20
The edges of the sky are tinted purple as we pull into Charlottetown. It’s only early in the tourist season, but the streets
are still pretty busy. We find a parking spot a few blocks away from the festival and walk over in silence. An hour ago, I
might have called it an awkward silence, but after practicing in the car on the way here, I’ve decided to rename it an amiable
silence. And I have to admit, it’s pretty nice. Every few minutes, an annoying voice in the back of my head whispers, Say something! but I’ve decided to ignore it. It’s nicer just to walk side by side, breathing in the cool, salty air and admiring the fairy
lights strung over Charlottetown’s main street.
The festival itself takes place on a wide waterfront street lined with shops. They’ve closed it off to traffic, so people
are just wandering around, peering at the menus for the food trucks or looking at the craft booths set up along the street.
“Want to get some food first?” John asks. “And a beer?”
I open my mouth to remind him I don’t like beer when I realize he’s messing with me. “Ha, ha,” I say dryly. “Food first, please.”
We do a loop of the street to read the different menus, then I save us a spot at a picnic table while John goes off to order
for us. I sit cross-legged on the bench and rest my chin on my hands. Now that the sun is going down, the twinkly lights above
the street look even prettier, and someone has started playing guitar outside one of the shops. I take a deep breath and let
it out again happily.
I wonder if I would enjoy this moment more if I was famous or a millionaire. My clothes would be nicer, that’s for sure, and I’d have a personal makeup artist to do fancy eyeshadow for me. But the lights wouldn’t be any twinklier, and the smoke wafting from the food truck grills wouldn’t smell any more delicious.
Still, I don’t think it’s wrong to want a job that I love. My NYU and internship applications flash in my mind, but I push
the thought away. It’s such a long shot, honestly, I don’t even want to bother getting my hopes up. Plus... my eyes drift
to John, who’s approaching with two cans of soda in one hand and a carefully balanced pile of cardboard take-out containers
in the other.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay in Waldon a little while.
“What’re you looking at?” John asks, as he sits down opposite me.
I clear my throat. “Just those shops there.” I point. “I wonder if I’d like owning a shop. Thanks,” I add, taking my food
from him.
“What would you sell?”
“Good question. Clothes, maybe. Or jewelry.” Though even as I say it, it sounds kind of dull. I like clothes and jewelry well
enough, but I don’t think I’d actually want to make them. “Ooh, or maybe I could own a bakery!”
“Can you bake?”
“Well... no. I mean, a little, but nothing fancy. But I could go to culinary school. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? Like
going to school, but your homework is cookies.”
John laughs. “I don’t think that’s what culinary school is like. My sister’s friend did it, and she said it was a lot of,
like, food costing and learning back-of-house stuff. Plus a lot of butchery.”
I grimace. “Okay, that sounds less fun.” I take a bite of my food, a spicy curry dish. “Oh man, this is good,” I say. Then, through a mouthful, “Is your sister older than you, or younger?”
“Two years older. You have any siblings?”
I shake my head. “Only child. But my cousins lived next door to us when I was growing up, so I didn’t turn into one of those
weird only children who don’t know how to share.”
John snorts into his soda. “Is that a thing?”
“It’s called Only Child Syndrome,” I tell him. “It’s this theory by some ancient psychologist that says that all only children
are destined to be spoiled, selfish brats. I wrote a paper about it in high school.”
“That’s so random,” he says.
“Yes, well. Welcome to my brain.”
John laughs. We eat in (amiable) silence, then throw our trash away and wander around the booths. Most of it is a bit too
crafty for my taste, but I do buy a box of homemade chocolates.
“For my movie marathon,” I explain to John. “What are your plans for the rest of the week?” I add, as we move on to wait in
line for one of the most popular booths, which seems to sell some kind of jewelry.
“Just working on the race car.”
“Oh, right. You do... racing stuff?”
John laughs. “Yes. Just at the local track. Me and my buddies have an old Nissan we run.”
“So you race against other people?”
“Mm. I mostly take care of the car stuff. My buddy Tim does most of the driving. You should come out to a track day sometime.”
I raise a teasing eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to commit to a second date before this one’s even over? Things could go
south from here, you know. I might tell you I’m in a cult or something.”
“Are you?”
“No. But you might’ve agreed to go out with me again before you knew that, see? First dates,” I add wisely, “are like interviews.
You wouldn’t hire someone halfway through an interview. HR wouldn’t allow it.”
John stares at me, a mix of amusement and incredulity on his face. “You’re so weird.”
I open my mouth to retort, but we’ve reached the front of the line. The owner of the booth, a pretty woman with light brown
skin and tightly curled hair, smiles at us.
“Hi, there,” she says.
I smile back. “Hi.”
“What do you think of this stuff?” John asks, pointing at the table.
I lean closer to inspect the jewelry laid out on the table. It’s actually really cool, sort of gothic and dainty at the same
time, like a delicate silver ring with a tiny skull carved into it, or a miniature medieval-looking sword hanging from a very
fine silver chain.
“It’s awesome,” I say. “I like that one.” I point to the tiny sword. “It looks like something out of Zelda .”
“Oh, good,” John says, with a strange smile on his face. Then he gestures to the booth owner. “This is my sister, Kiara, by
the way.”
All the blood rushes to my face. I smack John hard on the arm. “Oh my god.” I cover my face with one hand. “What if I said
I didn’t like it?”
“I would’ve laughed.”
“You’re such an ass, John,” his sister says, laughing.
“He really is,” I agree. “Nice to meet you,” I add, holding out my hand. “I’m Emily.”
“Oh, I know,” she says. “John’s told me all about you.”
I raise a doubtful eyebrow. “He has?”
She snorts. “Okay, not really. Just that you two were coming tonight. He doesn’t ever tell me anything interesting.”
I grin. That makes more sense. “Did you make all this yourself?” I ask, gesturing to the table.
“Yep. I sell stuff on Etsy and in a few shops around town.”
“That’s awesome.”
Kiara shrugs. “Eh, it’s just a way to pass the time. I’m stuck on the island until my dumb husband finishes vet school.”
“Vet school,” I echo. “That’s so cool.”
“Maybe that should be your dream job,” John says.
I wrinkle my nose at him. “I don’t think I could ever put dogs down. I’d wind up crying as much as their owners every time.”
“Same,” Kiara says. “Unless they were tiny yappy dogs.”
“Hey!” I protest. “My parents have a tiny yappy dog, and the little maniac’s kind of grown on me. He’s, like, an overly violent,
overgrown rat. But in a cute way.”
Kiara cackles. “Ooh, I like her,” she says to John.
“Oh, good, because your approval is super important to me,” he says.
“Shoo,” Kiara says, waving him away. “Unless you’re going to buy something, go bother someone else.”
“I’ll buy something,” I say. It’s not a great idea, given my current bank balance, but I really like Kiara’s stuff. Plus,
it would seem rude not to buy something.
“Don’t give her money just to be polite,” John says. “She’s only pretending to be a hippie jewelry maker. She’s actually a drug rep.”
“Yeah, a Canadian drug rep for boring diabetes drugs,” Kiara says. “I’m not swimming in cash like the Viagra reps in the States.”
I laugh. “No, I want to. I really like the tiny sword necklace.”
“Yeah?” Kiara holds it up. “I made it after watching that old Sword in the Stone cartoon.”
“Ooh, I remember that movie!”
“Which one was that?” John asks. “The one with the depressed unicorn?”
Kiara and I roll our eyes in unison. “That was The Last Unicorn, ” I say.
“Obviously,” Kiara adds.
I grin at her and then reach in my pocket for my wallet, but John waves me away. “I’ve got it.”
“Oh—no, really—” I protest.
“Please, let him pay,” Kiara cuts in. “I was going to give it to you for free, but this way I get some of John’s money.”
“How much is it?” I ask uncertainly.
“Depends. John, how much cash have you got?”
“I can see the price tag,” he says, handing her a twenty.
“But can you not read?” Kiara asks. “Because it says twenty-five.”
“Family discount,” John retorts, but he gives her a five-dollar bill anyway.
Kiara turns away to wrap the necklace up in a tiny cloth bag and then hands it to me with a smile. “Nice meeting you, Emily.
You seem really nice, although you’ve obviously got weird taste in men.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
I kind of want to add something like, “See you around,” or blurt out “Can we please be friends?” but instead I manage to smile
like a normal person and follow John to the next booth.
“Your sister’s so cool,” I say wistfully, looking over my shoulder at her. “I wish I could make jewelry like that.”
John laughs. “You wish you could do a lot of things.”
“I know. There are just too many options! How does anyone find their calling in life when there’s literally a million different
careers? And what if you do find your calling, but by the time you realize it, you’re too old to do it?” I sigh. “It’s overwhelming.”
“Maybe you should think less about it,” John says. “Or stop looking so hard.”
“Maybe. Like how people say you’ll only meet your soulmate after you’ve totally given up looking.”
John makes a face. “Who says that?”
“The people in my cult.”
It makes him laugh, like I was hoping it would. I laugh with him, then stifle a yawn.
“You want to head home?” John asks.
“Is that okay?” I ask. “I swear I’m having fun, I just usually go to bed at ten like a loser.”
“I don’t think that makes you a loser. Let’s go.”
We head up the street, waving at Kiara as we pass by, and walk back to the parking lot. Another silence has fallen between
us, but this one feels slightly charged, almost electric. We’re getting into end-of-date territory, now.
My feet slow as we approach the car. I’m not sure why, but I want to do this now, not after he’s driven me home. “This was fun,” I say. After the low rumble of the crowd at the festival, my voice sounds loud in the quiet side streets.
“It was,” John agrees.
After another few steps, I stop walking altogether. John stops walking, too, and turns to face me. We’re standing in the middle
of a parking lot, and there’s a woman loading boxes into a van nearby, but I don’t care. This night was nothing like I expected.
It was—quieter. And more relaxing. And really, really fun.
My heart is pulsing in my ears, and the tips of my fingertips feel prickly. “You still want me to come watch you race sometime?”
I ask.
John nods. “Definitely.”
I lick my lips. “Maybe you could come over for a movie marathon before that. We could watch The Last Unicorn and The Sword in the Stone. ”
“Sounds horrible,” John says. “I’m in.”
I take a half-step closer to him. “Cool.”
“Cool,” he agrees.
The corners of his lips turn up, and then he steps closer and puts his hands on my waist. I can smell his bonfire-smoke cologne,
along with a faint scent of gasoline that reminds me of being in the shop. I slide my arms over his shoulders and look up
at him, waiting.
There’s a single, delicious moment of tension, then he leans down and brushes his mouth over mine. His lips are dry and warm,
his stubble rough and prickly. He kisses like he talks, slow and lazy, and I press myself against him, feeling a sort of arching
deep inside me.
He pulls back first, but I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him again, chasing the light, giddy feeling that’s spreading through my chest.
We stay that way until the woman loading boxes drops one with a loud curse. We break apart, breathless and grinning, and head
to his car. It’s a thirty-five minute drive back to Waldon, but neither of us says a word. I feel no need to break the silence.
This silence is perfect—this silence is sparkly . I sink comfortably into the car seat and lean my head against the window, smiling as I watch the dark road slip by.