23
John’s apartment is on the top floor of a large brick building off Main Street. I find a parking spot not far from the barrel
museum and walk along the sidewalk with my hands shoved in my pockets and my head tilted back to admire the pink-and-gold
sky. The air smells delicious, like sea salt and freshly cut grass. My chest feels light and airy, like there’s more space
in it or something. Only half of it is because of John. The other half is because of the text Kiara sent me earlier, saying
she’d love to have coffee and asking if tomorrow morning would be too soon. Apparently she’s gotten addicted to this hazelnut
cappuccino the local bakery makes and has been going there every morning for weeks. Maybe, if we hit it off, morning coffee
will be our thing (even if I do plan on buying the ninety-nine-cent black coffee rather than a five- dollar cappuccino).
The building John lives in is a tiny bit run-down, but his apartment is actually really nice. The floors are hardwood and
the ceilings have a cool, sort of old-fashioned molding pattern, and there’s one exposed-brick wall that gives the whole place
an artsy vibe. There are a few big squashy couches in the living room and mismatched rugs strewn around haphazardly and a
small balcony in the back overlooking the harbor.
I wander around while John opens a bottle of wine, peering into the bathroom (surprisingly neat), the closet (unsurprisingly messy), and finally the bedroom, which has big windows, a king-size bed, and—
Hang on.
Is that a fish tank ?
“What?” John calls from the kitchen. He must have heard my excited gasp.
“You have fish !” I holler back.
A moment later, he appears in the doorway. “I have fish,” he agrees.
“They’re so cute!” I peer at them through the glass. One of them is tiny and golden, one is orange and pointy, and the third
one is a gorgeous shimmery color and half-hidden between two rocks. “What are their names?”
“They don’t have names.”
I gape at him. “You haven’t named them?”
“No. That one’s a Rasbora —”
“A raspberry?”
“And that’s a swordtail—”
“That tail looks nothing like a sword.”
“And the one back there’s a Geophagus .”
“Those are all terrible names.”
“They’re not names, they’re species.”
I roll my eyes. “Well can I give them better names?”
“Nope.”
“C’mon,” I wheedle. “I’ll come up with really good ones.”
He shakes his head. “Not going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“Do you like it when people name their cars?”
I pull a face. “God, no.”
“Well, that’s how I feel about people naming fish. You don’t name your car, I don’t name my fish.”
I sigh and relent. “Sorry, boys,” I tell the fish. “If one of you starts drowning, I’ll have no way of telling John which
one of you it is.”
“Fish don’t drown. And you can use their species names.”
“Raspberry sherbet, sword in the stone... geophysicist?”
John laughs. “You can call them Fish 1, Fish 2, and Fish 3. That’s the best I can do.”
I grin. “I’ll take it.”
We spread out on his couch to sip on wine and pick at half a leftover pizza he found in his fridge. We make noises about watching
something on Netflix, but in the end we just wind up chatting a while. He tells me about all the local racers who have brought
their cars to the shop, and all the different race car services (or, as he and the racers call them, “performance car services”)
he wants to convince Fred to offer at the shop, and I tell him about the flowers Mrs. Finnamore is going to help me plant
this summer around my house.
As we talk, I’m struck by the same feeling I had the other night. Being with John is just so easy. I don’t feel like I have
to be cute or funny or sexy or interesting. I can be, if I want to, but I don’t have to be—and that makes all the difference.
“Did you have a good time with Jim?” he asks, as he gets up to get rid of the empty pizza box.
“Yeah. He showed me all these old photos of him and his wife from their wedding day in 1949. I took some pictures of them.” I hold my phone out to show him the black-and-white photos. “Aren’t they cool?”
John takes the phone from my hand. “Damn—look at that old Porsche. Is that a 356?” He zooms in on the blurry picture. “I think
it is.”
“I can ask him.”
“That’s awesome. See, now I understand why you like old people.”
I snort. “Yeah, exactly. It’s all for the cars.”
He laughs and heads off to the bathroom. I scroll through the pictures again. Jim and his wife were an insanely good-looking
couple—she looked a little like Julie Andrews, and he had this really wide, dashing smile—and you can just tell from their
photos that they were really in love. In practically every one, they’re beaming at each other like they can’t believe their
own luck.
“Hey, you’re staying here tonight, yeah?” John calls. “I can try to hunt you down a toothbrush.”
I smile. “Yeah,” I call back. “Thanks.”
I look down at the pictures again. I’ve never really thought much about getting married—I still don’t feel that fussed about
it, to be honest—but I hope that someday I have a stack of photos like this, where anyone who looks at them can tell I was
really happy.
And if I happen to be imagining John standing next to me in the photos... well, let’s just keep that between you and me.
The next couple of weeks fly by alarmingly quickly. I’ve somehow gone from having no friends in Waldon to being slightly overwhelmed with them. My early-morning coffee date with Kiara is amazing—she’s just as cool as I thought, and really funny and smart—and our morning coffee dates really do become part of my daily routine. It means an extra ten dollars out of my budget every week (even though Kiara keeps rolling her eyes and saying, “Just let me pay, for Christ’s sake!”), but it’s more than worth it. Trey and I are also spending loads of time together to plan the Canada Day event, and he and Rose have John and me over for dinner twice. John’s parents even take us out for a long lunch one day in Summerside. And that’s not even mentioning all the time I spend with Jim and Mrs. Finnamore.
I spend nearly every night with John, either at my house or at his apartment. It still amazes me how easy it is to be with
him. It’s so easy that it almost feels anticlimactic, if that makes sense. I kind of thought that when I met “the one,” it
would be some grand, dramatic romance. But that’s probably the product of watching too many movies. And anyway, isn’t this
better than drama? Someone you can be totally relaxed around, but can still make you feel all sparkly inside?
On Friday, during a boring hour at work, I decide to text Martha, Divya, and Fallon and see what they think. It’s been weeks
since I heard from them, and they’ve all found “the one,” haven’t they?
I open our group chat.
[10:01] Hey guys!! Hope you’re all doing great. Random question for all of you – how did you know your husbands were the one?
I don’t expect them to text back right away, so I put away my phone and go back to researching community grants. Trey and I have been talking about building a barrel-themed playground in the backyard, but I had no idea how expensive playground equipment is. I’m sure Shelley would lose her mind if I went to the historical society for money behind her back, so I’m trying to find a grant Trey and I could apply for on our own.
My phone doesn’t ding until lunch, but I swipe the notification away without looking at it. John and I are about to start
Wordle. I need to be focused . My streak is getting tantalizingly close to a year.
“Starting word?” John asks.
“GRANT,” I say.
Hmm. Not a bad start. The G is green, and the T is green. The rest of the letters are gray.
BUILD, I try.
Crap. Nothing.
C’mon, brain. Think . What’s a five-letter word that starts with G and ends with T?
I’m totally blanking. Okay, let’s try to eliminate some other letters.
I look at all the letters I haven’t used and come up with POWER.
The O is yellow, the rest are gray.
G... O... T.
GOAT. No, that’s only four letters.
GLOAT. No, there’s no L.
GWOAT. Nope, that’s not a word.
“Crap,” I mutter.
“What’ve you got so far?” John asks.
“G, O, and T.”
He looks down at his screen and raises an eyebrow. I can’t tell if he’s got it or not. Damn his inscrutable face!
“Do you have it?” I ask.
“I do now.” He types a word. “I had the two letters you don’t have.”
I chew on my lip.
G, O, T.
“Is there a double letter?” I ask.
“Nope.”
My phone dings with a text again, then twice more. I swipe the notifications away impatiently. “Is it a weird word? Something
I wouldn’t have heard of?”
“Nope.”
I carefully run through all the letters I haven’t used, trying to guess the second letter, at least. GQ, GW, GY, GS...
None of them make any sense.
Argh.
My phone dings again.
“Is that your parents?” John asks. “Are they back from New Zealand?”
“Nah, not for a couple more weeks,” I say. I swipe to my texts. “It’s just a group chat with my old university friends.” I
swipe back to Wordle, but a moment later, the bell at the front desk chimes. I look toward it with a sigh. “I should get that.”
John nods. “Let me know if you want more hints.”
I help the customer out front, who needs a copy of their receipt for their insurance company. By the time I’m done, John’s
gone back to work as well. I pour myself a cup of coffee and take it to my desk. I stare at Wordle for a little while before
I shake my head. I’m totally blocked. Best to come back to it later.
I swipe open the group chat with Fallon, Divya, and Martha to see all the texts I missed.
[12:32] Fallon: Oooh, Emily, have you finally found a man?
I roll my eyes. Thanks, Fallon.
[12:32] Fallon: Jk girl
[12:32] Fallon: Sooo exciting
[12:33] Fallon: There’s no such thing as the one, though, that’s made-up Disney bullshit
[12:41] Martha: You’re such a cynic, Fallon!
[12:41] Martha: Don’t listen to her, Em. Soulmates are 100% real. I would know!
I grimace at my phone. Yuck. I think I preferred Fallon’s insult.
[12:43] Divya: lollll
Okay, that’s the least helpful of the three. And that’s not saying much, because none of them actually answered my question.
I’m frowning at my phone, wondering if it’s even worth answering, when it dings again.
[1:17] Martha: Just make sure he has the same family values as you do. That’s all that really matters.
The same family values... like, if he wants kids or not? He already told me he doesn’t think he does, same as me. But it
feels like there should be a few more criteria than that for deciding if someone’s “the one.” The weird clerk at the Waldon
liquor store who always stares at my breasts probably doesn’t want kids either. Doesn’t mean I’m going to wind up with him .
Fallon sends an eye-roll emoji.
[1:18] Fallon: That’s not ALL that matters
[1:18] Fallon: You need someone who has the same interests as you
[1:18] Fallon: Like me and Ethan
[1:18] Fallon: We both love business and fitness
I drum my fingers on the desk. John and I definitely don’t have all the same interests. We have Wordle, yes, but other than
that, we’re pretty much polar opposites. He likes motorcycle races (spare me), and camping (kill me), and cars (yawn). But
I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. Plus, my tastes are pretty eclectic. I doubt I’m ever going to find a twenty-seven-year-old
guy who likes doing puzzles, learning French, and watching Anne of Green Gables .
[1:22] Hmm, interesting. Thanks!
(And yes, that’s a lie. I’m just being polite, okay?)
[1:22] Divya, what do you think?
Fifteen minutes pass by. I take payments from two customers and answer a few phone calls. I don’t know if Divya will answer
later, or if she’s just ghosting us.
Hang on a second.
Ghosting.
GHOST.
I snatch up my phone again and type the word into Wordle. And it’s right! GHOST!
I’m doing a victory spin in my chair when John walks in. “What’s the celebration for?”
“GHOST,” I say triumphantly.
“Nice,” he says. “Hey, I’m heading out early, but are we still good for the race tomorrow?”
I stop spinning. I kind of forgot I’d agreed to go to John’s car race this weekend. I see now why Fallon said common interests
are important. I can’t think of any worse way to spend a weekend than standing around some loud, grimy racetrack.
But I promised him I would. And anyway, it’s not like he wants to do all the stuff I want to do. (Even though my stuff is
awesome, like my Legend of Zelda drinking game.)
“Of course,” I say. “What time will you pick me up?”
“Practice starts at nine, and I’ve still got some work to do on the car, so I’ll have to leave here at like... four?”
Four ?
In the morning ?
“Or you could drive up with Kiara. I think she and Jake are leaving here around eight.”
I hesitate, trying not to look too eager. “I don’t want to miss anything in the morning.”
John shrugs. “It’s just practice.”
Thank god. “Well—okay, then. I mean, if Kiara and Jake don’t mind.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll text them now.”
“Thanks. Drive safe tomorrow,” I say.
He waves a hand in acknowledgment and heads out the door.
My brain is a bit frazzled from reading about community grants, so I wile away the rest of the day straightening up the office
and planning my schedule for the next week. Trey wants to get lunch sometime to do a bit more planning for our Canada Day
event, and Jim and Mrs. Finnamore both need their laundry done.
I leave the shop around five and head home. Something is nagging at me as I drive, and for a while I can’t figure out what.
I throw my keys on the coffee table and sit down on the couch, swiping open my texts to send Trey a few links about potential
community grants. The nagging feeling gets stronger as I reply to a text Kiara sent me offering to ask her craft booth friends
to set up booths at our Canada Day event.
[5:37]: That would be amazing!
[5:37]: That’s such a good idea! ?
I would only be exaggerating slightly if I said I have a bigger crush on Kiara than I do on John. She’s so witty and clever, and she’s thoughtful too. Like when I mentioned to her that I wanted to have cupcakes for the Canada Day event, and two hours later she sent me a text connecting me with her friend Cara, who runs a bakery in Charlottetown.
Something clicks in my brain as I realize what’s bothering me. Divya never answered my text in the group chat. My text—“Divya,
what do you think?”—is the last one in the thread.
I open the group chat and scroll back through it slowly, going farther and farther. The nagging feeling grows stronger the
longer I scroll.
For the last year, the only one who’s ever started conversations in this group is me.
I toss my phone aside and go to the kitchen to make some food, but I’m so distracted I’m barely aware of what I’m doing.
I remember how close Martha, Divya, Fallon, and I used to be. We’d go out on weekends and get hangover brunch together afterward,
we’d have movie nights at our apartment and commiserate with each other about bad exams, bad breakups, bad days. Sure, we
annoyed each other sometimes, but we also had a ton of fun together. We really were best friends. I’m not misremembering it.
But I suppose it’s only natural it couldn’t last. University was a long time ago now, and we’ve all gone our different ways and grown into different people. And if I’m being totally honest with myself... even if they lived here in Waldon right now, I’m still not sure we’d still be close friends. We’re too different now. And it isn’t a bad thing, it’s just... a thing. It’s just the way it is. I think I was just trying to hold onto it because I was lonely, or because I felt like I still needed them. Even if what I needed was something they were never going to give me.
I sit down at my kitchen table and take a bite of my dinner. And yuck, okay, I should have paid more attention while I was
cooking. I’ve definitely put sugar on this haddock instead of salt.
Oh, well. I take another bite of sugared fish. This was an important revelation.
My phone dings with a text, and for a split second I wonder if it’ll be Divya, saying something that will prove my whole theory
wrong. But it isn’t. It’s Kiara.
[6:07] Kiara: Awesome! We can chat more about it tomorrow—I hear you’re riding with us?
[6:07] If that’s okay? ?
[6:08] Kiara : Duh. Pick you up at eight?
I smile.
[6:08] Sounds great.