Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
It’s fucking cold outside. Wind slices down the narrow cobblestone streets of Toronto’s Distillery District, but I barely feel it. My insides burn hot like lit coals—all because Noémie’s arm links through mine as we stroll past the various vendors at the Christmas market.
Items for sale line tables. I spot hand-painted ornaments, sweaters knit from alpaca wool, and maple syrup—lots of maple syrup.
There are long queues behind the mulled wine stand. There’s an even longer tail of people waiting to be served gooey raclette shovelled over roasted sausage and potatoes.
A few weeks ago, Sarah told me that I was catching feelings for Noémie. And now, I can’t deny it—it really is that serious.
The epiphany came two nights back. Noémie and I were watching some guy restore paintings on YouTube. I like his videos. The restorer’s voice is soothing, and there’s something oddly relaxing about watching someone clean old varnish off a painting with cotton swabs. There’s a special beauty in repairing an object once thought to be unsalvageable.
I don’t know when I went offline, but when I woke up, a sleeping Noémie was curled in my arms with her face nestled against my chest, her breaths even and soft. Afraid that the slightest shift might wake her, I stayed motionless. It was within that stillness that I realized I had fallen flat on my face in love with my straight roommate.
I’ve been trying really hard to not let my feelings impact how I treat or act around Noémie. I think I’m doing a good job. But even before my revelation, Wayne caught on that I liked Noémie a lot, and he didn’t like it one bit.
Since Halloween, not a single shift goes by without Wayne cornering me when no one’s around. “Don’t do it—just don’t. I swear if you pull game on my Noémie and break her heart, I will fucking kill you,” he warned me more than once.
Each time, I deflected, saying, “What game? We’re just friends, seriously. And I think you keep forgetting that she is straight.”
“When has that ever stopped you?” he countered, sounding very much like Amari.
That Wayne thinks so poorly of me gnaws at me. Sure, I get that Noémie’s his new favourite person, but aren’t I his friend too? It feels like he’s picked a clear side and labelled me as some kind of predatory lesbian, which I am not. I’ve never pursued anyone who didn’t show interest in me first. And even if Noémie expressed interest in me, which she hasn’t, I like to think that I’d shut that down. After all, we live and work together. I know it’s never smart to shit where you eat.
There is also the fine detail that I’m in love with her. I can’t sleep with someone I have romantic feelings for. I’m not putting myself through hell again. I’m not interested in getting close to someone just for them to realize that I’m broken and break things off with me.
So I’ll be keeping my feelings and my hands to myself. Wayne’s got nothing to worry about. All I can hope is that the day comes soon when I can look at Noémie without my heart pirouetting.
At this moment, I can feel Wayne’s eyes burning holes into my back. He isn’t thrilled that Noémie invited me to tag along to the Christmas Market. There’s also a palpable tension between him and Noémie, but I can’t guess what they’re beefing about.
It’s a quarter past seven at night and the historic site sparkles from the millions of lights hanging over our heads and encasing art sculptures.
The main Christmas tree is in the square. At fifty feet tall, it towers over everything, glittering like distant galaxies. Both Noémie and Wayne snap a bazillion photos of the tree while they wait in line to take an unobstructed photo of themselves in front of it.
Personally, I’m not interested in having my picture taken. In the last few years, I’ve become somewhat of a grinch around Christmas. But when Noémie grabs my hand, I become putty and allow her to steer me towards the base of the giant fir.
Wayne glowers at us as he takes our picture. Noémie definitely notices his ire, but she doesn’t comment. So I decide not to either. They’re acting so weird.
Staple jingly holiday music peppers the air. To me, it’s as pleasant as screeching car brakes. Once upon a time, Christmas had been my favourite time of the year. But after my dad died, I started hating the entire month of December.
Despite being cold enough to turn a person’s legs into popsicles if they don’t move for a minute, the Distillery District is more crowded than ants on a dropped sugar cube. We aren’t free to walk and have to shuffle with the herd.
Noémie stops at a vendor’s table, eyeing tiny silver trinkets and jewellery.
Wayne picks up a pair of snowflake dangle hook earrings with inlaid white and blue stones. “These are giving Elsa in her frozen castle realness,” he says. Flipping them over and peering down at the price tag, he dramatically rolls his eyes and sets them back down. “I will have to hold off on my Frozen fantasy until I’m rich.”
“I can get them for you,” Noémie says, “if you want.”
The two friends exchange a look. I can’t quite believe it when Wayne says, “Thanks, but I will pass on that offer.”
I’ve never known Wayne to turn down anything he wanted. I’m even more curious to find out what they’re quarrelling about.
“Oh look, they’re giving out free samples,” Noémie says suddenly, snatching Wayne’s hand and tugging him away from the table. They hurry off without me. My guess is that Noémie wants a moment with Wayne alone to talk about whatever it is that’s going on.
Without Noémie’s nearness, I become aware of just how cold it is. The tips of my fingers burn, and I can’t feel my toes. I look over my shoulder and watch Wayne and Noémie weave through the crowd, heading towards a woman carrying a tray of what looks to be miniature smores.
My eyes go back to the table. I spot a necklace with a maple leaf pendant set with orange stones that I think would be perfect for Noémie. The seller sitting behind the table monitors me closely as I pick up the necklace. When I look at the price tag, I’m sure my eyes bulge. Two hundred dollars!
It kind of kills me a bit that I can’t afford it. Christmas is two weeks away, and while I don’t celebrate the occasion anymore, I want to get Noémie something nice. I want to watch her unwrap my gift and shriek with delight.
I put the necklace down on the table and then pick up the earrings Wayne had been coveting. They were even more expensive at three hundred dollars. Could Noémie even afford them?
It’s a question I’ve been asking a lot lately. For someone who’s cut off, Noémie doesn’t spend like she’s hurting for cash. She goes shopping a lot, and Amazon packages are always showing up on our doorstep. I hope she isn’t taking on debt to fund her lifestyle. I’ve thought about broaching the topic of money with her, but I don’t want to overstep.
With a sigh, I head in the direction Noémie and Wayne rushed off to.
Despite the crowd, I find Wayne easily enough. Mainly because he’s wearing the most ridiculous toque, with a pompom the size of a grapefruit.
And then I see Noémie and … the entire world drains of colour and sound.
A tall man holds her by the hips. Noémie’s mittened hands are twined behind his neck. Their bodies are pressed together. They are kissing.
I am repulsed but unable to look away. My heart shrinks, becoming two sizes too small. My knees wobble. How long I stay rooted there, gaping at the tableau in front of me, while people shove and brush past me, I can’t say. It’s probably only a second or two, but the moment stretches out like chewed bubble gum in a child’s hands.
The man and Noémie pull apart. Their mingling breaths cloud together.
A giggle erupts from Noémie mouth. “I can’t believe we just did that,” she says.
“Blame the mistletoe,” the man says, rubbing the back of his exposed neck.
He isn’t wearing a hat, and his tousled brown hair falls into his very blue eyes. The black Moose Knuckles parka he’s wearing is unzipped down the front, and I decide he must be crazy because it is freezing. What kind of person doesn’t zip up their jacket when it’s like minus twenty outside? I also decide that I hate him. Men that look like him are always trouble. With his chiselled jaw and broad shoulders, he’s far too attractive to be safe.
Turning slightly, Noémie notices me. She smiles.
I try to smile back. I can’t. Every fibre of my body wants to bolt. Sarah always liked to joke that running is my default.
My fingers itch for a cigarette. But I have none. I’m trying to quit again. Reaching into a pocket I withdraw a pack of nicotine gum. I pop one in my mouth and chew.
I stumble forward until I reach the group. I can’t begin to guess at what expression is on my face, but I hope it reads as neutral.
Wayne looks irritated. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets.
“This is Felix. He’s an old … friend.” Noémie says. “Felix, this is Jordan, my roommate.”
Felix assesses me for longer than what’s socially acceptable. There’s a competitive glint to his blue eyes.
He holds a hand out. “Nice to meet you, Jordan.”
“Same,” I lie, taking his hand. He squeezes. The bones of my fingers mash together. We stare intently at each other. It’s a pissing contest. Whoever blinks first loses. I’m not entirely sure why he feels the need to compete.
Someone clears a throat—Noémie. She is giving Felix a look that’s colder than the weather.
Felix drops my hand.
Wayne grumbles something I don’t catch, and Noémie shoots him a glare.