Chapter 23
Fourteen minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom, still working out what I will say to Reeve. But when I reach our table, it’s empty.
Not only that, it’s been reset.
I look around, wondering if maybe I got turned around exiting the bathroom, and spot him standing at the front door with his coat on.
All of the feelings I managed to quell during my talk with Zoe come back in a rush.
He’s leaving. He realized what a mess I am and got out while he still could. I almost turn to go back to the bathroom, but then he reaches out his arms and takes something from the hostess, and before I can tell what it is, he turns in my direction.
In his hands is my coat.
We lock eyes as I walk toward him. He holds the coat up, waiting for me to slip my arms into it. I move toward him, my legs on autopilot and my head still processing what is happening.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I turn, letting him help me into my coat.
Reeve’s hands linger on my hips as he brings his mouth to my ear. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I think I picked the wrong place. It’s pretty loud in here, and you have a big day tomorrow. What do you say we head back to my place and order in? I’ve got some beer in my fridge.”
I think I manage a nod. Either way, he grabs my hand. Then we’re out the door and on the street, and the entire time I’m wondering how he knew, how I never even had to say anything.
It starts to snow as we walk back. We’re taking a slightly different path, down a quieter street instead of the busy one. We stop on a corner to wait for a break in traffic, and I find myself drawn to the sound of a tinkling acoustic guitar. I look up and see what looks like a rooftop patio.
“It’s like minus two out. Are people actually sitting outside?” I ask Reeve, who looks up as well.
“Yeah. They keep that thing open all year round. It’s nothing fancy, but they have some pretty serious heaters.”
I don’t know why, but I have this sudden urge to see it for myself. “Can we go up?”
A small smile breaks across Reeve’s face. “This is your night. We can do whatever you want.”
We open the door to a typical-looking small pub, then climb a steep flight of stairs to another door that does, in fact, lead out to a rooftop patio. As we step out, I am blasted with a wave of heat.
It is, as Reeve described it, just a simple rooftop patio.
The floor is made from wooden boards, the same kind that Dale used a few months ago when he built a backyard deck for his and Zoe’s yard.
Clear Plexiglas walls and what looks like a yellow vinyl roof give enough shelter from the winter and the wind that, with the help of my jacket, the temperature is bearable—even pleasant.
Whether it’s the crisp night air or the familiar laughter of the crowd in toques and parkas, I feel as if I can breathe easy here.
It looks nothing like the Legion back home but somehow feels like it.
A waitress walks by with a tray full of beers. Addressing me more than Reeve, she says, “We’re pretty full tonight, but there is a bit of space at the bar if you don’t mind.”
Reeve looks at me as if asking me that same question.
I nod. I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.
I can see Pbrs in the fridge behind the bartender as I slide into my seat. And as stupid as it seems, it sends me a signal. Maybe I’m not so out of place. As Reeve said, the earlier restaurant was a bad call.
The bartender doesn’t even blink when I order my beer. He reaches into the fridge, cracks the bottle open, and hands it to me, not even asking if I need a glass. Exactly as I like it.
“I like this place,” I tell Reeve after a long sip. “It reminds me a little of the Legion.” He clinks his bottle with mine. “And I’m sorry about earlier….” I feel the need to explain, but Reeve waves me off.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he says. “It was busy and loud—definitely not the right place for the night before your interview.” He shakes his head. “I just got so wrapped up trying to impress you, I didn’t really think.”
His comment catches me so off guard that I snort, causing beer bubbles to shoot up my nose and forcing me to clamp my hand over my mouth to prevent a cartoonlike spitting on the bar top. When I finally swallow, I begin to laugh. “Why on earth would you ever need to impress me ?”
I expect him to smile back, perhaps saying something Reeve-like and charming. Instead, his eyes meet mine without so much as a hint of a smile. “Because I like you, Jules—a lot.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the but or the however, or even the except.
It doesn’t come.
Because that’s it, that’s the sentence. I like you, Jules. Hard stop.
There are probably a hundred suitably appropriate things I could say back, but the only thing I manage is an ambiguous “Oh.”
He stares at the bottle in his hands, rolling it between his palms before peeling the corner of the bottle label with his thumb.
“I didn’t tell you that on the dock two years ago, and that was a mistake.
” His gaze returns to mine. “So I’m saying it now.
On the off chance it isn’t already painfully obvious. ”
The only painful thing is how badly I wanted to hear it.
I take a swig of beer to distract myself from this overwhelming swelling in my chest. “I like you, too, a lot,” I tell him.
“And the restaurant was great. I was just coming off a rough day, I guess. I had a big fight with Zoe and then a run-in with a horse cop who gave me a very expensive ticket, and then that forty-five-dollar hamburger became this symbolic reminder of how expensive this city is.”
Reeve pauses his beer halfway between the table and his mouth. “I didn’t even think—I was planning on paying for—”
“No,” I interrupt again. “It’s not about the money—well, it’s a little bit about the money. It’s more…” I consider how to phrase my thoughts.
“I really, really want to go to med school.” I start with the most straightforward part. “And I don’t think I realized how much so until a few weeks ago. But up until now, my money issues have always been the thing that stopped me.”
I pause, as the next part is more complicated to explain.
“Now I have this dance hall, and all of a sudden, a pretty hopeless situation is now a lot more hope…full? And I know I should be thrilled, but all I can think about is that if I sell the dance hall, it will make life harder for all the people I love. It might just be condos today, but then the people in those condos will want fancy coffee that isn’t Folgers from Lou’s and microbrews that you can’t get at the Legion. ”
“And forty-dollar hamburgers?” Reeve offers, leaning his shoulder into mine.
I look over at him, relieved that he gets it.
“Yes. So I am in this weird place where I’m stuck between making a decision I don’t feel good about or going back to pretending I’m okay with my life when I’ve finally admitted to myself I’m not.
And all that uncertainty seemed to surface tonight on the restaurant bathroom floor. ”
I smile in an attempt to lighten our conversation.
Reeve also smiles, his eyes dropping to his beer before meeting mine again. “When it happened to me, it was on the Yonge subway line.”
I stare at him for a moment, confused, then realize what he’s telling me.
“I had just left the art gallery,” he continues.
“It was the last day of my internship, and I had just told them I wouldn’t be extending my contract.
They were really great about it. Wished me well and even got me a cake.
Told me I was welcome back anytime. I took the subway home that night, and when it was time to get off, I couldn’t do it.
It felt like it made my decision final, so I rode all the way to North York and then back again before I was finally able to get off. ”
He looks up, forcing a smile, as if trying to bring us back to easier conversation.
“Is this the part where you tell me it all works out in the end and then offer sage advice?” I ask.
Reeve shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m the best guy for advice. Maybe just the guy who understands.”
I scoot my chair closer. He helps, pulling it the rest of the way so it’s flush with his, and our knees touch.
We’re interrupted by the bartender, who stops to eye our half-drunk bottles.
“Can I get you guys anything else?” He nods at the menus in front of us we’ve yet to open.
Reeve leans forward, his arm resting on the back of my chair. “What do you recommend for two people trying to figure out what the hell they’re doing with their lives?”
The bartender thinks for a moment. “Loaded nachos.”
I look at Reeve. An entire decision is made with a simple lift of our brows.
“Loaded nachos it is.”