Chapter 21
I am a miserable wreck of a human being the entire drive to Toronto. The sour feeling in my stomach is eased only when I exit the Gardiner Expressway and loop around to turn onto York Street, where it’s replaced with yet another feeling of déjà vu.
Whether subconsciously or just from following the Google Maps directions, I’m taking the same route as the bus in my last Kitty dream.
However, instead of pulling into Union Station, I pass the Royal York Hotel.
And by pass, I mean drive by, only to come to a complete stop half a block farther when the traffic in front of me grinds to a complete halt.
Fuck.
I don’t actually swear out loud. But the woman in the business suit cutting between my car and the one in front of me has no trouble reading my lips and gives me an unimpressed single eyebrow raise.
I glance at the clock on my dash: 3:45. I planned to be at the U of T campus just after three, giving me plenty of time to park and freshen up before the 4:00 campus tour.
I naively assumed the traffic on the highway would be minimal, seeing as it was the middle of the day, but I failed to check the sports schedule.
Both the Leafs and the Raptors have home games tonight.
Apparently, every single person attending those games decided to head downtown early to avoid the congestion.
I pick up my phone to email the campus coordinator and let them know I’m not going to make it, rationalizing to myself that the student center and the medical admissions committee likely do not cross-reference who failed to make their completely voluntary tours.
No sooner do I hear the whoosh of the email flying through cyberspace than there’s a tap tap tap on my driver’s window and a police officer on a humongous brown horse signaling me to roll my window down.
“It’s illegal to text and drive, ma’am,” he says, pointing at the phone now sitting in my cup holder.
I want to tell him I’m not driving as much as sitting, going absolutely nowhere, but think better of it as he writes and hands me a two-hundred-and-eighty-dollar ticket.
As I roll up my window, the car behind me blasts its horn, then the driver flips me the finger as they pull around, racing down the next fifty feet, only to get stopped by another bout of traffic.
Even though that move feels far more dangerous and illegal than texting while stopped, horse cop does not pursue.
It’s almost five o’clock by the time I make it to the St. George campus.
I have to circle three times to find a parking spot on the street, and when I finally do get out, the sky opens up and begins to sleet.
I wander the campus for thirty minutes on my own, in the rain, growing less and less enamored with it all and more and more intimidated by my interview scheduled for the next morning.
As weird as it sounds, I wish Kitty were here.
To point out with her glass-half-full optimism the architectural beauty of the Gothic buildings and remind me of all the opportunities a med school degree could bring, then wrap it up with another of her Kitty-isms: “The beauty of uncertainty is that anything is possible, darling.”
Because it all feels impossible right now.
My phone rings just as I’m getting back into my car.
Reeve’s voice comes through so even and solid. “Hey. Are you here? How’d it go?”
I resist the urge to recap the day’s woes that seemed to fall like dominoes, rationalizing that whatever is happening between us is still so new.
“It was a bit of a journey to get down here, but I made it.” I force a false, sunny tone. “Where are you? Still at work?”
There’s a sound like an elevator ding in his background.
“Yeah, just leaving now. It’s about a ten-minute walk. If you’re still at St. George, I will beat you home. Why don’t I wait by the entrance to the parking garage? I can jump in and buzz you into the visitor parking. I have the pass in my bag. You’ve still got the address, right?”
I glance around the street for more horse cops before putting the phone on speaker to pull up the map.
“Google says I’ll be there in fifteen.”
There’s another ding of an elevator, and then the quiet background of Reeve’s phone shifts to the sounds of traffic noises.
“Sounds good. I’ll see you soon. And, Jules…”
He hesitates just enough for me to become aware of my heavy heartbeat.
“I’m really glad you’re here.”