Fourteen October 24, 2023
LATE TUESDAY afternoon, Elsie steps out of Zander’s shower and, after patting herself dry, and blow-drying her hair, anoints herself with newly purchased deodorant.
Then, in fresh panties and bra, she stands in front of the mirror in Zander’s bathroom and applies a full face of makeup for the first time since Marcus left Ladysmith.
She slips on a red dress, sandals and silver earrings that she bought at a vintage clothing store.
She hasn’t worn a dress in years. But Marcus had put on a suit jacket for their lunch date, so she figures she should make the effort.
She keeps her hair down for a change, in a cascade of waves.
Satisfied with her appearance, she stuffs her wallet, keys and phone into the clutch she also just purchased, and leaves the washroom.
As she walks down the stairs, she holds the banister, careful not to slip on the treads as her new sandals have little traction.
Zander rises from his stool as she steps into the kitchen. “My god, Elsie,” he says. “You’re so—” He stops there, so she’s not entirely sure what he’s saying. But she suspects he likes what he sees. Marcus is the only other man who has ever looked at her like that.
Zander pulls his coat off the back of a chair. “I’m taking you out for dinner.”
She hums. “I already have dinner plans, with an old friend.” She unsnaps and resnaps her clutch over and over. “I’ve talked about him. Marcus.”
Zander sinks into his seat, his coat still in hand. “Ah. The old boyfriend.”
She can feel the heat of the blush in her cheeks.
“I didn’t want to overstay my welcome,” she says.
“I thought you might like the house to yourself for the evening.” She hadn’t thought that, actually.
She hadn’t thought about what Zander might want at all.
And she doesn’t know what he’s thinking, but something’s changed.
He won’t look at her. There’s a familiar greasy feeling in her stomach of embarrassment, hurt, guilt.
She shifts from foot to foot, needing to move, to escape.
And she doesn’t want to be late for her date with Marcus.
Her date! “I need to—” She points a thumb at the door.
“Have fun,” he says.
“I’m so sorry about dinner,” she says. But he’s already swivelled away.
ELSIE PARKS at Fisherman’s Wharf and stops to take in the view, the boats churning the waters in the bay, the lights of the surrounding city, the brightly painted float homes parked along the wharf.
They’re like dollhouses, buoyant on the sea.
Enchanted, she waits. She expects to meet Marcus in the parking lot.
As it turns out, he’s already on the dock below, waving and waving, but she’s focused on the pretty houseboats and doesn’t see him at first. He finally shouts at her, and Elsie, feeling dumb, grins foolishly and trots down the damp wooden steps to the pier.
Her new sandals slip, and she falls to one knee, skinning it. Blood prickles to the surface.
She prays Marcus hasn’t seen but of course he has. He rushes to her, helps her up. “Are you alright?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she says, her face warming. “New shoes,” she explains.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress. You look great.”
Marcus wears jeans and a black hoodie. No suit jacket this time. She underdressed for their first date. Now she’s overdressed for this one.
They hug and he leads her to a picnic table beside the fish and chips stand. “Cod or halibut?” he asks.
“Halibut,” she says.
“Same,” he tells the server, a bored girl with eyebrow rings.
Elsie waits at the picnic table as Marcus picks up the food, warming her fingers between her knees. Her right knee stings. Blood darkens the hem of her skirt, but it’s red, so she hopes Marcus won’t notice.
Marcus returns carrying their fish and chips on a tray, along with two cans of iced tea. “Cold?” he asks.
“A little.” Her arms and legs are covered in goosebumps. Her fingers are Popsicles. Marcus unzips his hoodie and, with a flourish, settles it around her shoulders. “Better?” he asks.
“Better.”
“If you want to go someplace else, where it’s warm—”
“No, this is fine.”
“I thought you’d appreciate a quieter, more casual place.” After the thump and noisy excitement of the last restaurant. He flicks open his can, drinks her in. They eat.
The silence stretches on. A seagull waddles over and peers up at Elsie expectantly. She tosses the bird a fry. “Tell me about work,” Elsie says. “You said you were a marketing and communications specialist?”
“Not much to tell. I work from home, writing stuff and managing social media accounts for business owners.” He pops another fry in his mouth. “How about you? I thought you were thinking of starting your own business. Weren’t you involved with that river restoration project?”
“Dad doesn’t like me giving away my time for free.”
“If you ever want me to introduce you to environmental non-profits on the island, let me know. I’ve done work for a number of them. I imagine they could use your skill set.”
“I’ll think about it,” she says. After tossing the seagull a last fry, she dumps the contents of her tray into the garbage. She’s had enough.
They sit in silence as Marcus finishes his meal, down to the last french fry. The seagull gives up and waddles away. “Wanna take a walk?” Marcus asks, wiping his hands on a napkin.
“Sure.”
The pier is empty on this cold October evening. They walk slowly past closed gift shops and colourful float houses strewn with cobwebs, skeletons and ghosts. When they come to the end of the last pier, they stand side by side to watch boats motoring past, lights blazing.
His hand finds hers. “What do you want to do now?” he asks.
She talks to his feet. “Maybe we could go to your place?”
Marcus hesitates, releasing her hand, and she thinks for a moment she’s misread things, but then he taps his chin like he’s considering the idea. “How about I book us a hotel room?” he asks.
“A hotel room?”
“That is what you meant, isn’t it?”
Already? She had hoped to sleep with Marcus, of course, but only after a few hours on the couch, binge-watching and eating popcorn as she had with Zander over the weekend. Not so soon after dinner. She needs time to digest.
“It’s only seven,” she says. “And why pay for a hotel?”
“It’s been so long,” he says. “I want tonight to be special.” He leans in for a kiss.
More of a peck really. And on stepping back, Marcus looks around like he’s afraid someone will see them.
But she likes that too, his shyness. He seems more like his old self.
She takes his hand, and as they stroll down the pier, awkwardly out of step, pulling each other this way and that, she knows they were meant for each other.
ELSIE FOLLOWS in her car behind Marcus’s Civic. He doesn’t lead her to the Empress, a grand Edwardian hotel, as she had at first imagined he would for this special evening, but to a budget hotel.
After Marcus arranges for their room, they ride the elevator upstairs together, but apart, not holding hands.
Elsie feels the tension in the small space, but she’s not sure why.
Did she put it there? Or maybe it’s just as Marcus said.
It’s been so long since they’ve been together. Now it feels new again, strange.
But then, when they reach their floor, Marcus takes her hand and the tension dissolves like the mint she’s placed on her tongue.
He leads her into their hotel room, kisses her, and starts tugging off her red dress even before the door closes.
He smells of crisp ocean air, his breath of french fries and ketchup.
Once the dress is off, he fumbles with her bra clasp until she finally takes it off for him. He stands back.
“Wow,” he says with such enthusiasm that she glances down to see what the fuss is about.
“You look great!” Then he gets naked too, shucking off his T-shirt and jeans, his underwear.
She checks him out too: his long, nearly hairless body.
He’s filled out, grown more manly. The hair at his temples has already started to thin.
That floppy-haired boyish man she knew during university has transformed into this new Marcus.
He pulls her down onto the bed, kisses her.
“Did you bring protection?” Elsie asks.
He stops kissing to look down on her. “Aren’t you on the pill?”
“I didn’t expect—” Elsie thinks about her trip to the future, the baby in her arms. No, no, no, no. It’s far too soon. She’s not going there, not yet. She sits back, pulls the sheet over her. “I don’t think I can—”
“I’ve got this.” He reaches for his wallet, pulls out a condom that has left an impression in the leather. He rips it open, slides the thing on.
He begins to kiss her again. “I love you, Elsie. I’ve always loved you.”
She smiles as she stares up at the popcorn ceiling. Not bad for a second date.
IN THE post-coital glow, Marcus sprawls like a starfish, taking up most of the bed, with Elsie snuggled into his side.
The skin on his chest is pink with the blush of sex.
He has a dark, oddly shaped mole that he should really get checked out.
But Elsie doesn’t want to bring it up now and spoil the mood.
Instead, she draws a circle around it in a way she imagines is sexy.
“You ever think about us having kids?” she asks.
In the six years they were together, the thought must have crossed his mind.
She circles and circles. “Bailey’s been talking about having kids.
She wants to get a dog first, to practice, I guess.
I never really thought about it before. But lately, I’ve been thinking—”
Marcus rolls over and gets up. His long back. His long limbs. His bare ass. He slides on his underwear, then his jeans.
Elsie sits up, covering her breasts. “You’re not staying the night?”
“I wish I could.” He slips on his T-shirt. “I have an early meeting, prep to do.”
“Did I say something wrong?”
He picks up his hoodie. “No, not at all.”
“I didn’t mean I want to have kids now,” she says. She shouldn’t have said anything. She’s got to stop thinking out loud.
Marcus doesn’t look at her as he collects his wallet, keys and phone from the nightstand. Behind him, the city lights shine through the sheer curtains.
“Can we talk about this?” she asks. Whatever this is.
He stuffs his socks into his pockets, steps barefoot into his loafers. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Elsie stands, wrapping the sheet around herself as she hobbles to the door after him.
He pecks her cheek. “It was fun,” he says, his hand already on the doorknob. “We’ll do this again.” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Thanks,” as if she’s only handed him a cup of coffee and a cruller.
And then he’s gone, the door hushing shut behind him. She thinks briefly of chasing after him, wrapped in the sheet. But instead, she tries calling. When he doesn’t answer, she sits on the edge of the bed and texts him.
Please come back.
Tell me what’s going on.
Then, as an afterthought she types, I’m not trying to rush you into things.
Her messages change from delivered to read and the three bouncing dots indicate he’s typing, but then he doesn’t reply. No text. Nothing.
Still, she waits, phone in hand, staring at the discarded condom lying like a curled leaf on the carpeted floor.