Chapter 10 Storm Forecast
STORM FORECAST
MATS
SINC TAPS ON MY DOOR, WHICH IS ALREADY SLIGHTLY AJAR.
Hey, Mats. Andy baked cookies. Do you want some before the hungry hordes find them? He holds out a round cookie tin full of his girlfriend’s chocolate chip cookies. I reach for one, then pull my hand back.
Sorry. I’ve got dinner at Marjorie’s tonight, and I have to save my appetite. Thanks, though. We’ve had three dinners so far. The Snickers salad has not made an encore appearance, but every meal can politely be described as hearty.
He looks out my window. I don’t like the look of that sky. Maybe you shouldn’t go tonight.
I pull out my phone and check the weather. It says light flurries. And I have four-wheel drive. We should be okay.
He frowns. I’m pretty good at storm predicting.
Is that something you learned on the farm?
Maybe? He unfurls his lanky frame onto my bed. Neko is already there, so she curls up beside him. How are the dinners going with Cleo?
She’s different. No filter, and she’s got a ton of energy.
Obviously, she’s a true extrovert, which I appreciate on my low-energy nights.
But I’m not quite sure what to make of her whole story about seeing me last season.
It almost sounded like she’d been interested, which is not a vibe she’s ever given me.
Sinc clears his throat, which is one of his nervous tells.
What’s wrong? I ask.
He groans. How can you always tell?
We’ve been friends since junior hockey, and he’s always been an open book. A lot like Cleo, actually.
He blows out a loud breath. I just wanted to give you a heads-up about Lana. She’s started going out with Luke Charlevoix.
Charlie is a senior and a defenceman on the Mustangs. We’re friendly, but not close. Still, he’s a bit of a surprise. With his laid-back personality, he doesn’t seem like the type of guy ambitious Lana would choose.
Charlie? He’s not the guy I would have guessed. After Zee’s warning, I’ve been prepared for her to date one of my teammates.
Does it bother you? Jack’s concern is sincere, since he’s not a gossip. In fact, I’m surprised he even found out before me.
I heave a sigh of relief. No, I’m good. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about our relationship, and I’m actually glad it’s over.
When we were going out, I accepted Lana’s criticisms and insecurities as part of our relationship.
After all, I’m hardly perfect, and overall, things seemed good.
But in retrospect, the way she tried to change me and control the narrative around our relationship was downright creepy.
Did she actually care about the real me?
Because the first time I dared to break out of her mould and do something she didn’t like, she was done.
Do you think Charlie is good-looking? I ask, then want to stuff the question back in my mouth.
It reeks of neediness. But if my relationship with Lana was based on appearances, then how does Charlie fit into her boyfriend requirements?
He’s a Quebecois guy with a shaggy mullet and a casual attitude about grooming.
Sinc grins. I asked Andy the same thing.
She’s the one who told me about Lana and Charlie in the first place.
She ran into them at the arena. Sinc’s girlfriend is the sports editor of the campus newspaper, so she’s around the arena at odd times.
She said—and this is a direct quote—‘he’s not bad, but not nearly as attractive as Mats. ’
We laugh, and he continues, Apparently, on the hotness scale, Charlie is a six or seven and you’re a nine. Again, Andy’s ratings, not mine.
Only a nine? I joke.
I better be the only ten on Andy’s scale, Sinc insists with mock indignation.
He enjoys commitment more than anyone I know.
But in his case, it works perfectly. He’s been happier and more confident ever since he and Andy got together.
I’m glad for him, and maybe a touch envious too.
Not because he has a girlfriend, but because he’s found someone so well suited to him.
Thanks for the heads-up, Sinc. But I’m over Lana now.
The news about her and Charlie feels distant, like it’s happening to someone else. And lesson learned: Next time, I won’t put up with any crap. If someone doesn’t appreciate my essential nature, forget it.
He smiles and sits up. That’s great news, Mats. I was worried about telling you, because it felt like bad news. But you’ve moved on. You’re not seeing anyone new, are you?
Nope. I’ll focus on school and hockey for now.
Oh, right. You and your long-term plans, he jokes.
You mock me. But it’s how I like to live. I’m into goal setting and doing things with a purpose. Maybe it was weird when I first started at fourteen, but by now everyone should be thinking about their future.
What about your personal life? Isn’t that part of your plan too?
I consider his question. Maybe I’m too much of a romantic, but love is the one thing I’d like to fall into.
I don’t want to have to scheme and plan.
That’s why I don’t use dating apps, either.
I’d rather meet in person and see if we have a spark.
And it’s not just sexual attraction; that spark is something bigger—a magnetism between two people.
I shrug. Besides, I’m not interested in dating right now.
We’ll see, says Sinc skeptically as he rises to go. He reopens the cookie tin. Here, put away a couple for later. Andy’s chocolate chip cookies are life-changing.
I drive over to Cleo’s to pick her up for dinner. She comes out immediately, hops in, and starts talking before her seatbelt is even fastened. I welcome this new Cleo over the sullen version of our first drive. I suspect this is closer to her authentic self.
Hey, Mats. I have good news for you.
Please share. I pull out into the darkening evening as a light snow begins to fall.
We’re having roast beef for dinner!
I smile at her enthusiasm. How do you know this?
I called Geraldine. There’s this special kind of wool she needs, so I told her I’d order it online. Anyway, while we were chatting, she dropped the dinner menu on me: roast beef and roast potatoes. All things you consider to be food, right?
I won’t mark myself as safe until I see all the side dishes. But I am relieved. Last week’s hot dish took two days to work its way through my system. It felt like I was sweating out saturated fats.
Tonight’s dinner turns out to be almost all recognizable foods: roast beef, potatoes, peas, and carrots. Geraldine’s pièce de résistance is a tri-coloured jelly salad with bits of canned fruit suspended in it. That’s practically health food around here.
That was excellent, I say as we rise from the table, and Geraldine beams. It’s the witching hour of 7:15 when we need to leave.
But when we open the door, the landscape has been completely transformed. My SUV is cocooned in a fat layer of snow. Worse, the driveway is indistinguishable from the snow-covered lawn.
Fuck me, Cleo mutters.
Marjorie peers out. Well, there’s no way you can go home in this weather. The snow is continuing to come down, and the sky is dark and clouded.
I really don’t want to stay here overnight, so I wade out to the car and take a few ineffectual swipes at my windshield, with zero impact.
But we have classes in the morning, I protest. Monarch is such a small campus that most people walk to school, and we rarely get snow days.
I’ll call Pete and make sure he plows the driveway early, Geraldine says. There’s a middle-aged couple who look after the big jobs here.
I turn towards Cleo. She doesn’t seem too excited about spending more time here either, but her Midwestern chill is in full effect. She doesn’t panic easily. Doesn’t look too good.
So, we spend the evening with Marjorie and Geraldine. Turns out that they watch Jeopardy! together every night. Marjorie knows all the answers before the contestants. She’s so sharp that I suspect any bequests she leaves Monarch in her will won’t be realized for another twenty-five years.
Geraldine prepares a bedtime snack for all of us. I politely refuse the warm milk and cookies since I’m still full from dinner, but Cleo has both.
At 8:30, Marjorie declares it’s bedtime. You young people can stay up as long as you like, but keep the noise down.
You hear that, Mr. Noisy-Pants? murmurs the noisier one of us.
We’ll show you where you’re sleeping, Marjorie offers.
The two of them lead us upstairs. It’s the first time I’ve been to the second floor, and the craftsmanship of the house is carried on.
I see the same gleaming wood floors and wainscoting, polished brass fixtures, and sparkling leaded glass.
It’s not my personal taste, but the quality is visible everywhere.
Marjorie opens the door to a bedroom that features an actual canopy bed, all done up in gold and burgundy brocade. There’s a small armchair, two nightstands, and a dresser with a mirror. A threadbare Persian rug in red and gold tones covers the wood floor.
Wasn’t this bedroom in The Crown? jokes Cleo.
Geraldine snorts. Never had a queen sleep here.
A Swedish princess slept here once, though. I think it was back in the fifties, Marjorie remarks casually.
Cleo whistles. Impressive. Is this my room?
Both women turn to us and smile. We’re not old-fashioned fuddy-duddies, Marjorie says with a wink. It’s fine for you and Roy to share. After all, it’s our biggest guest room.
I look at the bed again. It’s not that big, and besides, there’s no bed big enough for both of us to sleep in. I steal a glance at Cleo, who is wide-eyed and silent.
It’s tough to know what to do here. If I insist on my own room, it’s going to blow up our whole fake-couple deal. Maybe we could claim a vow of premarital chastity? Though that seems very out of keeping with Cleo’s earthy character. Or mine, for that matter.
As I’m vacillating, the chance to protest slips away.
Geraldine motions behind her. There’s a bathroom right across the hall. I put out fresh towels for you.
I mutter my thanks, since Cleo’s still stunned silent.
Well, good night. Marjorie’s voice is cheerful as she makes her way across the landing to her own bedroom, which seems to be an entire wing of the house.
Sleep tight, Geraldine adds. She lives here too, although I’m not sure exactly where.
We enter the bedroom and I shut the door. Cleo finally regains her power of speech. She turns to me, with her hands on her hips. Her whole body sparks with anger.
What the actual fuck are we going to do? she asks in a whisper-hiss.
Seems pretty obvious. If there was a viable option, like a couch or even a softer floor, I would volunteer to sleep elsewhere, but there’s not. And I need a good night’s sleep.
Both of us? Here? She motions towards the bed.
It’s not ideal… I begin.
Cleo interrupts me. There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same bed as you. Who knows what will happen?
Her words spark a heated anger that rises in me.
I’ve tried to be accommodating because of how awkward our situation is.
But she must know what kind of person I am by now.
All I’ve ever been is respectful and accommodating to the women in my life, and I still get tarred with the reputation of all men; or, rather, the worst of men.
You know what, Cleo? I’ve taken your insults, your complaints, and—worst of all—this insane idea that I’m solely responsible for every bad thing that’s happened to your brother.
This is the limit, though. Obviously neither one of us wants to share a bed.
But if you’re implying that I’d force myself on you, you can just fuck off.
Cleo stares at me, her blue eyes wide and her forehead furrowed. I don’t even bother waiting for her reply. I head out of the room and go downstairs.