Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Malik
“What is his problem?” I sipped my coffee in the Starbucks on Hastings Street.
Blossom sat across from me and, even as I stared at her, her gaze didn’t waver from her phone.
She did, however, stop her rapid-fire typing for a moment.
“Bonnie won’t say, but he’s got some kind of medical condition.
I worry about his blood pressure sometimes, you know?
He goes kind of purple. And he’s like, old.
” She resumed her furious thumb tapping.
I might’ve been of the instant-messaging generation, but my thumbs were too big and clumsy on the keyboard. I relied on predictive word choice and sheer determination to create my messages.
Oh, and I kept them bloody short.
“He’s not that old.” The guy had overlong blond hair that kind of framed his face.
He had powerful green eyes—sort of moss-colored.
He was just a couple inches taller than me—about Creed’s height.
But where my friend was slender, this guy was more muscular.
Hard to tell his measurements under that grandfather cardigan.
Seriously, a cardigan? Who the fuck wears those?
I snuck a peek out the window at the darkening skies.
Mama Murthi had said something about a rainstorm this afternoon and had wagged her finger at my sandals and shorts.
But hey, weather like this deserved to be honored with shorts and T-shirts.
We hadn’t hit winter yet, for crying out loud.
I’d be digging out my winter coat soon enough—why welcome the season with open arms when I could cling to summer just a little bit longer?
“Malik?”
“Hmm?” I turned my attention back to Blossom, who had ceased typing. The woman was a force of nature, and her pouty lips pursed. “We’re getting tons of traction. Especially with the picture I posted of you just now.”
“Uh, which picture?”
She turned her phone, and I gazed. “Oh, that one.” The one where I faced the camera and was grinning—while thinking about stripping Spencer naked and fucking him over his desk.
I didn’t know he was gay…but his close examination of me—instead of the outright dismissal I’d expected—had me perking up in all kinds of ways.
And thinking all kinds of lascivious thoughts. “That’s a good shot.”
“Too bad I couldn’t get one with you and Spencer. Man, that would be…” She wrinkled her nose.
I waited with bated breath.
“Hot. I mean, you two are super-hot. And to have both of you together? An eleven on the sex meter.”
“Oh, is Spencer gay?”
She snorted. Then sobered. “Oh, right. Uh…yes. But maybe don’t tell anyone? He’s more interested in being known as a social justice warrior than as a gay man. Personally, I think that’s all bullshit. We are who we are. We love who we love. I can say, I love everyone.”
Ah, my unabashed pansexual friend. Well, we were friendly. That counted.
Right?
I saluted her with my ceramic mug and took another sip. “Totally agree.”
“We need a photo with the two of you. Maybe looking over some documents? He looks totally sexy in his reading glasses. The glasses he doesn’t want anyone to know he wears.”
Picturing Spencer in black-framed glasses perched on his nose was easy. He’d look up from his desk, over the rims, and give me a come fuck me look. I’d crawl under his desk and give him a blow job while he—
“Malik.” Blossom waved her hand in front of my face.
“Hmm?”
“Sheesh, you’re as distractible as he is.” She chewed her fingernail. “In fact, we were discussing you when he got this sort of weird look on his face. I had to snap his attention to me as well.”
“I’m paying attention.”
“Are you? Really? Because I’m not getting that sense at all. Your head’s in the clouds. Are you thinking about Grindstone? They’re performing tonight, right?”
“Yep. I know a guy who’s going to try to record their new song on his phone. I mean, the recording will be crap, but I’m supercurious. They haven’t performed in a while, and I’m wondering what Axel’s been up to.”
Blossom pursed her lips.
Uh-oh. “But we’re focused on today.”
“When’s Razor Made’s next concert?”
“We don’t have anything for a couple of weeks. We’ve got several practices lined up and one day in the recording studio. We know which track we want to lay down, and we’ve got one day to do it.”
“Have you thought any more about writing a theme for This Land is Ours?”
Oops. “I keep meaning to. Just…that feels inadequate, you know? For the magnitude of the problems we’re facing. The existentialism and all that.”
“Exactly.” She tapped her perfectly manicured nail on the table.
“When’s the next protest?”
“There’s something in late November.”
“That far out?”
“Well, the Vancouver city council is meeting about a bylaw amendment. It’s not directly linked to a pipeline, but it’s definitely a step backward in the climate change fight. I think Spencer’s secured a spot to speak. He’ll be busy preparing for that.”
“When’s the meeting?”
“Monday night.”
A plan started to coalesce in my mind. I had some research to do this weekend—along with jamming.
Yeah, I could juggle both. I snagged my phone and sent a message to our band’s group chat, reminding everyone we were gathering in my basement this weekend.
My parents had created a rehearsal space for me—for my violin—but I’d spent some money after they died, converting it into a bigger space.
The house was far away from both our neighbors, so sound wasn’t an issue. Acoustics was, though, and my basement setup was the best of all the places we could hang—except the actual recording studio, of course.
Creed, Reese, and Freddie all sent thumbs-ups.
Blossom tried to see my screen.
“Just the guys acknowledging we’re meeting at my place this weekend.”
“Reese, too?”
I frowned. “Well, yeah.”
“Reese identifies as female, right?”
“Yeah.” Where is she going with this? Is she interested in Reese?
“Well, if Reese identifies as female, then maybe guys isn’t the right term. Maybe say folks?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Mama and Papa Murthi are Creed’s folks. That term doesn’t suit my bandmates.” Although her point about inclusivity was noted.
She shrugged. “I just don’t want Reese to feel excluded.”
I snickered. “Reese is practically in charge of all of us. Bassist extraordinaire. Talented musician. Fantastic composer. Her lyrics usually need polishing—that’s what I’m for.”
“You fix Reese’s lyrics?”
“I…yeah, fix them. There really isn’t another word. She tells me what she’s trying to say, and I…make it happen.”
“A team.”
“Yeah.”
“So call them your teammates. Or bandmates. Just pick something gender neutral.”
Knowing Blossom was right, and actually acknowledging that out loud, were two very different things. “I’ll try to do better.”
“Do. There is no try. Crap.”
I frowned, then followed her gaze outside.
Crap indeed.
The rain poured down in sheets. “How’d that happen?”
She chuckled. “You need me to explain the anatomy of a rainstorm? I think it has something to do with nimbocumulous—”
“That’s not a thing.”
“Sure it is. They’re a type of cloud—
“There’s cumulous and nimbostratus—”
“Seriously? You actually paid attention in science class?”
Now’s probably not the time to explain about parents who wanted a prodigal child in all possible subjects—not just classical music and violin. “I, uh, found cloud class interesting.”
“Cloud class? Is that a thing?”
I waved her off. “Neither here nor there.”
“If you say so. Since you paid so much attention, maybe you could have predicted the rain?”
“My friend’s mother’s knees predicted the rain. The meteorologist predicted the rain. I just figured I had time, you know?”
“Well, can you give me a ride so I don’t look like a waterlogged rat when I arrive home? I have a date tonight.”
I wasn’t certain what getting wet at one in the afternoon had to do with a date tonight, but I figured it had something to do with hair. For me, everything was about my hair. “Yeah, I can drive you. Smart not to own a car in this city.”
“And yet you do.”
I shrugged. My parents crashed in my dad’s car.
Right into an abutment. They never stood a chance.
I inherited my mother’s electric SUV. At least I didn’t have to feel as guilty as if I were using a gas guzzler.
Vancouver’s electricity was pulled from a hydro dam up north—so, clean energy.
“I’m going to get a refill on my coffee, grab a sandwich, and then we can head out. ”
“Sure…oh, I gotta watch this video.”
I left her to it and sauntered up to the counter. I ordered a venti black coffee, a breakfast sandwich—even though we were clearly into the afternoon—and waited patiently while the barista toasted the food.
Blossom laughed. She had one of those infectious laughs—the kind that everyone found easy to follow because it just tinkled. When I heard it, I always smiled.
Yesterday had been the first time I’d come out to an actual TLIO event, even though I’d been communicating regularly with Blossom and talking up the group—and the mission—to everyone.
I couldn’t explain why I’d felt compelled yesterday, or why I’d brought along a chain, but I didn’t have any regrets.
If they’d charged you, and you couldn’t go to Black Rock next year, then you would’ve had bucket loads of regrets. Creed, Reese, and Freddie would’ve killed you.
Okay.
Maybe.
Probably.
The barista handed me my sandwich in a little paper bag. “There you go,” He batted his eyelashes.
I smiled. “Thanks for this.” I caught his grin turning into a pout just as I pivoted to head toward the door where Blossom waited.
“Grindstone’s performing tonight, right?”
“Uh, yeah.” I eyed the rain. “Does it look like it might ease up?”
“Nope. We’re just going to have to run for it.”
“Our hair is going to get wet.”
She cocked her head. “Yeah, sorry about that. Not that I can control the weather or anything. I mean, we could just try to wait it out—”
“Heavy all day.” The barista, who was wiping the coffee stand, offered us a sheepish smile.
I wasn’t entirely thrilled he’d been eavesdropping, but this was a coffeeshop—so discretion and privacy weren’t exactly guaranteed.
“I don’t suppose you have a spare umbrella.” Blossom gave him her most-charming smile.
You bat for the wrong team, dear. Not that they guy couldn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart.
He shook his head. “Sorry. My mom drops me off and picks me up.”
I blinked. The guy had to be about my age. At least I was driving myself around by the time I was nineteen. Admittedly in her car, but at least I’d been independent and mobile.
“Well, thanks.” Blossom turned to me. “We run?”
I clicked the remote to unlock the door. “We run.”
And we did.
Both completely soaked by the time we shut the car doors.
She giggled. “Okay, that was refreshing.”
“Just be glad we didn’t have any paperwork.” I flipped on the defogger to clear the windshield. “You don’t want to come over?”
“Date.”
I pointed to the clock. “In, like, five hours.”
She grabbed a lock of her straggly wet hair.
I sighed, started the car, and pulled out of the spot. The windshields were clear, so I was able to drive without a problem. I kept my speed on the low side, though, because the sheets of rain made visibility tough. “Good thing we were out yesterday and not today. What happened to all that sun?”
“Storm coming in off the Pacific. That happens in the autumn, you know.”
“And it’s only going to get worse. We’re in for another dreary winter.” I stopped at a red light.
“Yeah?” She pulled a compact out of her huge purse and started fluffing her hair. “How do you know this stuff?”
“How do you not know this stuff?” I gestured to her phone with my elbow. “You’re always on that thing. You don’t check weather and news?”
“Uh…I have notifications and stuff for certain things—weather isn’t one of them. Oh, but the Canucks won last night.”
The light turned green, and I advanced into the intersection—after looking both ways. “Yeah? Do you know the amount of greenhouse gases a Zamboni emits?”
“Nope, but I’m certain you can tell me. I’m a left up ahead.”
We’d discussed where we lived at some point, and she’d said near Victoria Drive and First Avenue.
Completely in the opposite direction from my house, but I didn’t care. Not like I have anywhere else to be.
When she’d asked about me, I’d vaguely pointed west and said that way. In truth, Arbutus Ridge was one of the more expensive neighborhoods in Vancouver—and that was saying something. People made certain assumptions when they heard where I lived. So I just didn’t tell them. Seemed easier that way.
“Right here, and I’m the third house.”
I followed her directions and pulled up before a stately turn-of-the-last-century home. Painted funky purple with light-green accents. Oh, okay. Boho chic? “This looks nice.”
“It’s a room I can afford. There are ten of us, but I get my own bedroom, so that’s nice. Better than Chilliwack.”
I cocked my head.
“Oh, Cedar Valley’s nice and all, but getting from the Wack into Vancouver’s pretty brutal if you don’t have a car. And my parents were never willing to lend me theirs. I came here for college—media studies—and I just kind of stayed.”
“But you graduated.” She’d mentioned that in one of our conversations.
“Yeah, but getting a paid job is tough these days. In my field of study, anyway. I make way more as an influencer.”
I understood the words she spoke, but their meaning escaped me. I didn’t understand how influencers made money at all. Product endorsements paid that much?
“Well, it’s nice of you to help with TLIO.”
My wipers were running at full speed, and I could barely see the house. This is nuts.
“Looks good on my résumé. I’m going to land a paying job at a nonprofit or something one of these days. I even have plans to get my own apartment.”
Good luck with that. Rents were insane in this city. Buying was even crazier—although not by much. I knew how lucky I was…but still resented having everything handed to me at the same time. I’d give it all back to have my parents still alive. “Well, have fun tonight.”
“I will. Let me know if you get footage of the concert.” She pecked my cheek and was gone before I could respond.
Once she was inside the house, I double-checked behind me, and pulled into traffic.
And drove slowly home.