chickens to be terrified to leave their coop, so what did it matter if the door was open? Now, as a consumer I still pay three dollars more to buy organic free-run eggs, and I feel like a sucker. But I spend the money anyway because I hope that the farm is decent, or that at least if the door was open that maybe the chicken was brave... Unless I actually get a pet chicken, though, how am I to know? "

William nodded and took another bite of his sandwich, his face now covered with barbeque sauce. The messy sandwich's structure couldn't be maintained and he had to put it down to wipe his face and rebuild.

"And there was another story about how some farmer's markets, or roadside fruit and vegetable stands, will buy their produce at a grocery store and resell it," I continued, my voice pitchy and angry.

"Don't you think those documentaries are important? That it's important consumer information, that people should know? You're angry, we should all be angry. We're being sold lies, and exposing the truth is the start of change."

"I don't disagree. I just prefer when I'm not just enraged, I'm also empowered. I like it when I feel I can actually do something."

"So which projects do you most relate to?" William continued, after swallowing another massive bite of pulled pork.

"I love projects where I discover a world I didn't even know exists. When incredibly passionate people tell their stories it's fascinating, and when there is a whole group of people who share that passion and create a sub-culture, that's just amazing. What's interesting is it doesn't matter what it is. I've seen docs about crossword puzzles, spelling bees, classic video games, LARPing, air guitar, knitting... and they are all captivating. "

William had finished his sandwich and crumpled up the wrapper in a ball. He took the last swig of his Coke. I stopped talking and attempted to continue gracefully eating my massive, delicious sandwich.

"My wife, Micah, directed a documentary recently on a barbeque competition. It was remarkable how passionate they were and what staggering processes they had come up with. They built their own grills, their own smoke houses, they raised their own beef, and each recipe was as closely guarded as the original Coke formula. I had just been happy to get so many ribs coming my way, but when I saw some of her shots, it was unreal. They really make works of spicy edible art. I'll have to lend it to you; I think you'll really like it." William sounded full of pride, and although he was usually warm and friendly, he was now beaming.

"Thanks, that does sound interesting," I said sincerely, touched that he would share his wife's work with me.

"I do want to make those kinds of films. Show how many unique worlds are just under our noses. But I also want to make documentaries that expose truth, that make us question and get us angry. I think it's important that we make people angry even if we don't have an answer, because hopefully someone smarter than us is watching and maybe they can figure it out." His voice had moved to a more serious tone and he was back to business.

# Chapter 37

#

I started the morning with coffee and oatmeal, then dressed in snow pants and a ski jacket I'd borrowed from Abby. Nathan and his friends were picking me up at 8:30. Everything about the day was making me nervous. I really wished something would come up, like a giant snowstorm, but when I looked out my window it was clear and sunny.

I heard a knock on my door and ran down the hallway to let Nathan in. He stood there looking boyish and excited. He scooped me up, kissed me hello and then impatiently bounced on his feet while I put on my boots. We ran down the stairs to the waiting car and Nathan's friends. Nathan opened the door and I hopped into the middle seat.

Nathan's old roommate Richard was the driver, and he was fast and focused on the highway. Dave, the co-pilot, was in charge of music, prefacing each song with a lecture on the band, who they were influenced by and their musical importance. On one side of me was Andy, who kept nodding off and waking up with a full body jolt, whacking my leg. Nathan put his arm around me and played with my hand, although his right leg continued to bounce. The combination of everything was not calming my nerves. I thought again about ways I could escape the day ahead without actually chickening out.

After an hour and a half we arrived. We quickly unloaded all of the equipment from the car and hiked into the park. I was happy to breathe in some fresh air and stand on firm ground. I looked into the sky— still clear, no sign of a freak storm—so I focused my attention on the woods. Maybe a passing bear would drive off this venture. The guys were all laughing and making in-jokes, and I tried to keep a mildly pleasant expression my already-freezing face.

I heard the waterfall before I saw it. I trudged along, following the stream into a grove, until I caught sight of what we would be climbing. It was beautiful. Half of the waterfall was now open with water rushing down to a small stream. The other half was frozen, which was what we would be going up. Richard and Andy had gone ice climbing several times before, and Dave had years of rock-climbing experience. All three went off to set up the lines while Nathan helped me get into my harness and crampons.

Once they we were all set up Richard patiently explained to me how to climb, and some safety rules. I really tried to focus on what Richard was saying but the words were not sinking in. I started to panic, willing that bear to make an appearance any time. Suddenly Richard hooked the line into my carabiner and tightened the knot in place. He tugged it up, the harness giving me a slight wedgie. He was standing so close I could feel the warmth of his breath on my nose as he made adjustments, too close to be able to make eye contact without it being awkward, so I looked behind him. I saw Andy on the ground belaying for Dave, who had just attacked the wall, quickly scaling the ice. Richard stepped back and gave me a big toothy smile. "You're all set."

I stood staring at the ice trying, to remember anything that Richard had instructed, when I heard something behind me. I turned to see Nathan hooking himself to my guideline so that he could belay for me. Richard handed me two axes and nudged me towards the wall of ice.

I looked up at the daunting wall, fighting every urge to run away. I threw one of the axes into the wall, pulled myself up, then kicked my crampons into the ice and hoped for the best as I put my weight onto it. I slowly continued, trying to find natural holes in the ice to put my axe into. I heard Dave cheer when he reached the top, and moments later he yelled "Go, Maggie!" as he rappelled back down.

About four feet off the ground the wall jutted in, and a column like a giant icicle went through to a small cave. I reached it but was only able to hug the column. I kept trying to go up and over it but ended up slipping off and slamming into the wall. I now heard Andy cheer as he reached the top of the waterfall. Frustration soon set in, my arms hurt, I was tired and after trying once more to get over the column and slamming back into the waterfall, I asked to come down.

Nathan carefully guided my descent. When I reached the bottom, he unhooked the carabiner from my harness and hugged me.

"You did so great," he whispered and brushed a stray hair from my face.

"Not really, I hardly got off the ground," I replied, discouraged.

"It's your first time, I'm sure by the end of the day, you'll be scaling the walls."

I watched as they all quickly climbed the waterfall, and then alternated lines. My feet were so cold they stung and my arms already ached, but I liked to watch Nathan as he climbed. He looked happy and athletic as he rappelled down after another successful climb.

"Are you ready to go again?" Richard asked in an energetic tone as he pulled in the line from Nathan's descent.

I hesitated for a moment. I wasn't as afraid as last time, just weary of more frustration and muscle ache. But I had seen everyone get to the top and wanted to get there too. "Sure," I finally said with some conviction.

I tried a new line. This time Richard belayed for me. Again I walked up to the wall and looked up. This time I tried to map out how I was going to go up. Once I thought I saw a path, I attacked the wall with my axe. This time I got up six feet before I got stuck, but Richard yelled up to me. "Maggie! Drive your right axe in just above you—there's a groove."

I followed his advice and kept moving up. Stupidly, for a moment I looked down and was terrified; I yelled "I think I'm ready to come down now," I yelled.

Nathan cheered me on. "Come on, Mags! You can get to the top. Just take a little break if you're tired, but don't give up just yet." Nathan's voice sounded so confident but all I felt was weariness.

I stayed put for a second, looking up at the sheet of ice above my head.

"Maggie, alternate shaking your arms out," Richard directed.

I shook my right arm out, but lost my grip and came off the wall and then slammed back in. I was hanging there for a moment, and I could hear Nathan and Richard both yelling up at me to keep on going. I looked up and saw the next move, and I threw my axe into ice. A few minutes passed and somehow, astonishingly, my hand reached out and grabbed the edge of the top.

I looked down at my achievement. Far below, Nathan was waving and cheering. I rappelled back down and the surge of adrenaline made me feel like I could do anything.

A few hours later we tore down the lines and piled back into the car. Richard continued to speed, but Dave put on mellow background music, and instead of musical lectures, we recapped the best and worst moments of the day. Andy's leg kept whacking into me again, but this time it was because when he laughed his whole body flew out. I was still beaming, flushed with pride.
  1. # Chapter 38

The next week, Nathan and I headed into Andy's Pool Hall. He held open the door and followed me, putting his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the bar to the back where Abby and Scott were waiting. Abby had begged and begged for a double date, "wanting to see my creation in action," she had said.

Andy's has a bit of a psychedelic feel, with lots of old, brightly coloured 60s- and 70s-style couches and orange and red lights. The setting didn't match the 90s music pouring from the speakers, Salt-n-Pepa's "Shoop" at odds with the decor. Scott was lining up a shot as we arrived, and Abby was facing the opposite direction, sitting on a bar stool looking through her purse. In jeans and a low-cut, clingy black top, she was more dressed up than usual especially for pool on a Wednesday. She'd straightened her auburn hair, and it looked glossy as it framed her freckled face.

"Good, you guys are here, we can finally start to play," Scott grumbled.

Abby looked up, her expression changing from obvious annoyance to relief. She came over and gave me a hug. "Scott's a little grumpy," Abby whispered in my ear. She released me from her embrace and moved on to hug Nathan. Scott stayed by the table, racking up the balls.

"Hi Scott," I said cheerfully. "This is Nathan." Scott looked up and briefly smiled as he moved the balls into the correct position in the triangle.

"I think I'll get us some drinks," Nathan suggested. "Should I just grab a pitcher? Steamwhistle?"

I nodded in agreement, Abby said "yeah" and Scott grunted, which we took to mean "yes."

"I'm just going to run to the bathroom," I said. Scott rolled his eyes, which caught me off guard, and Abby sprinted behind me, following me to the washroom.

"What is going on with you guys?" I asked as soon as the door swung closed behind us.

"You guys are a little late, and we got the table, and he wants to play and he's pissed that we wasted some the rental time waiting for you guys."

I looked at my phone for the time; it was 8 minutes past when we agreed to meet. "We were only a few minutes late!"

"I know," she winced. "But we were here a little early and we got the table right at 7:30. I'm sorry. He'll get better when we start to play."

"Okay," I said, feeling concern for Abigail's relationship. "I actually did have to pee." I walked into the stall, and Abby hurried back to the pool table.

When I rejoined them, Nathan had poured four glasses; Scott had already taken the break and was on his third shot. Nathan handed me a drink and wrapped his arm around my waist as Scott carefully calculated where to strike to get the 3-ball into the right corner pocket. It looked good, but he used too much force and hit the side of the pocket, causing the cue ball to bounce right back to him. Normally I'd tease him, but Scott's mood was so off tonight. Nathan nudged me forward, handing me the cue stick that had been leaning on the table.

"I hope you play pool better than you play board games," Nathan said with a friendly chuckle. "We went to that Snakes and Lattes last week," Nathan continued, trying to engage Scott. "She's a horrible loser, which is bad 'cause she never wins." I cleared my throat and gave Nathan a look. "Okay, she did beat me at Connect 4, but other than that!"

Abby and I laughed but Scott turned away.

I looked for an easy striped ball to hit. The 10-ball was lined up perfectly with the left side pocket. I lined up my shot and hit the cue ball, which made a lovely clinking sound as it whacked the 10 and sent it right where I wanted to go. Abby and Nathan make complimentary comments and sound very impressed. I gave Nathan a smug, satisfied look which dissipated when my next attempt just sent the 9 -all flying all over the table, but going nowhere near any pocket. I returned to my spot by Nathan. He gave me a warm smile and kiss, and in a low voice he said, "Nicely done."

It was Abigail's turn. "What you want to do, babe, is shoot straight, have a loose but firm grasp on the cue," Scott advised.

Abby just glared at him. She took a shot, missed, and Scott huffed. Nathan took the cue and took down four stripped balls, one after the other. He looked handsome, with a cool casual confidence, and as he moved around the table looking for his move, his walk became a swagger. He sunk the 11-ball but the cue ball followed it into the pocket.

Scott's scowl turned into an ugly grin as he took his shot, and he bitterly cursed under his breath when he missed. He went back to the table and chugged down the last of the beer.

"I'm going to get another drink," Scott announced.

I looked over at the empty pitcher and thought it was a little odd he hadn't offered to get the next round. Scott quickly returned with a pint.

"I would have liked a drink," Abigail muttered.

"The bar is right there," Scott said flatly, waving his finger in that direction.

"I don't have any money," Abby said through gritted teeth, "as you should know."

"That's not my fault," Scott replied, clearly tired of having this argument. "Can we just finish the game?"

Although it was my turn I motioned for Nathan to play, hoping he could quickly knock down the rest of the balls. He managed to sink two, but the 8 ball banked unexpectedly. It should have been Abigail's turn, but Scott snatched the cue from her and cleared up the remaining balls. He looked satisfied, as if now that he'd won we could all be happy. Nathan and I exchanged uneasy glances as Scott started to rack them up again.

Abby put on her jacket. "I think it's time to go now." She looked at us apologetically. "Great to see you, Nathan. I'll call you, Maggie."

Scott grunted, grabbed his jacket and followed Abigail out of the bar.

"How 'bout I buy you a drink , there's a great spot down the street." I offered, hoping to salvage the night.

"Let's just head back to my place. This night has really worn me out," Nathan said with a yawn.
  2. # Chapter 39

All week long I had tried to call Abby, and I'd sent text messages, and an email, but she hadn't responded since the abrupt end to our double date. I worked on another text, seeing the line of previous messages I'd sent.

Hiya, just wanted to check in, how are you doing?

My phone vibrated almost immediately: Abby was finally returning my calls.

"Hey, how are you? I've been trying to reach you, everything all right?" I asked, concerned.

"Sorry, I was just embarrassed about Scott. He was being such a jerk," Abby replied quietly, her tired voice trailing off into a sigh.

"It's all right, everyone has their off nights. Are you guys okay?"

"I don't know. We're just getting on each other's nerves. Things will be better when I get a job. I'll be out of the house more, have more money to go out," Abby said confidently, putting all her faith in everything being fixed by one piece falling into place.

"Is there anything new on the job front?"

"I've actually had a couple interviews this week, but I don't think anything will be coming from any of them."

"I'm sure it's better than you think. What happened?"

"Well the first one, which I don't actually want, is one of those ones where you stand out in the cold collecting donations."

I sighed sympathetically.

"I know. I just saw it more as a way to get some interview practice in. Anyway their office was in the middle of Mississauga, and it takes me 3 buses and 2 subways and an hour and half to get there."

"I would have gotten so lost." Anywhere not in the downtown core was difficult for me to navigate.

"The interviewer, Paul, is this very round man, with a lot of body hair and several gold chains. His office reeks like old cigarette smoke, and just walking in, I know the whole thing is pointless. Still, I answer a couple questions, and he compliments me on being pretty and charming."

I made a face. "Professional."

"The very essence of. Anyway, then his questions change from my experience to trying to get an ethical gauge on me."

"Well, I guess if you are collecting money, they want to make sure you won't steal it."

"It was actually the opposite! It was one of those scams where you collect donations for a fake charity," Abby responded, sounding indignant.

"Oh my God. How did you find that out?" I gasped.

"Well to be honest, I knew I didn't want the job, so I didn't really prep for it, and I didn't do a lot of research. Anyway he started to discuss how they do business, and it just wasn't adding up, he kept repeating phrases like, 'our mission is to redistribute funds where needed, 'we are all someone's child,' 'everyone sometimes needs help.' And he just smirked at everything. I just got the feeling it was off."

"So what did you do?"

"I asked straight out if he was taking the money for himself," Abby said. "He came back with, 'Operations does take a cut.' Which, I mean, any organization needs money to function, but he said it with this smarmy smirk, I just knew what he was up to. I told him this obviously wasn't the place for me, and I left. I got home, did some research and saw a few posts online about how it was a scam, so I called the Anti-Fraud Centre. We'll see what comes from it. "

"Okay, so you've made a decision not to become a swindler, a grifter, a bamboozler, a—"

Abby cut me off. "Can you stop talking in a 1920s radio announcer voice?" she asked with a laugh, clearly wanting to stay on topic.

"Okay, so you don't want to take money away from starving children, how did the other interviews go?"

"One I think I mentioned to you, it was a recruiter, and they wanted to test my computer skills, but seriously they had a fifteen-year-old computer. The system gave you a certain number of points for each task and deducted for every wrong move. But it was slow, and would freeze, so I ended up failing how to open and save a document! I tried to explain to them, but I guess it came out sounding defensive, like I really didn't know what I was doing."

"So you won't be hearing back from them with any job that requires opening up a Word document."

"Pretty much," Abigail groaned.

"Things will work out, Abby!" I consoled, wishing there was something more I could do.
  3. # Chapter 40

The back of Nathan's hand touched my knee as he played with the bottom button of my indigo cardigan. I looked at Nathan and wondered about our "casual" status and my plan to just avoid possible discussion. Avoiding the dentist did lead to cavities and root canals, so perhaps this wasn't my best strategy. I was formulating how I would approach the subject when he interrupted my train of thought.

"How was your day?" Nathan was looking at me. It took a moment to figure out what he had just asked and focus back on the current conversation.

"It was good, was reading about the Richard Riot today."

"I don't think I've heard about that."

"Well, you know Maurice 'Rocket' Richard?"

Nathan nodded. "The hockey player, right? I've seen the Canadian Heritage moment."

I laughed, knowing that Nathan was not really a sports guy. "Okay, so basically Richard was suspended after hitting a linesman. But some people thought that the suspension was too long, and claimed that he was being treated unfairly because he was French Canadian. Anyway, a few days later the Canadiens played their first game without him. The NHL President, Campbell, the man who had suspended Richard, decided he was going to be there."

Nathan nodded, twirling the button in his hands.

"When the crowd sees him, they boo and throw things at him. One fan pretended he was offering his hand to shake, but instead he slapped Campbell. A tear gas bomb goes off and the Forum is evacuated. But there had actually been a large group already causing problems right outside, so the angry fans just join up with the group. And they smash windows, start fires, overturn cars, you know, all the usual riot stuff. The Montreal mayor actually wanted Campbell arrested for inciting a riot."

"That's crazy!"

It was quiet for a moment. Nathan looked far off until the button that he had been playing with twisted off in his hand.

"I'm sorry, wasn't paying attention to what I was doing."

"It's okay, it's a quick fix." I took the button from him and put it on the coffee table in front of us. I tried to think of something more entertaining to say. I immediately decided I could hold off the talk for another day, but I wanted to break out of this sudden awkward silence and back into our usual light banter.

"So yesterday I was having breakfast, waiting for a streetcar. I was drinking milk with my peanut butter English muffin and this guy passes me and he stops, looks me up and down and says 'Milk. Does a Body Good.'" I laughed.

Nathan smiled. " I gotta use that one."

I was disappointed that my anecdote didn't garner more of a conversation about crazy people, or bad pick-up lines, or creepy men.

"Oh, I have joke!" I exclaimed. "If big-breasted women work at Hooters, where would a one-legged woman work?"

"I don't know."

"IHOP!"

Nathan smiled but didn't even chuckle. Maybe I should really stop trying to tell jokes, or at least that joke. I was tired of trying to engage him, and his distance was putting me on edge.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" I asked.

"Sure."

I pointed at the shelf behind him. He glanced through, settling on Hard Boiled. I put it on and sat back on the couch. I was disappointed by my inability to draw Nathan out, and I wasn't sure why he was being so distant. I grabbed his hand and moved his arm around me, trying to once again find the comfortable nook, but instead my head almost slid down his stiff frame. I moved back to my side of the couch, curling my feet under me. I didn't watch the movie as much as mentally obsess over Nathan's obvious oddness tonight.
  4. # Chapter 41

"I need a drink! I need a very strong drink." Abby had interrupted my attempt to bake elephant ears the next Saturday afternoon. My hands were still covered with flour and I had answered my phone with my knuckle.

"Hold on a sec." I ran to the sink and worked at washing away the dough that clung to my hands.

"Sorry, was baking, what's up?"

"I need a drink!" Abby yelled into my ear.

"What happened?"

"Okay, so remember how I said I was going to look for a volunteer opportunity? Well, I found something, at the Environmental Sciences Institute. I was even going to be paid twenty dollars for helping out on a study. So I thought great, maybe I'll actually have some money to go out to a movie plus I get some volunteer experience."

"Sounds great. What happened?"

"Well, the posting just said that I would be helping out on an environmental survey. I thought I was going to go in and fill out a survey about how much I recycle."

"What were you doing?"

"They needed help taking a survey of a week's worth of the Institute's garbage! They brought bags and bags of it out, and we were asked to sort it into piles of paper, organic waste, plastics and unknown. And to make it worse because I'm an idiot and actually thought that maybe this could be good opportunity for networking or something, I wasn't wearing clothes that were okay to get soaked in garbage water. So yes, I got the twenty whole dollars but ruined my boots, my jeans, my jacket, my gloves and even my freakin' socks."

The image of Abby dressed to impress, sorting banana peels away from paper just struck me as hilarious. Trying to hold back laughter, I could feel my upper lip quivering, and my eyes begin to water.

"It's not funny!" she wailed.

"I wasn't laughing!" I lied.

"You were laughing that 'silent' laugh you have. You haven't heard the worst of it. We were outside and it was freezing. I've never been so miserable! And then it happened. Someone threw a huge load on the organic pile and it splashed forward and I got a face full of garbage water. It went in my eye!"

I couldn't keep the laughter down anymore.

"I had go to a clinic because I couldn't open my eye. I was sitting there beside some teenaged girl and her friend talking about how she's sure she couldn't be pregnant because 'he pulled out, right?' And they are both looking at me like I'm some garbage-smelling loser."

"What did the doctor say? Do you have to wear an eye patch?"

"No, it's fine, it just needed to be cleaned out."

I gained my composure and stopped giggling. "I'm sorry, Abby! I really am. Have you showered?"

"Yes, I've showered and I've thrown away all my garbage-stained clothes."

"Okay. I can't go out 'cause I'm working on these elephant ears, and you have to roll them and fold them every half an hour, but I have a bottle of white wine in my fridge, so come over and have your drink, you deserve it."

"Okay," Abby said with a sad whimper. "I'm on my way."
  5. # Chapter 42

As soon as I saw Nathan's text, I knew it was over. It simply read, "Hey are you around tonight, can I come over?" My stomach flipped and I felt ill with dread. I quickly called Abby.

"So it's over with Nathan," I said, betraying no emotion.

"What do you mean, when did that happen?" Abby sounded surprised, and for a brief moment I found her shock comforting.

"Well it hasn't yet, but he sent a text asking to come over tonight."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you're insane."

"No, I just know it."

"Well I know Nathan. I'm sure he just wants to see you. You're being a crazy person, hon. Just breathe, relax and don't freak out until there is something to actually freak out about."

I knew I was sounding ridiculous but I also knew I was right, so I said goodbye to Abby and sat pensively. I remembered how it had been with Connor, how unprepared and confused I was. And so I decided that this time I would play it cool. I would just say, "Okay, thanks, it's been fun." I said the words over and over in my head.

Nathan would be over in an hour. I jumped in the shower and tried to relax, but there was still a pit in my stomach. I thought about calling him and saying, "I know what you're about to do, and that's fine, so there's no need to come over," but I knew that really would make me sound crazy, because nothing had actually happened to make what was about to happen apparent. I decided that instead I would work at looking as good as possible, for the inevitable.

I didn't want to, but when I heard the knock, I opened the door. He stood in my doorway looking serious and I knew that I was right, not crazy. He followed me down the hallway and sat on my couch.

"I was hoping that we could talk," he said solemnly.

"Okay." I tried to sound steady and look confident. I wanted to run but that would be weird, and then a thought hit me: maybe he wants to talk to me because he wants more than casual. Maybe I'll be laughing at my overreaction, like when I thought I was going to get fired and it had been all my own creation.

"All right. Well, I just think we are at a point where a decision has to be made. And the thing is, you're awesome. But as I said, I don't want to be in a serious relationship, and I think if we continue, we'll end up in something. I mean you're really awesome, too awesome, and yeah. That's what I think."

So this time it wasn't all in my head. There was a long pause and I took it as my cue. "Okay, thanks, it's been fun."

He blinked. Clearly he hadn't been expecting any sort of agreement. "Really, Maggie, you're great, you're sweet and funny and I like you, but you know I just don't feel that there is something here, and I don't want it to become something because we continue to go on, because you're awesome to be with."

"Yeah, okay, thanks, it's been fun." I hadn't planned anything beyond those words so I just said them again, and remained silent, ignoring the way the rejection made my throat constrict painfully as I swallowed down the urge to cry.

"And I'm sorry that I won't be able to be your date for Natalie's wedding next week. Let her know I'm really sorry for any inconvenience."

I stared at my hands, which were playing with a bobby pin, bending the metal out of shape. I felt his eyes on me and hated feeling so exposed.

"Well I guess I should go."

"Okay."

I walked him back to the door. He leaned down and hugged me. I hated how good he still smelled. He said goodbye in a somber, almost cracking voice, and left. I closed the door, and the tears that I had been holding back spilled out in an ugly sob. I crawled into bed and texted Abby that I was right, and she called a moment later.

"What happened?" she asked, now sounding frustrated and angry on my behalf.

"Same old, I'm just too awesome, apparently, but he doesn't feel 'that' way."

"Well he's an idiot. I'm sorry. I feel horrible, I'm the one who put you guys together."

"It's not your fault, it's mine. Do you think that maybe I wasn't born with the spark that most people were born with? Like maybe it's a genetic deficiency or a way that evolution is controlling the planet's population? Like make it so men don't want long-term relationships with me, so I can't procreate?"

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Can we not over-dramatize this?"

"But really? There has be something I'm missing. Some reason I'm like damp wood."

"What?"

"You know, 'cause you can't start a fire with damp wood. No sparks."

"You're not a piece of wood, damp or otherwise, and you're not a genetic mutation, you're just a girl who hasn't been in the right situation with the right guy. It'll happen."

"I think I'm going to bed."

"Okay, g'night, love. I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

I hung up the phone, rolled over and cried for every rejection ever directed at me. My pillowcase was moist and my eyes were red and dry by the time I actually fell asleep.
  6. # Chapter 43

I woke up feeling worn out. My head pounded and my eyes were red and puffy. I knew it wasn't just Nathan, it was the long line of constant rejection, and the serious concern that no one would ever feel something for me, ever. Unfortunately I wasn't able to wallow in my bed and ignore the world because it was Natalie's bachelorette party that night. We were going to an art studio where we would be sketching a male nude, with an art teacher on hand to give us tips, and we were all told to bring her a piece of lingerie as a gift. Afterwards, we would be hitting up a few bars to dance the night away.

So instead of staying in bed and watching a marathon of Doctor Who, I had to venture out to an erotic boutique and pick my friend up her sex wear. I traveled down to Queen Street West to the only store I really could think of to get such things. I had walked by the store before, which had models displaying bustiers in the window and waving to passers by.

Today I wandered in and started looking at the various outfits. I stared at the rack and felt creepy as I mused if Natalie would like to be a naughty nurse or a sexy maid.

The sound of someone's catcalling whistle interrupted my thoughts, but I chose to ignore it. But then I heard "Hey beautiful," and another wolf whistle. I was in no mood to deal with some creep hitting on me in a sex shop and so turned around and to tell him to get lost, but found only a parrot in a cage in the middle of the store. He had clearly been trained to say pick-up lines to the customers. I walked over and it said, "How's it going, baby." I laughed and went back to shopping. I finally settled on a candy bikini, because it was sure to fit and have some novelty value.

Later, I walked into the big open space of the art studio. Everything was white or concrete grey. Easels were set up in a semi-circle around a barstool, and to the side a table with goblets and bottles of red and white wine had been arranged. To the right of the table a small group of women were gathered. I saw Natalie, looking blissful, elegant in a simple turquoise, strapless dress. I ran over and gave her a real hug, and her present.

I had seen most of the women at various events but only really knew Natalie, who was attending to everyone. So there was little I could do to escape when I saw Claire come in. After a quick hello to Natalie, she came over to talk to me.

"Hi, Maggie! How are you?" Clair asked in her chipper voice.

"I'm good, thanks. How are you?"

"Really good, the wedding plans are really coming along...." I stopped paying attention as she went into the details of the wedding I wasn't attending and did not care about. More than ever I was enraged that she had found someone to love her while I was deemed awesome and yet undesirable. I came back into the conversation when she asked about Nathan.

"How are things going with that guy you were at Trivia with?" Her voice had lowered to a gossipy whisper.

"Oh that ended, last night actually," I responded flatly.

"Oh no! I'm sorry. Don't worry, I'm sure one day you'll find the guy for you."

"Yeah, sure." My tone was a little more defeatist than how I wanted to sound. But I was saved from any further conversation as the art teacher brought the room to order.

We all sat down at an easel and the male model came in and disrobed, revealing a lean, toned body. I heard my self gasp as I noticed his abs, which I was actually tempted to wash laundry on. He positioned himself in an artistic manner on the stool.

The art teacher attempted to go over a few tips on where to start and what to look out for, but had to wait a few minutes while the girls tittered and whistled. She stood patiently, smiling tolerantly, until we settled down. She went through her spiel quickly, and then let us attempt to sketch. My attempts at drawing were horrific. Nothing was symmetrical. I thought of Steve, my belly-shirted date in Banff, and his art portfolio, and I laughed, thinking of the lopsided breasts. I now realized it was really hard to get things even. My first attempt had one large arm with a small hand and one small arm with a large hand. I couldn't stop giggling. The teacher came over with bits of advice, but my total lack of talent could not be helped. He looked like blob of a person: everything was disproportionate and his penis was what someone in junior high would draw on a photo of a hated teacher in their yearbook.

When we were done drawing and the very understanding model had exited, everyone went through their sketches and gave the best ones to Natalie. Then she opened all of our presents. Each time she opened one of the boxes, she displayed the naughty contents, and the small group yelled and whistled. Natalie opened mine last.

"I hope you like it, I got hit on by a parrot to get it!" I said with a light laugh.

"What?" Natalie looked perplexed.

"That shop on Queen West has a parrot that hits on customers," I said brightly.

"Well, see, that should give you hope." Claire's voice silenced the group, who had been politely laughing at my story. I shot her a questioning look.

"You just sounded so unsure before about whether you'll find someone, but a parrot hitting on you, that should give you some hope, right?"

I could feel everyone else's eyes dart between her and me.

"What? I'm just saying something found you attractive, so that should make you feel good," Claire said defensively, but the crowd kept quiet. I was too gobsmacked to speak.

Natalie finally broke the tension. "I think I'm ready to go dancing now. Thanks, Mags, really its great. I'm sure Fred will be a fan."
  7. # Chapter 44

"Hi, sweetie." My mom's voice rang out of my phone. She had called just moments after I had left work. The spring air was cool and warm all at once.

"Hi, how are you?"

"Oh, great, I have news. I'm coming to Toronto tonight!"

"Tonight?" I yelped.

"Yes! Actually, when I say 'coming to,' I mean I'm at the Toronto airport as we speak. You don't have to worry, I can get myself to your place, but are you free tonight? I'd really like to take you out for dinner."

"What?" I asked, completely confused.

"Well, I was on my way back to Italy, but decided to do a little stopover, I'll just be here tonight, my flight to Rome is tomorrow morning at 9. So we can go out for dinner and then have a sleepover! You can tell me how you and Nathan are doing, or better yet, would Nathan be able to come out to dinner?"

"Actually, I'm no longer dating Nathan." Only a few days had passed and it still stung to say it out loud.

"Oh really? What happened?"

I didn't want to get into the details; I couldn't let her know that she might have raised an unlovable genetic mutation. "Things just didn't work out."

"That's too bad, I was really looking forward to meeting him after hearing so much about him at Christmas. But what do I always tell you, you don't need a man to be happy, you just need you."

My eyes welled up and my throat ached. She was silent, and I realized that she was waiting for my answer.

"I'm just leaving work now. I'll be home in thirty minutes."

"Perfect! I'm just getting in a cab now. I'll come to your place, drop my things off, and then we can go out for dinner."

I quickened my pace, making sure that I arrived before she did. I looked around the apartment to see if everything in view was mom-appropriate. Everything seemed in place when she knocked. I opened the door and saw more traces of Rocco's influence. She wore large sunglasses with rhinestones on the side and a scarf, which matched the colours from the bracelet I had seen her wearing when I was last home. She came in and hugged me.

I was still stunned that she was in Toronto, and her hug hit me unexpectedly. She acted as though she just lived down the street and was dropping by for a coffee.

"Don't you look nice, is this dress new?" she asked. I looked down at the grey and violet dress, which I had owned for several years and she had seen me wear a thousand times. I shook my head.

"Well, you look lovely, dear. Are you ready to get some dinner?"

Something was off about how she was speaking. I had felt this strangeness before, like a talk was coming. Something about her tone was very reminiscent of the time she'd sat me down and told me that she would be moving out of the house and taking some time for herself. I considered possible options. She could be marrying Rocco, she could be dying, she could be getting back together with my dad. All of the options concerned me. I looked at the smile that was glued to her face and briefly considered confronting my suspicion, but instead I said, "Yes, all set."

I was uncomfortable all the way to the restaurant. I didn't want to talk about the weather or what I thought of the new way she was trying out her hair. I wanted to know why her voice was high and strained, and why she was here, in Toronto, without any warning. It wasn't until we had actually received our food that she began to talk about what was happening.

"I was hoping that we would have a chance to chat. I really wanted to do this in person, and this may still seem a little sudden to you. I'm on my way to Italy tomorrow and Rocco and I will be apartment hunting. I am subletting my apartment in Halifax. You have the key to the cottage; so, if you want to go during the summer, feel free."

"Oh wow," I said, flabbergasted.

"It's not for sure a permanent thing, but I really enjoyed myself in Italy. I was more myself there than I'd been here in a long time." She laughed softly. "I still love Halifax, but I find it hard to move on, I'm always seeing reminders of how my life used to be. I honestly really don't like the new owners of the bakeries; they put sun-dried tomatoes in everything."

We looked at one another, dismayed at any use of sun-dried tomatoes.

She continued. "I pass by and see the number of people in line dwindling and it bothers me. Driving by our old house isn't easy either. I was with your dad for most of my life. I'm still adjusting and I think this is an opportunity to really grow."

A pang of jealousy hit me. Shouldn't the daughter in her twenties be following her boyfriend to Europe, not the mother in her sixties? It just felt rude that some people were getting second and third helpings, while I couldn't even get a seat in the love restaurant. She was waiting anxiously for my response, and I knew that anything other than excitement would let her down.

"That's great, Mom! It'll be nice to have a place to visit in Italy, I can't wait to come and see you there."

She smiled and relaxed back into her chair.

"Thanks, sweetie. I would have only felt comfortable making this decision knowing that you approve of our relationship. And there will always be a place for you there. I'll obviously be coming back, and we of course can email and Skype all the time."

Although I knew that this would not really be changing my day-to-day life, still I suddenly felt very alone. I twirled my pasta around my fork, watching the noodles spool around the spoon. She started to talk about all of her plans for Italy. I listened and politely smiled, trying to think of something I was looking forward to, some trip, or concert, or adventure, but came up with nothing in my own life that was exciting. I wanted to escape, but there was nothing to escape to. She would be spending the night.

Much later she was asleep in my bed and I was lying uncomfortably on the air mattress. The mattress hissed and shifted. I desperately tried to find a satisfying position, but eventually I just laid flat on my back and silently cried.
  8. # Chapter 45

I sat alone in one of the church pews and played with the ends of my scarf, which was on top of my coat beside me. I noticed that a piece of fluff had transferred to my newly purchased dress, a dark purple number with a sweetheart neckline and a black belt. I picked the lint off and then looked up as more people entered the church. I smiled at some of the girls who I recognized from the bachelorette party. They came over with their dates and filled up the pew.

We chatted for a few minutes about the party the week before and how lovely the church was, but quickly ran out of things to say. I sat feeling fidgety and uncomfortable in the pew. I saw Fred come through a side door and stand by the priest at the altar. The music began and Natalie came through the back doors. She was glowing, stunning in her princess-like wedding dress, her long hair swept back and done up. Everyone stood up as she walked on her father's arm down the aisle.

It felt almost unreal watching Natalie in a wedding dress, smiling at Fred, who beamed back at her. I felt a pang of jealousy and I was embarrassed at the cliché I was, feeling lonely at a friend's wedding.

Fred started to cry as he said his vows, which made Natalie cry, which made the girls in my pew all sigh. I wondered if all this was in the cards for me. Everyone scoffs when you suggest that you may end up alone, like that reality doesn't exist for millions of people. And it doesn't seem to matter what kind of person you are. I know several horrible, unattractive people who are happy and in long-term committed relationships, a thought that was confirmed as I spotted Claire sitting with her fiancé on the other side of the aisle, a few pews ahead.

The time came to kiss the bride. Fred and Natalie kept it family friendly, but still sweet. They turned around to face the congregation, radiating happiness. Natalie's smile had become so intense it turned into a laugh. Fred took her hand and they quickly walked down the aisle. Everyone stood, clapping, hooting, hollering and whistling.

The reception wasn't for a couple of hours, and I decided to walk over. It was grey out. White snow was becoming pure slush, and giant puddles curved around street corners, it required constant concentration to avoid walking without filling my shoes with gutter water.

I wished that Nathan had ended things a couple weeks later or that I was friends with someone else at the wedding. Going alone just left me with too much time to think. I wanted to be happy, light and fun. But instead I was sure that I would feel more out of place when I hung out with the newly married couple.

I knew I couldn't be jealous and bitter at the reception and so forced myself to cheer up. A very long, very foul-mouthed mental pep talk ensued.

"Come on, Maggie, two of your friends are getting married! This is exciting, stop fucking sulking. You're single! Being single is fucking awesome, no bullshit, total freedom, freedom for fun and adventure. So stop being a pathetic cliché and go to this wedding and dance your frigid ass off!"

I caught myself as I realized my face was making expressions to match my internal rant and I looked like a crazy person. But by the time I arrived at the reception I was ready.
  9. # Chapter 46

I woke up the next morning very early. My body likes me to feel every moment of a hangover. My theory is that it does this so I can know exactly what I did to it. It was only 5 a.m., so I had two and a half hours before I had to get up and go to work. Cursing Natalie for having her wedding on a Sunday, I stumbled to the kitchen, got a glass of cold milk, put on Finding Nemo and finally landed on the couch. I think the best thing to watch when hungover is a kids' movie. There will be no reference to anything you might have done the night before and you can zone in and out of it and still know what is going on.

My stomach was making odd noises. I thought about calling in sick, but of course everyone at work knew that Natalie and Fred had gotten married yesterday. Plus sick days always stress me out. I think that if I'm not there to protect my image it will be clear that I am a big fraud who doesn't know what she is doing. I went over the preceding night's events, trying to determine if I had been an asshole at any point and if there were any apologies that needed to be made. I couldn't remember the last time I had actually ever been drunk. I usually just have a drink or two, but last night there were all the toasts for the couple, and all the shots that seemed to just appear.

I went over the whole night but couldn't think of any inappropriate behaviour. My mind had turned to the idea of eating a couple of slices of toast to settle my stomach when I remembered how Claire had come up to me and apologized for what she had said at the bachelorette party. She said she hadn't realized that she might have embarrassed me until Natalie had told her later. Usually I would have just smiled, told her it wasn't an issue and returned to silently abhorring her. But this time I decided to say something.

"Claire, my love life really is not up for your discussion. It was inappropriate for you to take the spotlight off of Natalie and make the entire party feel awkward."

She had look deflated but before she could say anything else, I excused myself and, seeing Natalie's parents, went over to offer my congratulations.

Now curled up on my couch wishing I couldn't feel my brain contract, I was at least happy about how I handled Claire. I hadn't been bitchy or snarky, but I had said something. I thought I sounded together and strong. I was rather impressed with myself. The rest of the night I had been dancing with the girls from the bachelorette party. The night had been really fun. Fred and Natalie looked so happy, it was infectious. I couldn't have stayed bitter even if I had wanted to.

Later, at my desk, I was struggling to read but the words of a report but they wouldn't come into focus. My body wanted a big greasy breakfast, but the effort to get up and get it was too much. I wanted someone to deliver hash browns to me but instead Melissa came over to my desk.

"So how was it?" Melissa sounded bitter.

"It was great. A really beautiful ceremony and a fun reception," I rasped, hoping she would match my very quiet volume.

"How was her dress?" Her snark remained loud.

"It was lovely."

Melissa was clearly hoping for more details, but I wasn't in a mood to provide her with any. Plus I was sure anything I said was going to come back with veiled contempt for Natalie.

"I still can't believe I wasn't invited."

"Melissa. You've bashed their relationship since they got together and you've hit on Fred on numerous occasions."

"I didn't hit on him, I can't help it if he's attracted to me."

I felt like shaking her out of her alternative reality.

"They're a great couple and my friends, and I'm really tired of hearing your attempts to undermine their relationship."

As if the words just floated over her head she came right back at me with another wedding question.

"Did you meet anyone cute at the wedding?"

"I really have to get back to work," I said with a sigh. I resumed attempting to finish the one sentence I had been at all morning, while really thinking about hash browns.

Melissa shrugged and retreated from my desk. I could almost taste the salty, greasy potatoes, and was just about to give into the craving and put on my jacket when Alan arrived at my desk.

"Last night was Natalie's wedding, right?" Alan said, the words slithering out of his smirk.

I nodded and avoided eye contact.

"Strange I didn't get an invite. After all, we work in the same department."

"It was very lovely, small and intimate. It was just for close friends and family," I said matter-of-factly.

"Must be hard seeing such a close friend get married while you're still single. If you ever need to talk about it, I'd be happy to go out for a drink."

"Would we be talking about what your wedding was like?"

He froze. "Well.........Uh...........Umm."

"Yeah, 'umm,'" I snapped. "I'm trying to work and you're making that difficult by hanging around being the inappropriate married guy who makes me feel more uncomfortable with every come on."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize...."

He started to walk away and I silenced the voice telling me to stop him and apologize for making things awkward. Instead I put on my jacket, went out to get eggs over easy, sausage, toast and a lot of hash browns.

The day crawled by, and on my walk home I found myself yawning uncontrollably. As soon as got home I flopped back down on the couch. I sighed as my body sunk in and relaxed. I thought of what to have for dinner. Everything seemed like too much effort. I managed to stand up again and grab a Diet Coke from the fridge and a bag of chips from the cupboard, and quickly returned to my position.

I wanted to do nothing, but nothing was too quiet, making me too aware of my thoughts. I pushed back the urge to call Nathan, the stab of the loneliness I felt last night rushed back. I shuffled through the bag of salt-and-vinegar chips, scooting out the folded-over ones.

I left the Diet Coke still shooting bubbles out of the top of the can and went into the bathroom to have a shower, in the hopes of waking up. The shower didn't do the trick, just made me regret getting my hair wet. I looked outside. It was already dark out. March was grey and cold and slushy. I was restless and bored but didn't want to go out into the chill.

I put on comfy pants, a tank top and my favourite busted-up cardigan and returned to the couch. I took a sip of the now semi-flat Diet Coke, grabbed my laptop and poked about online for possible activities. People always say a good place to meet someone is a class, so maybe I should join a class or perhaps a sport. I looked through websites for leagues and community classes. The uncomfortable silence faded as I read through course descriptions.

In the end I signed up for a class on cake decorating and I joined a volleyball team. I put the laptop on the coffee table and flicked on the television. Luckily one of the two hundred cake decorating shows was actually on and I was finally able to enjoy the evening of doing nothing.
  10. # Chapter 47

Melissa looked as if she had been crying when I saw her in the hallway. She saw me and started to brush away the tears that were falling off her face. When she reached me she threw her arms around me. The strong scent of her perfume filled my lungs and made me cough lightly into her hair.

"Oh, Maggie! I'm going to miss you," she said, her voice muffled through the sweater I was wearing as her face pressed into my shoulder.

"Why? What happened?" I asked, confused.

"I've been let go."

I was completely taken aback. I hadn't heard any cutback rumblings. She pulled herself off my shoulder.

"They really wanted to keep me on, of course, but you know in this economy times are tough, and they just had to make cuts somewhere," Melissa said softly, wiping the tears from her eyes.

I didn't know what to say. I just stood there with my mouth hanging open in utter disbelief.

"We really have to stay in touch. I'll send you my full contact details from my personal account. Make sure you send me back yours," she said, adjusting her outfit, pulling the skintight pants up and her blouse down to cover the inch of exposed midriff.

I finally managed to pull some hopefully comforting words together. "I'm really sorry, Melissa, I hope this leads to better things in the future."

"Oh, I am sure that it will," she said with an optimism that sounded forced.

We parted ways. I was still in shock when I sat back down at my desk. Natalie and Fred were still on their honeymoon, so I had no one to digest the news with. I couldn't quite believe her explanation; it just rang as false, so I thought of all the things she may have done to get herself fired. Temper tantrums, accusations of sexual harassment, a screw-up of epic proportions: all seemed feasible. I desperately wanted to know but who could I ask? Instead of listening to music as I read, I kept my earphones on my desk and my ears perked for any floating words about Melissa.

My phone rang and William's number popped up on the call display.

"Hello," I said cautiously. I wondered if he would be bringing me in for a conversation of our own.

"Do you mind bringing me that binder with all the psychology theories of sports riots?"

"Sure, be right there."

I hung up, found the binder in a pile and went to William's office to deliver it. I put the binder on his desk, and he nodded absently, eyes still on his work. I stood by his desk for a few seconds, then very slowly backed towards the door. I was studying his expression, looking for any clues.

"Anything else you need?" I asked, hovering.

He finally looked up from his work. "No, that's it, thanks," he said with a warm, friendly smile, which put me at ease but didn't quell the curiosity.

I still stood by the door, working out my next move.

"Could you look any more inquisitive?" William asked with a slight laugh.

I shrugged.

"Look, you have nothing to worry about. Melissa was inept, incompetent and, let's face it, lazy. She was already on probation. She spent the majority of her day gossiping—sorry to hear about your boyfriend by the way, I'm sure you can do better—she didn't have a point of view, and although reprimanded several times didn't work to improve herself. There was really nothing else to do."

I took this all in, knowing that he didn't have to share, that he actually probably shouldn't be sharing details.

"Thank you," I said sincerely.

He nodded and turned his attention to the pile of paper that covered his desk.

"Now get back to work," he said, in a jovial tone.
  11. # Chapter 48

I was nervous when I entered the gym. The volleyball games were housed all over the city in various school gyms. I breathed in, trying to relax. I noticed how all school gyms always smell exactly the same. I was early and a few people were standing around stretching. I went over to a small group and asked if I was on their team, but they were "Hit-Faced" and I was on Individual Team 1.

I moved to the other side of the net and began to stretch. I watched the door while bringing my foot back to my thigh and balancing on one leg. Two smarmy-looking guys, obviously friends, came in with some swagger and I watched them, hoping that they would be joining the small group. But instead they came over to me. "Hey, Individual Team 1?" one of them said.

"Yep," I said, attempting to hide my disappointment.

The rest of both teams eventually dribbled in. My team was looking more like what you'd see in the classic movie scenario: a random group of freaks is brought together and finds teamwork and everlasting friendship through recognizing their differences and accepting their individuality.

There was of course the hot dumb blonde, who was wearing a sports bra and tight shorts. Ogling her were the two smarmy guys, clearly looking to find ladies and happy with at least one prospect. Looking confused and wearing athletically inappropriate khaki pants and a baggy t-shirt was a middle-aged, box-shaped Asian woman. Towering over her was a middle-aged man who appointed himself coach. He started asking about our experience and skills so he could work out a strategy. To round out the group was a slight woman in her 30s who just kept rolling her wrists, which produced a never-ending sound like a garbage disposal trying to crunch through a fork. Three other people were supposed to be on the team, but they never showed.

The rolling-wrists woman decided to be the first off, so she walked over the sidelines, while the rest of us managed to get into positions. Hit-Faced served first. The ball came directly to the hot blonde who instead of bumping up pushed her arms forward. One of the sleazy men went over to show her how to bump. He took her elbows and extended them, his fingers gliding over her arms as he talked about how she should try to create a flat surface. He took her hands and cupped one over the other.

The coach quickly became irritated. "Get back in position!" he hollered. Hit-Faced all looked impatient.

The next ball came to the coach, who managed to hit up—straight into the ceiling. It took some time but we managed to get a couple points, all due to the other team's mistakes, not any earned by our skill. When it was my turn to serve, I was setting myself up, trying to remember what it was I used to do when I was on the third-string high school volleyball team. Just as I was about to throw the ball up one of the smarmy dudes turned around.

"You look really great in those work-out clothes," he said, biting his lower lip and shaking his head.

I stood unable to speak, staring at him perplexed.

"Really, the green sets off your eyes," he continued.

"Thanks, going to serve now," I said stiffly.

I threw the ball up but hit it low. I missed the net but managed to hit the smarmy man in the back of the head, a satisfying outcome. The game was a mess and the self-designated coach yelled as we constantly ran into one another. We had trouble getting the ball over the net and none of us could manage to keep track of the score. He had turned bright red from all of the yelling but while he did manage to hit the ball it was always in any direction other than the other side of the net. I kept looking at the other team, all normal-looking and coordinated, and wished desperately that I was on their side.

When the game was finally over, the self-designated coach gave us all strategic notes. I nodded as he gave bullet points on how to improve the game. I wasn't actually listening. I knew that I would be not be coming back. One of the sleazy guys moved beside me, lightly tapped my butt and whispered, "Good work."

The other sleazy guy brought his shirt up and wiped the sweat off of his face. "What does everyone think about going for a drink?"

"I can't tonight, have a good one though," I said leaving the group to figure out their plans, and heading home to shower the sweat and sleaze off me.
  12. # Chapter 49

I was waiting for Natalie and contemplating what snacks I'd like to have in the Rainbow Theatre lobby. The Rainbow is a quirky movie theatre. Although newer theatres may have more capacity, and more modern seats and screens, there's something charming about it that I love. Also, they have Five-Dollar Tuesdays.

As it was a grey and rainy Tuesday night, it was the perfect evening for a movie. Although Natalie and Fred had returned to work the day before, both were swamped playing catch-up and I hadn't heard about their honeymoon trip to Ireland and Scotland. The plan was to go to the newest romantic comedy, the horrible and cheesy kind that Natalie loves, and that I won't admit that I'm actually enjoying when she drags me along. After, we would go for dim sum while she filled me in on her trip.

I looked over the movie posters while a little girl played chopsticks on the glamourous old piano that sat in the lobby. Her big brother ran up beside her and started smacking down on the keys until their mother came over and took both of them away. As they passed I saw Natalie come in with a huge greeting smile. Just behind her was Fred. I had been really looking forward to just having a conversation with Natalie. I already made plans with Fred to see the Willows and hear his stories on Friday. I gave them both hugs and then Fred went to the counter to pay for their tickets.

"I thought just you and I were hanging out tonight?" I whispered.

"Oh really? Sorry, I assumed you wanted to see both of us. It's not an issue, is it?" Natalie sounded surprised but unconcerned.

I was tired of my own silence and growing resentment. "Yes. It is."

"Well how was I to know that?" She looked taken aback and sounded defensive.

"It's just, I'm friends with both of you, and as much as it's great to hang out as a group, I'd still like to retain the individual friendships. I'd like to be able to watch a cheesy movie with you or go to a concert with Fred. When you come as a unit, it just changes the dynamic."

Natalie nodded but still looked deflated. Fred came back with the tickets. We all traveled down the escalator and into one of the small theatres and found seats in the centre.

"I can't believe you dragged me to this," Fred said with a light chuckle. I gritted my teeth but didn't say anything.

The lights dimmed and the previews started. Natalie usually commented on which movies she wanted to see and which she thought would be horrific, but tonight she stayed silent. Natalie didn't giggle or gasp or sigh or poke my arm when she thought something was funny. She just sat in between Fred and me and stared at the screen. And while normally I couldn't stand upsetting a friend, I had a small surge of pride having finally said something after months of being bothered.

The credits rolled and we stood up and filed out of the theatre. I asked Fred and Natalie to wait as I ran to the bathroom, but when I returned only Natalie was standing there.

"I told Fred to bugger off. I get what you were saying, and I'm sorry, Mags, I'll let you two go out on Friday. Now let's go and get some dim sum."

Two hours later I was fully caught up, stuffed but still eyeing a dumpling, and happy.

"You can totally say no but Fred's cousin, Marvin, was asking about you. I don't know him other than the few minutes that we talked at the wedding but he seemed nice. Fred said that he couldn't really see the two of you together. But, you know, he's cute, and sometimes people have a family side of their personality. So if you're interested, let me know."

"Sorry, your wedding is still a little blurry, remind me."

"He had a yellow tie, tall, dark hair," she said, struggling to come up with something more descriptive.

A hazy image and some pieces of a conversation came to mind. I thought I had figured out who Natalie was talking about. It had been just over three weeks since Nathan had ended things. I still wasn't feeling confident, actually had put together several more theories to Abby to explain all men's lukewarm feelings, all of which resulted in her threatening physical violence if I continued with the self-deprecation. The thought of dating was really underwhelming. Natalie broke the long silence.

"He seemed to really like you, why not give it a shot?" Natalie said sweetly with a light girlish giggle.

I relented. "Yeah, I guess, give him my number." Apparently I was returning back into the fray.
  13. # Chapter 50

I stood in a growing line to get into the Phoenix, wishing that I had put on a jacket and not just a hoodie. I looked around for Fred and felt old as I judged the outfits of girls who were at least five years younger than me. I was wearing jeans, a white t-shirt and a Kelly green hoodie, and wondered when it had become the norm to get dressed up for a rock concert.

Fred came up and gave me a little hug. He was beaming, almost giddy. The Willows were one of his favourite bands, and he was bouncing with excitement. We'd arrived before the door opened, so when the line finally started to move, we were among the first into the large, empty bar.

I got myself a beer but regretted it because my hands were still freezing from waiting in line, and the cold bottle was uncomfortable to hold. I motioned to several open seats around small tables. Fred followed and sat across from me.

"So, how's married life?"

"It's great. Parts are a little weird, I guess. We're great but sometimes the peripheral stuff will just catch me off guard and freak me out. Like joint chequing accounts, and putting together my tax stuff, I'm just, like, wow— next year we will be filing together. And every time I say the word 'wife,' I'm just, like, how did I become an adult?"

The opening band started and Fred got up and motioned towards the small crowd in front of the stage.

We found a spot off to the right, near the front. The band was decent. I stood with my thumbs in my jeans, my head bobbing with the music. The crowd began to fill in and expand. I was now regretting wearing the hoodie because I was so hot. I thought about coat-checking it, but knew that Fred would want to stay until the end, which meant a long line on the way out. So I took the hoodie off and draped it over my arm, which I really thought took away from the coolness of my stance.

As the opening band finished their set I weaved through the crowd to the bar to grab another round. I got back and handed him his beer. We were in a pretty great spot, with a little bit of breathing room from the people in front of us, and we had a great view of the stage. I went to take a sip of beer, but some guy who was passing me with his friends slammed into me in his eagerness to fill in the half foot of space between us and the group in front of us. The beer splashed all over my chest.

I examined the jerk. He was huge, well over six foot five, with a heavyset frame and long, shaggy blond hair. Fred reached up and tapped his shoulder.

"You knocked my friend's drink all over her," Fred said in a protective tone.

The guy looked down and stared at the beer on my chest, gaze lingering uncomfortably long.

"Right, sorry," he mumbled, turning back to the stage.

He stood directly in front of me, so close when I exhaled I could see the fabric on his t-shirt ripple. He was completely obstructing my view of the stage.

"Should we find a new spot?" I ask, leaning closer to Fred.

"No. They aren't making us move," he responded, determined.

The Willows came to the stage and the crowd erupted into applause. Their first song was a classic. Fred was beaming, singing and bopping. The group in front of us danced frenetically, swinging their elbows as far back as possible in what appeared to be a move to create a space for themselves. Fred and I refused to budge. I usually love going to live shows. Something about hearing a favourite song live sends a tingly high through me. It's why I come to concerts. I was livid at the group in front of us and glared at the man's back.

By the fourth song, they seemed to get the message that we wouldn't be making room for them. And so they went to the bar and presumably then attempted to push another group out of a prime location. Fred and I moved in so the gap wouldn't invite anyone else. I relaxed and Fred and I bopped around and sang. When the last song of their set ended I was totally satisfied. The band said their pretend goodnight and left the stage. The crowd did their part and cheered and applauded for an encore.

When The Willows came back, the crowd erupted and a girl threw her panties onto the stage. Someone in the crowd jumped on stage, grabbed the underwear and threw them into the crowd. I lost the view of their trajectory and suddenly they hit me in the side of the head, landing on the floor. I looked down and saw the red lace panties on the ground, and was immediately pushed into Fred as the large man whose back I had glared at plowed past me to get to the garment. He jumped up, yelling "I got them! I got them!!" and bashed into me again as he ran back to his friends, victoriously holding the prize high in the air.

The band played their actual last song, and we filed out of the bar, back into the cold.

"Do you think they were clean?" Fred asked and playfully nudged me as we made our way to the subway station.

"I think so! I mean that is something I think that you plan to do. Right? I really hoped they were clean."

"Well, maybe she just was standing there and thought, I bet this band would appreciate my underwear."

"I bet it was all planned. I think she probably thought it through. You know, picked out what pair she wanted them to have. I wonder if she's upset that some asshole has them now. I mean, underwear is expensive and she probably threw a good pair up there."

"I'm sure you're right, I bet they were clean and she is probably crying because her band seduction plan failed."

"Yeah, they were definitely clean," I firmly stated.

"Definitely," Fred chuckled.

Still, when I came home shivering from the cold, I had a long hot shower and shampooed my hair. Twice.
  14. # Chapter 51

Marvin, Fred's cousin, had driven me home after our first date. I thanked him for dropping me off, said goodnight, and slid out of the door. The date had been off but I couldn't place a reason for why. He was unusual but not interesting. He was good looking but I wasn't attracted to him. We got into a strange, impassioned debate about the benefits of detoxes. He swore that they provided all kinds of benefits, while I maintained that it had never been proven that they actually remove toxins and besides, your body had a system for that in place. He had ordered a gluten-free beer but said he didn't actually have a gluten allergy, he just wanted to avoid gluten when possible. Which I had also read was pointless but decided to leave it.

I went into the kitchen and poured a bowl of gluten-full Golden Grahams. I stood at the counter and ate while going through the large stack of mail that I had let pile up. The majority were bills that I had already paid online. My phone buzzed, alerting me to an email from Marvin with a link to an article on the benefits of detoxing, conveniently from a site that sold detoxing products. The body of the email thanked me for a lovely night and asked me if I wanted to go out for dinner next week.

I finished off the cereal, left the bowl in the sink, brushed my teeth and crawled into bed. I was feeling miserable and restless, and I couldn't get comfortable. I rolled over and looked at my phone. I realized I was hoping that Nathan would call. I didn't want to miss him. My miserableness made me angry.

I woke up exhausted on Sunday morning. I hated how much this was bothering me, how much the date with Marvin made me miss Nathan. He had made it clear early on that he just wanted it be "casual" after all, and feeling this way was embarrassing.

I needed a distraction and decided maybe to have a bit of an adventure of my own instead of waiting to hear one of Nathan's stories. I grabbed my laptop and poked around online to see what events were going on in the city. I saw a posting for a cupcake battle. Registration had closed for competing but was open for people to come and taste and judge. Thinking back to the documentary I had seen on cupcake competitions, I remembered it being surprisingly intense. I decided to go check this one out and maybe compete in the next one, after the cake-decorating course taught me how to make a pretty cupcake. I kicked the covers off and sprang out of bed. I didn't call Natalie or Abby to see if they were free or interested. I was actually a little excited to try something new on my own.

Hours later, I finally found the correct address, after wandering past several converted warehouses. I followed paper cutouts of cupcakes with arrows leading the way through a maze of hallways and stairs. I could smell the fresh coffee and sugar before I saw the front table. I paid the five dollars for cover and went in. This month's theme was cheese. The contenders each had a table, and each told a story to go with their concoction.

I walked through, looking over the tables. The cheddar-and-apple cupcakes' table had been decorated with a poster depicting Newton being hit on the head with an apple while eating a grilled cheese sandwich; the fondue cupcake, a chocolate bottom with Swiss filling topped with strawberry frosting, had a 60s fondue party theme.

After touring around I was handed a sampling plate with four mini cupcakes, a scorecard and a cup of coffee. Around the cupcake displays were tables to sit, sample and judge. I found my way to a table where five other chic women were sitting. They all looked incredibly serious as they eyeballed, smelled and nibbled on their cupcakes. One of the ladies took a small bite and closed her eyes, her mouth slowly moving as she delicately chewed. I motioned to the chair and one of the ladies nodded to indicate its availability.

"I just don't feel like I'm getting that blue cheese flavor," the woman to my right said.

Her friend nodded. "Yes, it's really just a moist chocolate cupcake."

I examined the apple cheddar cupcake, which was dressed up like a pie, with cheddar frosting making a latched pattern over apple slices, and a small triangle of cheddar on top. I took a bite, and the woman across from me asked, "What do you think?"

"It's great! I like the fresh crispness of apple, with the sharp cheddar and sweet cake. I think it's well balanced." I enjoyed judging food. It was fun, and after watching endless amounts of cooking shows, I thought I sounded good.

The woman nodded. "Yes, it's a fun twist on a classic." The whole table began to discuss the cupcakes and weigh their individual merits. It was clear that some had affiliations with competitors, but still it was a fascinating conversation. I kept laughing to myself because I was continually surprised to be scoring cupcakes. But it was thrilling to jump into this random experience.

In the end, the fondue cupcake won the grand prize, a fifty-dollar gift certificate to a culinary supply store. I watched the handshake and envelope exchange, and I was determined that next month, that gift certificate would be mine.
  15. # Chapter 52

I was foolishly chair dancing again, although it was worse this time because I was also mouthing the words and making broad hand motions along with Queen's "Somebody to Love," when I felt the vibration on my desk. I turned and saw William standing there with a kind smile, knocking on my desk.

"Hey, you want to go for coffee?" he asked as I jumped back in my chair. "Sorry I didn't mean to scare you," he said with a laugh, still not acknowledging what he had just witnessed.

"You didn't, I'm just a jumpy person," I replied, embarrassed.

"Well then I don't know if coffee is the best idea, but let's at least get you a doughnut."

I grabbed my jacket and followed him down the hall.

"Now, I really like what Sarah started with the video shorts on the website," William said, his voice transitioning to the professional side. "I know those kind of got left behind in the whole transition thing, and the 'Close Call' theme has been running now for four months, but I want to get it back up and running. So I think now that Valentine's Day is safely behind us, we can make the theme 'Great Loves' and not come across as a sheep in the herd. What do you think?"

I wasn't too thrilled by the notion of reading about great loves while all of mine were unrequited. "I feel like it's too broad of a theme, and kind of cheesy."

"I kind of like cheesy. But do you have any ideas?"

A thought popped into my head, and I knew that I was some kind of genius. "You know, I always dislike people who have accomplished a great deal when they are several years younger than me. I think we should do a late-bloomers theme, people who didn't make their mark until later in life."

We arrived at the coffee shop. William opened the door for me. I stepped in and happily found no line. I ordered a vanilla latte, and William ordered a double Americano.

As we waited for the barista to fill our orders, William said, "Okay. I'll tell you what, how about we combine the two and have the theme be great love stories of late bloomers."

"I'd be happy with that," I said, nodding my head while thinking about the possibilities.

"Good, because you're the one who is going to have to read all about it. Did you know when I met Micah, she was 38 and I was 43? So I guess we're a bit of a late-blooming couple. Not to suggest either of us would like to be the subject of a documentary, it's much more fun behind the camera. But I will say, from experience, that a late-bloomer love is far more complex and interesting then falling in love young. For me there's never been anyone like Micah, and I'm glad I had grown out of all the behaviour that would have driven her off when I was a younger man." William smiled to himself; I noticed that whenever he talked about Micah his happiness seemed uncontainable. I couldn't help being comforted at the words, and excited to hear more stories in that vein.

On my commute that night, I could hear the training arriving just as I was putting my token through the slot. I raced down the stairs and flew across the platform as the familiar closing door chime rang. But I still dashed into the train, holding the door open just enough for me to squeeze through. I got in and sat down, satisfied with conquering an obstacle in my way. But then the familiar beep preceding an announcement came through.

"Please do not hold the doors open. The women in the striped shirt and jeans. Please do not hold the doors open. You're holding up the entire train when you hold the doors open. Don't do it again."

I could feel people in the train car staring at me as I turned red and looked at my red and white stripes. The train lurched to a stop at the next station, and an old woman shook her head in disgust as she passed me. I could overhear her start to talk to her friend about what was wrong with public transit and young people today. I stood up and moved over to the doorway, ready to bolt out of the subway.

The train jostled and lurched its way to my stop. I exited the subway and started walking down the platform. A head popped out of the driver's window, and as I came closer, the voice that had so publically berated me continued.

"So you're so busy, you can't wait two minutes for the next train?"

I pretended I couldn't hear him or didn't know that he was talking to me.

"All right, walk away, but you better not be holding doors the next time you're on my train."

The voice faded into the congestion of the subway station and the thrill of my badass behavior turned into an uneasy discomfort.
  16. # Chapter 53

I met Abby at the ferry terminal, far too early for a Saturday morning. Abby handed me a large coffee, which was my requirement for leaving my comfortable bed to be there. I gave her a sleepy, grumpy look and took a sip from the paper cup. Abby had found another volunteer opportunity. This time we were helping out a charity disc golf tournament on Ward Island in Lake Ontario. The tournament was to raise money for famine relief in Africa.

When she'd called me last week I was initially hesitant and attempted to come up with some solid excuse.

"You have to go with me, what if it ends up being like the garbage incident and I need someone to escape with, or someone who can take me to the hospital if needed? Plus I'm sure there will be a lot of awesome guys there. I'm sure there will be lots of opportunities for you to move on from Nathan," Abby whined. I was about to protest her allegation that I was still interested in Nathan but she stopped me as soon as she heard me start to speak. "You still randomly but frequently bring him up, it is clear you're still hung up on him."

"All right, fine, I'll do it with you," I relented.

"Great, so I'll meet you next Saturday at 7:45 at the terminal."

We sat down on one of the benches inside the ferry and quietly sipped our coffees. Both still only half awake, and unable to make our own conversation, we listened to the couple in front of us talk about last year's tournament. A few minutes later we arrived at Ward Island. Every time I go to the Toronto Islands I wonder why I don't go more regularly. They had everything you'd want on a summer day: beaches, bike trails, overpriced ice cream and a beautiful view of the Toronto skyline.

We followed the people we had overheard and arrived at the tournament site. There were a bunch of different tables set up for registration and tickets for drinks, food and the 50/50 draw. The tables created a pathway to the bar and grill.

We were quickly ushered to the volunteer area, where a dozen people waited for orders. The group was a mix of teenagers and middle-aged couples, and Abby and I were the only ones in our age bracket. An organizer came over to the group to go through what the day's schedule would be and to dole out assignments. She put Abby and me on drink ticket sales, pointing us in the direction of the table. We sat down on the folding chairs behind the table. The tournament didn't start until 10, and it was only 9.

"People are now rejecting my offer to work for them for free. I sent volunteer applications to the Humane Society, Sick Kids Hospital and the Art Gallery of Ontario, and all of them declined," Abby said, her mess of hair flying into her face.

"Don't feel bad, Abby, you just don't have experience in the areas they work in. I'm sure it's nothing against you."

Abby sighed in defeat again as she pulled her hair back into a messy high bun. I knew she was hoping to win her argument that the whole world was against her finding work she actually enjoyed. But as she would never let me get away with saying there wasn't a man in the world not ready to reject me, I couldn't let her say that about herself.

"There are lots of volunteer opportunities that are less specialized, and you could always pick where you want to work, or which organization you want to support, and then organize your own fundraising event," I suggested, hoping to cheer her up.

"Yeah, I guess that's a good idea."

"Plus, we're here, so that's something."

I yawned again and stretched. We watched as other volunteers busily and happily buzzed around and looked productive. I looked to see if there was anything else I could be doing but it was all covered. We were handed a cash drawer, a calculator and a roll of tickets. Even though the bar didn't open until 12, at 10 we were open for business. Our booth flooded with people wanting to buy their tickets before their games.

I worked as quickly as I could, wishing my math skills weren't quiet so pathetic. A blur of transactions took place and suddenly it was 1 and a fellow volunteer offered to cover for me and then Abby so we could both have lunch.

I got myself a hamburger and a pop, and took a seat under a tree. A tall man with brown eyes and messy dark hair looked at me and smiled as he walked by. He had walked a few steps but then had backed up and came over to me.

"Hey, you're volunteering today, right? You sold me my drink ticket."

"Yes." I nodded. He moved closer and sat down beside me on the grass.

"That's great. Thank you for taking your time out to make it all run. It's a great tournament and all for a good cause."

"So you had a good morning?" I asked, attempting to sound flirtatious

"Yeah, doing all right so far. We did well in the first round. Sorry, I'm Chris, by the way." He held out his hand and I shook it. As we chatted I thought about how Abby would probably hold this over me for the rest of my life. She would never let me doubt her clear genius ever again. I noticed the time. It was almost 1:30, and I thought I should be going back. I stood up and was just about to give Chris my number and say goodbye when he asked, "So do you think you could maybe get me some drink tickets?"

I looked at him, perplexed.

"I mean you have the whole roll right, who's going to notice if a couple go into your pocket, right?" He grinned, looking at me with what I assumed was meant to be a peer-pressure push to break the rules.

"I'm not going steal from people trying to help out where they can so you can get more sloshed playing disc golf," I snapped.

I walked away in a disgusted huff, feeling really embarrassed over the entire incident. When I got back to the booth, a new relief volunteer was covering for me. She scowled at me for taking so long. I sat back down in the wobbly folding chair and started tearing tickets for paying customers.
  17. # Chapter 54

I came into the office and found a giant stack of proposals next to a large vanilla latte. On top was a small note that just said "Enjoy" in William's handwriting. I plunked down into my chair and grabbed the latte, taking a few sips as I eyed the pile. Usually I only had to fact-check the top picks as chosen by Sarah, right before she selected the final choices. This seemed to be all of the submissions. I started going through, semi-organizing the proposals but really fiddling around because I wasn't in the mood to read. But just like a child who is only playing with the food on their plate, there comes a time when someone makes you eat it.

"Good response, eh?" William asked cheerfully.

I swiveled around in my chair and tipped my latte towards him.

"Thanks for the coffee."

"You're welcome. Look, I know you're usually just fact-checking, but what I'd like from you is a list of your recommendations, along with a write-up."

I gave a little nod but clearly the anxiety I was feeling was also showing in my face.

"Don't look like that. It's just a brief write-up on why strategically they would be the best choices. So go through and pick your top ten, then make sure the story is legit. Just put the rest aside, so if we need to come back to the pool we can."

I nodded with a little more confidence. William smiled and gave me another Mr. Milligan look, the kind that screamed "you've got potential." Which was undeniably motivating. He left me with my scattered pile. I picked up the first proposal, which was about late-blooming plants, and quickly moved it to the reject pile. "My grandmother, the fire eater" quickly followed.

I pulled the next one off the pile and was immediately drawn in by the title, "Smashed Up Paper Balls." It was a story about two British television writers, Beatrice and Dave, who had been remarkably unsuccessful through most of their careers. They were constantly rejected. Beatrice actually had enough rejection letters to wallpaper her bathroom with. It was looking bleak for both, and they had long passed the point where most people turn away from their dreams to take the practical route.

Dave hired Beatrice after finding a listing for her proofreading services. She had gone through his latest work but provided more than just spelling and grammar. She sent a ten-page memo of ideas. Dave had first been outraged by all of the unsolicited criticism, but once he read her points he thought she was right. A correspondence started, which led to a collaboration.

Their collaboration led to their first success, a television show called Salty Cornflakes. The show was based on their dynamic, a couple and creative team who threw jokes and smashed-up paper balls at one another. The show mostly centred on their efforts to procrastinate from actual writing.

Dave had proposed while they were sitting at there facing desks. He had written "will you marry me" in sheets and sheets of paper. He smashed them up and starting throwing them at her. Beatrice had swatted them away and thrown them back playfully. But when one of the papers smacked her head and it stung and landed with a thud, she picked it up and unwrapped it and found the note and the ring.

I put "Smashed Up Paper Balls" in the newly created yes pile.
  18. # Chapter 55

I wandered through the maze of the community college, looking for my cake-decorating class. I was sure that I'd learn how to make amazing-looking cupcakes, which would lead to my eventual victory at the cupcake battle. After asking three people I managed to find my way to the classroom. I scanned the room, sizing up my fellow classmates. The room was filled mostly with middle aged women but there was one teenaged boy sitting in the corner trying to look serious. I went to the front of the room and grabbed one of the information packages, signed in and took a seat at one of the empty tables.

A few moments later a very large Scottish man asked for our attention.

"Welcome to Cake Decorating For Beginners, this is a cake class," he said with a thick Scottish accent. "I'm Seamus, I've been in the business for 25 years, I've been teaching for 10. Why don't we go around the room: introduce yourself and the reason you've come." He smiled and I noticed he was missing several teeth.

Most of the women had the same reason: they'd seen shows on the Food Network and wanted to try it out themselves. One woman, however, was here because her daughter was getting married and she would be decorating their cake. The teenager had come in order to gain experience for a bakery job at Sobeys.

After the introductions, Seamus began to talk about the plan for the day and for the course. I had trouble understanding his thick accent, which flowed out with a whistle through the missing-teeth holes. He must have had this issue a lot because he tended to repeat everything he said two or three times.

He lifted up pictures of the different cakes we would be making. One, a bouquet cake, which we'd decorated with fondant flowers, we were making today. Most of the pictures looked like something I'd seen in grocery store bakeries. The designs were dated, almost cheesy. Seamus grinned widely, pushing us to be impressed by the cake for the second last week. A woman at the table next to mine shot her hand up in the air.

"Sorry, why is it in the shape of a 25? Is that how many pieces of cake it serves?" she asked.

"No. It is an anniversary cake, the 25 represents the number of years they have been married. 25 years of marriage. A cake to celebrate a marriage of 25 years," Seamus explained.

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

He finished up the course schedule. In front of him was a table with baking tools laid out. He picked up each item and explained what it was.

"This is a dry measuring cup. Measuring cups are very important in baking. You want to measure your dry ingredients with these. There is 1 cup, 3/4 cup, 2/3 cup, 1/2 cup, 1/3 cup, 1/4 cup. Measuring cups."

My eyes glazed over at the slow-moving basic information. I looked around the room and saw that many people were taking notes. I wondered what they were possibly writing down, and if anyone besides me had ever baked anything before.

He picked up a cake spatula and explained that it was used to spread frosting evenly, creating clean lines for the fondant to be laid on. Another student raised her hand.

"Sorry, what is that used for?"

Seamus picked up the spatula. "To spread the frosting clean and evenly. This gives you an evenly frosted cake."

"And the bag thing, that?" The student pointed.

"This is a piping bag, you use this for detailed icing decorations. It is used for icing."

The student nodded and wrote more notes.

I struggled to keep my eyes open and my mouth closed from the desperate yawns wanting to escape. I had been sitting for an hour and a half and we had only managed to get through the schedule and the tools.

Finally he asked us to turn to the fondant recipe in our booklets and demonstrated how to make fondant. Seamus asks various classmates to measure out icing sugar, shortening and vanilla extract. Meanwhile, other classmates worked with glycerin, first thickening with cold water and then heating up over a double boiler till it dissolved into the water. Seamus put me in charge of adding drops of food colouring to make the white paste a glossy red. He broke up his dough into several balls and handed them out.

Once we all had a ball of fondant we gathered around a big table. Seamus took a small clump out of the ball of dough and rolled one side down, curving it and shaping it to look like a petal. He made another petal, and another, pressing them together until he had a gorgeous, massive rose.

Everyone started to take clumps from their ball and turn them into rose petals. I was working at it and thought it was looking rather pretty, until Seamus came around, took it in his large hand, and shook his head. He looked down at me and said something, but I couldn't make it out through his thick accent. So I just gave an awkward nod and watched as he smashed up my efforts and roll them back into a ball of fondant.

I was a little taken aback. I took another clump from the ball and started again. I worked slowly and methodically, and I thought I was getting the hang of it until I looked around and saw that everyone else had created magnificent, open flowers. Mine really looked like a bud that had been stepped on.

I put the second attempt with the first, took some fresh fondant from the ball and tried again. And again. It was frustrating. The fondant cracked and my flowers were looking worse and worse. Eventually Seamus told us to stop, clean up the kitchen and package our fondant to take home to make flowers for homework.

I was just gathering up my stuff when Seamus came over.

"Did you enjoy the class?" he said slowly, and I happily understood him.

"Yes, thanks." I smiled up at him.

"I'm glad. But you were having trouble with the flowers. The flowers weren't working for you. You can't work the fondant. If you don't like it, you can get your money back." He continued speaking slowly.

He smiled, staring gently down at me, the missing-teeth holes even more pronounced as he pushed his tongue through. I nodded, crushed.

"Night, dear." He waved farewell.

On my walk home, I considered his advice. The flowers were not a success, this was true. I was frustrated that people who knew nothing about baking were succeeding, while I was being pushed out the door. I knew I was still in the grace period and would still able to get my money back, but when I got home and flopped on my couch I noticed my fingers were itching to play with fondant. I took out the ball and started working on the homework for next week.
  19. # Chapter 56

I came into work the next morning and surveyed my neat piles for unread, yes, no and maybe proposals. The unread pile still towered over the other three. I sunk into my chair and scanned through the unread titles, discarding a few stories that were great but overdone (everyone knew Julia Child didn't start cooking until she was in her 40s). The stories of Stan Lee and Grandma Moses were also common knowledge. I quickly took these out, scanning to see if they had anything new to say, then tossing them onto the no pile.

In a lot of cases the stories weren't about someone finding a person but about finding their passion. A few of the stories were about people who quit their well-paying jobs to bake or write or sing, and who eventually found success doing what they loved. These also all went into the no pile. They were nice stories, comforting stories, but were all the same, really, and weren't poppy enough to be an interesting short.

I then picked up "Old Maid No More," a story about a woman named Gwen. Gwen was eighty when she moved into a retirement community called Tulip Fields. She had been a nurse before she had retired. She had always been shy, blushing with any sort of attention. She had loved a man, unrequitedly, named Dr. Yates for her entire career, always sure that eventually the right circumstances would come together and he would fall for her. But the fantasy had ended when he passed away. And just as she thought the only love she would ever know would be unrequited, she moved into Tulip Fields, where the filmmaker's grandmother, Alice, also happened to live.

Alice had mentioned to her grandson that she thought Tulip Fields was like going back to high school, with all the men chasing after the most popular girl, with only one thing on their mind. In this case it was the unlikely Gwen. The documentary was going to follow the attempts of these suitors to win over Gwen, kind of like an elderly version of The Bachelorette. I stuck it on top of the yes pile.

"I'm hoping that's the yes pile, and you're not forcing me to read the towering pile to your left," William said playfully as he leaned on my desk.

"Yes, this short stack is the yes pile."

"Great, are you finding compelling stories?" William asked, his voice shifting to his professional tone.

"I am! There are a few I think will fit well. I really like Smashed Up Paper Balls, about two writers who find each other and success later in life. I think it's fun, interesting and engaging. It really hits the mark on our theme," I replied confidently while William nodded. "I think it would just be great to have some balance. We have a few light-hearted stories, so I think we need something that has more depth to it."

William looked at me pleased. "It sounds like we are going in the right direction. That isn't the reason I came down here though. First off, we just wrapped up Sports Riots. You were instrumental in its production, Maggie, and I wanted to thank you for helping me navigate through my first project."

"Thank you, I appreciate that," I said professionally, counterbalancing my blushing face.

"Secondly, I'd like to discuss your position next week. We won't be replacing Melissa; instead I'd like to amalgamate her job with yours. Just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Great, I look forward to it," I replied in a high-pitched squeak.

William drummed his fingers on my desk for a moment before leaving me to comb through more proposals.
  20. # Chapter 57

I was enjoying a night of self-indulgent nothing. Arrayed before me was a bottle of pinot grigio, a sample platter of cheese and cured meats from my favourite specialty cheese shop and a baguette. I was cracking the slim spine of one of the newest acquisitions from the bookstore, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which I was embarrassed for not having read before. The only thing that could have made me happier was the lemon tart that was sitting in my fridge.

My phone buzzed and I looked at the new message. I stared at it. I questioned it. I mentally cursed at it. I held the phone tightly as I read and reread the message. From Nathan.

Hey, I know it's been a while, I was just was laughing thinking about that time we beat Claire in Trivia, and I was wondering how you were doing.

I thought about ignoring him but a combination of curiosity and an inability to just leave a message hanging out there unanswered made me reply.

I'm doing fine. What's new with you?

Not a lot really. How's work? Making any cool new documentaries?

I dogearred my page and put the book on the coffee table before.

Our newest theme for the web shorts is "late bloomers," so a lot of really interesting stories there.

Cool.

For a while my phone didn't buzz. I wondered if that was all that he had to say, and questioned again why he was talking to me at all. I lifted the book back up and continued to read about the value of a towel in intergalactic travel. I had yet to touch the lemon tart because I still felt uneasy, but I had stopped looking over at my phone every minute to see if a message had come in. It finally buzzed again:

I was wondering if you maybe wanted to grab a drink on Thursday?

I hesitated. I was not interested in having another "talk." And it wouldn't be the first time that a guy had broken up with me only to go away and, not feeling good about how the breakup went down, call me up just to go over it all again. I didn't need another Connor in my life.

Eventually, inevitably, my curiosity won out.

Ok, I'll meet you at the Victory Café at 8?

Great, I'll see you then.

I leaned back on my couch, surprised by how calm I now felt. My stomach wasn't flipping anymore. My mind was still flooded with the possibilities for why he could want to see me, but my indifference to all them was freaking me out. I went into the fridge and grabbed the lemon tart.
  21. # Chapter 58

I had obsessively worked on the fondant roses, carefully sculpting each petal and working to create massive blossoms I was pretty pleased with. I walked defiantly back into cake-decorating class, a definite strut in my step. Seamus looked genuinely surprised to see me when he lifted his gaze from his lecture notes. I flashed him a smile, almost wishing he would say something right now so I could show off the Tupperware container full of fondant roses that was neatly tucked under my arm.

I had spent the previous week researching cupcakes. I was excited by so many possibilities. I had seen cupcakes blossoming out of an orchid base, decorated with an edible pink hydrangea sugar tree, and an Earl Grey and chocolate cupcake made to look like an actual cup of tea. We had gone over the schedule the previous week and I remembered thinking it was dated, but I was freshly disappointed when I looked over this week's agenda. We would be making a black forest cake. There was no new twist, the picture in our schedule looked precisely like the sad dusty corner of the bakery display case in the grocery store. The maraschino cherries, the whipped cream mounds, the chocolate shavings, all so familiar and unchallenging . I tried to perk myself up, thinking it was only the first hands-on class, and at least at the end I would have a cake to take home.

"Today we will be working in groups to complete our black forest cake. Black forest cake is what we're making," Seamus announced, quickly dashing my perhaps naïve hopes of independent work and take-home cake.

Seamus quickly started to point to people "and you and you, and you three." I was to be grouped with the teenager and the woman who thought a cake would be shaped into a 25 to indicate the number of slices. They both stood up and moved to my table.

"Hi, I'm Jane," the woman said, extending her hand, which I shook. She had a pile of mousy brown hair tied into a messy bun. Her reading glasses rested on the crown of her head. She wore several layers, all various shades of brown, and camel linen pants.

"Josh," the teenager said and eagerly shook both of our hands. He had a bright smile, and I thought he was cute despite the small patch of acne on his chin.

Once we were in groups Seamus called for our attention. "Today we will be making a black forest cake. Chocolate and cherry. This cake," he said in his thick accent, while he pointed to a photo of the cake on our class plan. "Everything you need is right here." Seamus presented the front table, which was packed with ingredients and tools. "You have the recipe, get started and I'll come around to help. To answer questions. I'll be by to give advice," Seamus continued. He gestured to ask for confirmation that we understood him, and the class began to move towards the table in response.

I stood up, but the rest of my table remained seated. " I guess we should get started," I said, nudging them in the direction of the table.

"I don't understand, what are we doing?" Jane said looking around the room, confused.

"We're just getting the ingredients to make a cake. Here is the list," I said, picking up the piece of paper. "Josh, why don't you get the cake pan, bowls, measuring cups and spoons, Jane how about you get the sugar and flour and I'll get the rest." The team accepted their orders and moved to the front table with the rest of the class.

It took a few trips, but eventually our table had everything we needed to make the cake. Jane and Josh looked at the pile, clearly not knowing where to begin. "Have you ever baked before?" I gently asked the pair.

"I made Rice Krispie squares for my girlfriend," Josh replied proudly.

"I mostly came for the creative aspect. I hadn't realized we would be making the cake, I thought it would all be decorating," Jane said with a shrug.

I measured out the butter into the bowl, and handed the bowl to Josh. "Jane, why don't you measure out the sugar, I'm going to beat the eggs," I said confidently.

"How is everyone over here?" Seamus said as he came to our table.

Jane and Josh stared up at him, obviously baffled. "We have no idea what we are doing!" Jane announced.

I stared back at them, completely confused because I thought I'd just made it very clear that I knew what I was doing. "We're good," I said defensively, not wanting Seamus to think I was completely inept.

"Okay. I will check back later, then. I'll return in a few minutes," Seamus said, showing off the holes in his smile.

"Why don't you guys work on measuring the dry ingredients in this bowl," I said with authority, handing them a clean bowl.

Jane and Josh went into action, mixing in the cocoa, flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. I mixed in the vanilla, greased the pan and made sure the oven was preheating. I came back, took the dry ingredients and mixed them into the batter slowly, adding the buttermilk last. "Josh, why don't you pour out the mixture, if you could hold the cake pan, Jane. It looks great, you both did a great job," I said enthusiastically.

I took the cake and popped it into the oven. I returned to see Jane scrutinizing the recipe.

"There's just one thing I don't understand, sometimes the measurements have a small T and sometimes a big T, shouldn't it always be a big T, like capitalizing the beginning of a sentence?"

I froze. "No, they are two different measurements. Which one did you use for the dry ingredients?"

Jane lifted up the tablespoon measure and my confidence dissolved. I knew the cake was ruined; the overage of baking soda and baking powder would make the cake taste like soap and totally ruin the texture. I knew I looked downtrodden when Seamus returned as promised.

"So your cake is in the oven! How do you think it will taste?"

"We put too much baking powder and baking soda in," I replied, embarrassed.

Seamus looked down at with a patronizing smile. "It's okay, not everyone is a natural baker."

I gritted my teeth, more determined than ever to be victorious at the cupcake competition and rub that fifty-dollar gift certificate right in his face.
  22. # Chapter 59

"I got a job! I got a job. I HAVE GOT A JOB!" Abby yelled as she came into my apartment and ran down the hall. She reached me in the kitchen and hugged me, then started jumping up and down. She was so excited her eyes were bulging out of her head, making her look completely crazy.

"I have a job. It pays 25 percent more than what I was making at my old job. Plus I have an office, and the job is so cool."

She finally stopped jumping and I managed to bring her over to my couch and sit us both down. Her right legged bounced up and down as she spoke.

"What are you going to be doing?" I asked, almost as excited as she was.

"It's a non-profit that does micro-lending. So small businesses in developing countries basically apply with a business plan for a loan. But instead of a bank, a bunch of people can loan small amounts, like twenty dollars, with a lower interest rate. My job is on the marketing side, so I'll be working to build our loaning base."

"Very cool!"

"Yeah. I'm so excited. It's insane. I actually had an interview right after the charity scam place but hadn't heard anything for like a month so assumed they went with someone else. Then they called me and asked me if I would be okay doing a test assignment. They sent over this scenario and asked me to formulate a communications strategy, so I did and sent that back and another three weeks passed and I was sure again that they went with someone else, but they called and asked for a second interview." Her words tumbled over one another, and I smiled at her excitement. "I go in, I talk for five minutes with the director about dance of all things, and as I leave I'm pulled aside by the manager who interviewed me the first go-around, and he just leaned in and whispered 'you're hired.' I was so shocked by it all, I didn't know what to say, and then he asked me how much I wanted. So I threw him a number and he agreed."

I was so relived and happy for her. "That's great, Abby!"

"The thing that's hilarious. I spent all this time strategizing how best to network to get into a place. I go out and try to meet all these people and make everyone I know hunt too, all of that totally bombs, and I end up finding something through a regular old job posting." Abby jumped up from her seat looking proud and happy. She bounced on the balls of her feet. "Okay, let's go, I want to celebrate."

It was still cool outside, but it was most definitely spring. Abby was filled with energy, and she demanded that we walk to her "I have a job" martini.

"I'm so happy. Soon I will have money and can go out. Spending all this time at home has been driving me insane! I can feel how annoyed Scott is with my presence. He does this long huffing-out breath whenever I sit on the couch now. I feel like I can't even talk without him just being annoyed. And it's not my fault I can't go out, I have to pay my share of rent and food. It's a one-bedroom apartment, there aren't too many places to go. And he has a job, so why can't he leave?"

I awkwardly studied the sidewalk in front of us. "I don't know. Are you guys okay? Are you thinking about...?"

"No, no," Abby cut me off, knowing where I was going and not wanting to hear the rest of the sentence. "We'll be fine now that I have money I'll be able to go out, and we'll be able to get some distance so we aren't always sitting on top of one another."

Abby sounded sure of their future but I was less confident. It had been months since Abby had talked about Scott without looking sad and sounding pissed off. I wasn't sure a few more nights out were really going to fix things. I almost said something, some bit of intruding advice, but when I looked at her she beamed and her step was almost a skip. If nothing else she deserved to celebrate without me bringing her down.
  23. # Chapter 60

And then Thursday night arrived. I was the first one to arrive at the pub. It was practically empty but I still sat in a booth in the corner to gain some privacy. A few minutes later Nathan came in the front door. I smiled politely and waved, he came over to the table. I stood up and Nathan gave me an awkward hug. I was bothered by how he good he still smelled.

"Thanks for coming out," Nathan said.

"It's good to see you," I replied cautiously.

The waiter came by and I ordered a glass of white wine. Nathan went with a pint of beer.

"How have you been?" he asked, spinning a paper coaster on its edge.

"I've been good. Working on my entry for a cupcake competition next weekend, so that's exciting," I said with a light laugh, trying to break the tension.

"That should be fun." Nathan smiled, but it wasn't his usual goofy, wide grin. This expression was tight and serious.

"How are you?" I asked.

"I'm good, I'm taking an archery class next week, so I'm looking forward to that. I've been watching YouTube videos with people doing all kinds of crazy tricks with a bow and arrow. There was one guy who was able to shoot fruit being dropped from the ceiling as it passed the bulls-eye."

"Neat." I stared at him, wondering where to go from here, and he cleared his throat.

"I guess you're wondering why I texted you out of the blue. I've just been doing a lot of thinking recently. I've been thinking about you a lot. I've missed hanging out with you. I think I may have not really given us enough of a chance and it's been nagging me. I was wondering if you maybe wanted to give it a proper shot."

I was a little stunned. I had never been in this position before. Nathan looked nervous, tearing apart the coaster. The waiter came back and put a new one down along with our drinks.

I breathed in and thought about what it would be like to get back together. It was a nice image. I pictured quirky movie nights in and weekend adventures. I thought how excited I was when he called, how much he could make me smile. How great he smelled, how good he kissed. I thought about the sound of his laugh, the weight of his hand on my waist. But then I remembered what he said when he'd was ending things, and the "I want to keep it casual" thing. He had said that he didn't want a relationship at all, let alone one with me.

I went over the words he just said again in my head. All he really seemed to want was more time to see if something was there. There was no declaration of love, no promises of what he felt for me right now. Was it really enough? Had I missed him, or had I missed all the fun stuff we did more? How long should I really be giving someone to figure out if they liked me or not? Did I want to be with someone who couldn't decide if I even had the basics to start a relationship? What were the chances of him confirming that there was really nothing there a month or six down the road? And most important, did I see me with him?

I realized that although there was a great deal of inner dialogue going on, nothing had actually been said for a few minutes. I looked at him, and he stared down at the table, pushing the scraps of paper into a pile.

I focused on what I actually wanted. I raised my gaze once more to Nathan, his handsome face, his continued expression of anticipation. And I knew the answer, though the words were not coming together. It was strange, considering how many times I heard them said to me. Feeling ill, I took a sip of wine and finally broke the long silence.

"I'm sorry, Nathan, but I just can't," I said, quietly but with conviction.

Nathan nodded and gave a small smile. For a moment we just sat there. I wondered what to do next.

Nathan finally broke the silence, chuckling to himself. "Do you remember that time you wore those new dark blue jeans and they dyed your legs blue?"

I laughed and nodded. I remembered how I'd been betrayed by the pair of jeans I had so confidently worn on a date with him.

"And I'm totally upset!" he teased, trying not to look too crestfallen. "Now I won't be able to try out your future award-winning cupcakes. I'm sure if they are anything like your Skor cookies, you'll win for sure."

"Well, I'll miss hearing all about all the things you try out."

"I don't know, I may go after adventure but craziness seems to find you, you've got some great stories yourself," Nathan said sweetly.

When we finished our drinks, Nathan got the bill. He gave me a hug, a really tight hug, to say goodbye. I breathed him in, cursing one last time that unidentified, amazing aroma he exuded. A part of me still wished that I could say yes. But I knew as great as he was, and as much fun as we had had, that what I was looking for wasn't there. I felt a surge of pride as I let go and said goodbye, knowing I had done the right thing.
  24. # Chapter 61

As I walked home I started to cry. I avoided eye contact with the people I passed, trying to wipe away new tears from my swollen face. I felt a complicated mass of emotions, which I couldn't quite explain. In the last year nothing had visibly changed. I was still single, working at Take, living in the same apartment, hanging out with the same friends. But everything had evolved. I didn't fully recognize myself. I was a little disappointed that life hadn't come together. But I wondered if it ever would. I was tired of thought, tired of overanalyzing everything.

Nothing I had done to "figure myself out" had worked. No great trip, no time set aside to think, no new experience, no new person had changed me in a life-altering way. It was the tiny shifts in thought, the tiny moments of victory that had pushed me forward. I regretted all the time I'd spent worrying about how it would all come together because it never translated into anything real. I thought about all those stories I had been reading about people who had to take their time before it all came together and suddenly felt very stupid for constantly freaking out.

I wished I could take back all the wasted time missing Nathan, when he wasn't what I really wanted. I did want someone to have adventures with. But I also wanted something that was undoubtedly real and clear, not blurry and casual. I didn't want to settle, or worse, be settled on.

By the time I got home, I thought that maybe, maybe I had it figured out at last. All you can do is take all the opportunities you can and take care of the people you love. Abby had said that to me on the beach in the Dominican six months ago. I would have to tell her that she'd been right the whole time.

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