27. Emma
EMMA
I had never been to Quebec before, but as soon as I walked out of the hotel that first morning, I knew the postcards weren’t lying.
The air had that crisp, almost sparkly bite that makes your eyelashes feel a little heavier.
Quebec felt older and closer together than Toronto.
Cobbled streets. Facades that had stories hidden in the mortar.
Small cafés with windows fogged up from the warmth and chatter inside.
It did have that European thing that everyone went on about.
In winter, Quebec resembled a storybook village.
The roofs looked like they were covered in icing, with twinkling lights everywhere.
I was definitely planning to visit the Winter Carnival after the conference, but when I looked at my schedule again, “planning” felt overly optimistic.
I was fully booked. In the morning, there were panel sessions, a long lunch for networking and in the afternoon workshops and seminars.
I ordered a tea, took a seat near the window and thought about the day before.
When Max had shown me the card with his dare, I had initially thought it was a joke.
Then the world had gone very still for a second, like it does when you realise you’re about to cross a line you’ve been skirting for a while.
The look he had given me wasn’t silly or smug; it was open and full of something that made my chest feel both lighter and heavier at the same time.
It had made the decision easy. And I had wanted to kiss him too.
I just didn’t think it would affect me the way it did, like someone had hit a tuning fork in my chest and the sound was still humming there.
I shook my head to make myself focus on the present. The first panel session: literary horror. Why not? You might be taking a conference too seriously if you can’t be a little reckless.
I found a seat near the end of a row. The panel launched into a smart and witty discussion about building atmospheric tension and unreliable narrators.
I jotted down a few notes until a speaker read a passage that made everyone in the row collectively hold their breath. Yes, I thought, this is why I came.
Afterwards I chatted to a woman from Halifax, whose students were currently devouring Shirley Jackson. We swapped cards in that polite way where you’re not quite sure if you’ll ever talk to each other again, but you really hope you do.
Lunch, however, seemed to drag on forever. Our table talked about ownership in the age of remakes and everyone had to have their say – even when it sounded like the same thing being repeated over and over, just dressed up in bigger words. I hated that. Just say what you mean and move on.
The evening workshop saved the day. Run by a scholar I’ve long admired, we dived into a close reading in comparative contexts.
It felt like stretching muscles I’d used for years but in a different way, like yoga for the mind.
We dissected a single paragraph until it gave up its secrets.
My brain was still crackling when I reached the lift and my phone lit up.
Max: How’s my fave book nerd?
I smiled before I could stop myself.
Me: I’m just going back to my room with a head full of metaphors. You?
Max: Watching How to Train Your Dragon with Lucas. Wild night.
Me: I love that film. Which part are you at?
Max: The one where Toothless finally flies again. Big moment.
Me: Oh, I kind of wish I was there.
Max: Me too.
I stood in the lift, stupidly smiling at my reflection.
* * *
Day two was my own panel. I had said yes to it without really thinking it through.
The problem was that my absent colleague is all about symbolism, while I am…
competent at best. I do symbolism in the way you make a decent Victoria sponge when you’re really more of a brownie person.
So that’s why I did the one thing I always told my students not to do: I googled in a panic.
I typed in search terms no one would be proud of like ‘Symbolism nineteenth century quick refresher’ and read until I felt like I was drowning in other people’s cleverness.
So I came up with a plan. I would only speak up when I was sure I wouldn’t look stupid.
Otherwise, I would use the oldest trick in the book: nod thoughtfully and just keep quiet.
When I arrived, the panel room was already full.
Our chair was sharp and kind, which is the dream.
We had fifteen minutes each. Mine went by surprisingly fast. I made my points.
I didn’t try to impress anyone, I simply wanted to convey my thoughts clearly.
There was one question that felt like an exam I hadn’t studied for, so I nodded and said, “That’s such an interesting way to put it,” and let the person next to me take the honours. Works every time.
I skipped lunch this time. The Winter Carnival had been whispering to me since I had arrived, and my brain could use a break.
The walk there felt like entering a different part of the city – one with colour, noise and families with frost-pinked noses.
The air smelled like snow and something sweet, possibly sugar.
Then I saw the ice palace, and my feet just stopped.
It’s odd how something so cold can feel so warm. The ice blocks were translucent and looked completely mesmerising. I took a picture, then another, then a short video because the stills weren’t doing it justice.
I sent one to Max.
Me: Look where I am. Don’t tell the conference.
Max: Looks unreal. Ice palace??
Me: The very one. It’s magic. I might come back tonight if I can. Imagine what it’ll look like with the lights.
Max: Send me a selfie with your nerd badge in front of it.
Me: Rude. And fair.
I sent the selfie.
Max: There she is! My fave book nerd.
I couldn’t help myself. I smiled at my phone as if it had told me a joke only I would get. Damn him. When did he become someone I would miss this much?
I walked around the rest of the carnival, watching children pull their parents towards ice slides and listening to a brass band bravely play something jaunty with very cold instruments.
After a while I realised my fingers had gone numb inside my gloves and I had a reception to get back to. Mingling expected, the programme had said. Not usually a problem, but this time the thought made my stomach drop. Henri would be there.
I had avoided him for two days. But tonight there would be too many people and not enough exits.
I pushed the dread aside and told myself I was being silly.
It would be fine. There would be a lot of people there.
I could hopefully spend the whole evening talking about someone else’s students or projects.
When I got back to the hotel, I thawed out, changed, and put on the earrings that always make me feel a little more confident.
The reception room was warm and bright, filled with conversations rising and falling.
Servers moved through the crowd with trays of canapés, all smiles and quiet efficiency.
I ran into a couple of professors from Halifax and we quickly started talking about funding and book prizes.
It was safe and normal and I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I had been holding. So far, so good.
Then I felt it. The feeling of someone standing too close behind you. For a ridiculous second, I hoped it was Max, like he could have just shown up here, but that hope quickly dissolved because Max felt different. This wasn’t him. This was Henri.
I turned around and plastered a polite smile on my face.
“Emma,” he said, in a tone of someone who just caught a friend sneaking out. “Where have you been hiding? I’ve barely seen you.”
“I’ve been very busy: panels, workshops, the usual conference craziness.”
He laughed in a way that was meant to be charming. “Always working. You should take the time to explore Quebec while you’re here. It’s beautiful. Not like Toronto with all that… glass.”
“I did,” I said. “The carnival is wonderful. And Toronto is beautiful in its own way.”
He stepped closer. I took a small step back. He didn’t notice it, or pretended not to.
“Henri,” I said, dropping the smile, “you’re standing very close to me. I feel uncomfortable.”
He blinked, as if he couldn’t believe anyone would say it out loud. Then he recovered and tilted his head. “I’m attracted to you,” he said, as if it were a perfectly reasonable response. “I would like to take you out.”
It’s crazy that some part of your brain worries about being rude at times like this. I made my voice even. “I’m not interested. I see you as a colleague.”
“That’s because you don’t know me yet,” he said, confident as ever. “We should spend some time together. Then you’ll see.”
“No,” I said, because apparently we were doing clarity tonight. “That’s not going to happen.”
For a second we stared at each other across the space he constantly insisted on making smaller.
Then I stepped around him, said something that could have been “excuse me” or “goodnight”, and walked away.
I was relieved and uncomfortable at the same time.
I didn’t stop to find a different conversation and walked straight to the lift.
Once inside my room I took off my shoes, sat on the bed, and grabbed my phone.
My fingers knew who they wanted to call before my brain caught up.
He picked up straight away.
“Hey, Em,” Max said, in that warm voice of his that travelled across the lines. “How was your day?”
“Nice. It’s beautiful here.”
“I could tell from the pictures. You looked happy. And cold. Your nose was really red.”
“Rude,” I said, a smile coming on. “What did you do today?”
“Well, basically practice all day. Video analysis. The usual.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, lying back so I was stretched across the duvet, finally able to relax.
I could tell he was smiling before he said anything. “Sure, baby.”