Chapter 9 Present Day
CHAPTER 9
PRESENT DAY
July
After the long weekend, it’s Ciji’s first day at summer school. Before she runs out the door for her bus, she gives me a tight hello . That and the plate left in the sink covered in crumbs give me optimism that today will be a better day. I even managed to get a decent sleep, aside from dreams of climbing up and down a tower in a panic searching for something I couldn’t find. My fingers itch to message Mel or Norah, but everything feels off-centre with them. Not for the first time, I regret falling out of touch with my undergrad circle. At least Hassan will be happy to hear from me.
Lia: I can’t believe it’s Tuesday already. Long weekends just fly by eh
Hassan: Lol seriously. Wouldn’t be so bad if I got to see you in the office though ;)
Lia: How was your weekend?
Hassan: My mom dragged me to mosque under the pretense of some event. As if introducing me to all the single women wasn’t her plan all along. I was standing there wishing you were with me, TBH. Maybe we can go together when you’re back?
Lia: LOL That’s what happens every time I go with my mom! Last time, she tried to introduce me to “a lovely middle-aged engineer” who not-so-secretly lives with his male partner. I swear she’s clueless. An auntie had to pull her away…
Hassan: Don’t even get me started on the aunties!
Lia: We’ll never get to work if we bring up the grievances with the aunties LOL
Smiling faintly, I brew myself a pot of coffee and glance out the window at the still blue of the bay. As lovely as my usual view of the CN Tower is, working lakeside is a real perk. Maybe I should take advantage of my new office setting. The bay beckons, even though I should be chained in front of my computer poring over the latest gigabyte of paperwork forwarded by Eleanor’s assistant. I grab my mug of coffee and head outside. It’s the kind of day that’s going to be broiling in the afternoon, but the morning is perfect. Warm enough that I’ll be comfortable outside in shorts and a tee. I amble down the dock, narrowly avoiding spilling my coffee when an uneven plank of wood catches beneath my toe. I stop for a second, considering.
Instead of sitting in one of the Muskoka chairs, I slide off my flip-flops and plop down onto the dock, letting my bare feet hang just above the water. I take in a deep breath and release it, letting the sound mix with the light breeze ruffling the trees.
“We had the same idea.”
I jolt, splashing coffee over the rim of my cup.
“Sorry,” Wes calls. He’s sitting on a teal lounge chair on his dock, a well-worn book on the side table and a large mug of coffee the size of my head cradled in his hand. Stubble scratches his cheeks and it looks like a rough night drew blue circles under his eyes, but an amused smile brightens his face.
“Where did you come from?” I ask, wiping coffee drops from my thighs.
“I waved but you seemed distracted.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, gesturing out to the blue expanse. “I forgot how lovely it is here.”
“It is,” he says, eyes on me. My cheeks warm, as he continues, “I see you still refuse to dip your foot in the water.”
“It’s cold,” I protest. He’s giving me that lopsided grin, the same one I’ve lost myself in a thousand times. But on his adult face, it seems out of practice, as if his lips have been so used to turning the other way that they’re confused. I dip a toe in and immediately recoil as ice sinks into my bones. “Damn, you could make a popsicle out of my toe.”
The guffaw I earn is worth it. “So, are you going to immediately sanitize your foot post contact with the amoebas?”
I glare at my foot with suspicion, the droplets glinting in the sun, but shake my head. “Maybe an amoeba will enter my brain and do my work for me today.”
“Sounds like you’re dreaming big.” Wes gets up with his coffee, grabbing his book.
My stomach falls. I thought I’d broken the ice. “You’re going now?” I can’t help but ask.
His shoulders are set, as if my question was getting at something more. But then he relaxes. “No. I’m coming over there.” He strolls off his dock with long, loping strides. I sit quietly as he nears me.
Wes hesitates before he folds himself down next to me. Light glints off the dusting of hair on his legs. My body warms and it’s not because of the coffee I’m holding.
I swallow. He’s examining me too, the chip in my dusty rose pedicure, the insistent furrow between my eyebrows, the mole on my left collarbone. Blood rises to my skin everywhere his gaze lingers. I shift uncomfortably, as if my skin is revealing too much.
Impulsively, I pull the book out of his grip. I’m not sure what I expect, but it’s not this. “A Shakespeare collection? Is that what investment bankers read for fun?”
“No,” he frowns, tugging the book back, but I refuse to let go.
I quirk my eyebrow. “That’s not an answer.” The pages are well-worn around The Merchant of Venice and Hamlet but there’s a bookmark in Romeo and Juliet . When he doesn’t reply, I backtrack. “Never mind, it’s not my business.”
He doesn’t like that, his eyes narrowing, and I realize I feel the same. We used to share everything with each other.
“I left banking,” he says, peeking out at me from behind his coffee mug as if protecting himself from my reaction.
Wes always wanted to leave Wiarton and never return. He wanted security, money and adventure, and he’d had it all. But now he’s back with a closely shorn head and a grim face, reverently cradling a book straight out of the high school curriculum. “You’re a teacher,” I guess.
“English and math.” Wes bites back his lopsided smile. “Who would have thought?”
I would have. His patience as I stumbled over my words, helping me untangle my nerves when I was younger. The responsibility and care that layered his actions. “It suits you,” I say.
His smile freezes for a moment, as if also remembering. “I’m trying to figure out what play I should teach this year, depending on…” He trails off, as if he didn’t intend to go that far.
“On what?” I ask.
He considers before answering. “On which job I take. A school in downtown Toronto offered me a position. But the school here needs a sub. The hours wouldn’t be consistent, but maybe it’s the easier transition, since I just finished my teaching certification.”
This Wes isn’t the boy I used to know. “Forget easy, which path do you want?”
He shakes his head tightly, jaw biting down in a non-answer. Avoiding my probing gaze, Wes tilts his head, eyes unfocused. The silence between us is marked by the jitter of crickets, the splash of the waves breaking against the rocks.
“Anyway, what about you? What are you up to these days?” Wes breaks the quiet.
“Well, I’m a corporate lawyer so that’s pretty much my entire life,” I say.
“I know. I also have the powers of Google. Mergers and acquisitions at Gold I do not have time to shower again before work. “I have a tattoo,” I admit. He doesn’t need to know of what.
His laughter rings through me, his delight fizzing in my chest. “Really? Where is it?”
“It’s not visible,” I say, throat dry as his eyes dip to my bare skin. But it’s my turn now. “Truth or Dare?”
“Truth.”
Infinite questions flick through my mind, all potential minefields. “I can’t think of what to ask you,” I admit, heart galloping. “Tell me something about you that I wouldn’t expect.” I shock myself by going deep but he’s already nodding, eyes serene like the surface of a calm lake.
“You know how I used to want to travel the world? Well, turns out I hate it. At least when it’s for work. Everywhere had the same white walls, the same glass towers.” I feel myself leaning forward as he continues. “After coming back to Pike Bay, I realized that maybe I didn’t belong in the city but I might not fit in here either. Maybe I’m lost.”
I look down, searching for something to lighten the mood. Before I can stop myself, I’m tugging at his left wrist. “You still have your old watch?” There it is, his infamous Casio. A high school relic.
“Yeah, I have a bunch of watches for work but this one is still my favourite,” he says. He smiles tightly.
A cloud drifts over us, shadowing our skin before passing. I’m still touching him. Tension bands his arm, but the rest of him is so still, as if he’s scared to spook me. As the sunlight streams onto my face, I admit something I haven’t said aloud, something I haven’t even allowed myself to think. “I feel lost a lot of the time, like I have no idea where I’m going or why,” I say. “So I get why it would be hard to leave home or even harder to return to one that doesn’t fit right.”
I let go of his wrist, but the air between us softens as Wes looks fondly back down at me. He was right, we still know each other. The thought is disconcerting.
My cellphone buzzes in my pocket, rescuing me before I say too much. I stand. “I have to get to work.”
I barely make it in time for my meeting. Eleanor wants me to verify the due diligence completed by one of the articling students she claims is incompetent and draft new shareholder documents. The carrot of making partner one day dangles in front of me to make me run, so run I will.
“I expect swift progress and dedication,” Eleanor says. “We only have a few days left before we hit final deadlines.”
I nod, trying to exude professionalism as I click off the call. My mind immediately drifts back to my time on the dock with Wes. Why does he want our friendship back? Do I want that too? I’m distracted when my phone shrieks. When I answer, I pace to the window, staring out at the draping trees, the sunlight so much brighter and more welcoming than the incandescent lamp above my desk.
“Mom?” I ask. Annoyance and anxiety war with each other whenever she calls. “Is everything okay? How is Shehla?”
“The presurgical consult is in an hour,” my mother says. “We are praying hard.”
“It’ll be okay.” I pace back and forth across the dark wooden floors.
“Beta, we are getting so old,” she replies. “Too many problems, one after another. We need something to look forward to.”
“We could plan a trip,” I suggest. “Maybe, once I make junior partner, we should go to Africa, do a safari or something? As long as things with Shehla Auntie are going okay.”
My mother lets out a hefty gust. “You children these days. What is the point of travel at my age? I am only in this world now to wait for my grandchildren.”
Irritation tightens my jaw. It’s always this, always the one thing I’m not yet in a position to do. “Well, Mom, Mel is in a serious relationship, why don’t you talk to her about this?”
“Phaw,” my mother says. “Maybe she will, but will the child even be a Juma? But you, Lia, have so much potential. Please, let us set you up. It would be a good distraction for all of us from all of the hardship. You would be giving us something to hope for.”
The pressure is always on me. Mel is the one who’s always wanted to be a mother. And yet my mom can’t seem to accept that she’s bisexual. That once my sister comes home with a grandchild, it won’t matter if the child doesn’t carry the Juma genes. But dynasty is what my parents always wanted.
“I don’t see why you’re being resistant,” my mother says. “You’re almost thirty now. Soon, no reasonable man will even look at you. Already all the doctors and lawyers your age are taken. I spend all night praying and worrying about you.”
The guilt that I’m doing everything wrong claws at my stomach. “I’m seeing someone,” I blurt out, immediately wishing the words back into my throat.
“What type are they?” she asks.
I thunk my head into the wall. “A lawyer.”
“You know that is not what I meant.”
“He’s like us,” I say. Before she can ask me any more details, I remind her, “You better get ready for Shehla’s appointment. You don’t want to be late.”
“Yes, you’re right. Love you, beta. Make us proud.”
“Love you too,” I say faintly.
As soon as I get off the phone, I text Hassan:
Lia: Are you free to chat this afternoon?