33. Shannon
CHAPTER 33
SHANNON
The only bright light out of the week is that after that miserable loss to Montreal, Andrew Mitchell proposed to Emma Point.
The next day, we take her out for brunch.
“Now it’s my turn to ask you for advice,” she says to me after we order. “We’re going to have two weddings, a traditional Coast Salish ceremony for our families, and then the following weekend a reception in Vancouver for everyone. I want a few different dresses, and Ani’s given me the names of one designer, but she thought you might have some other suggestions as well.”
I pull out my phone, trying to think. “You want Indigenous designers?”
“Yes.”
“So the first place I would look is in the Instagram follows of the other designers you’ve already heard of. Fashion is just like any other industry, people follow their friends and their competitors alike, just to keep tabs on each other.”
“I tried that this morning, but I didn’t get very far. I’m not very social media literate.”
I smile. “You’re a bit busy doing more important things.”
“Right now, nothing feels more important than my wedding dresses.” She blushes. “Is that horrible?”
“You’re talking to the queen of vain. Of course it’s not horrible. Those are photos you will be looking at for the rest of your life. You want the weddings to be perfect.” I text her a few links. “These are all Indigenous dress designer followed by my friend, Olivia Nash. She’s a Pacific Northwest girl, from Seattle, and I love her sense of style. She’s in New York now—that’s how we met—but her heart is definitely on the west coast. I’ll ask her directly for some recommendations, too.”
“This is incredible, thank you.” She hands her phone across the table to Ani. “Check this out.”
The dress conversation spills into wedding photo talk.
All of it feels surreal to me. At some point in my near future, I’ll be boxing up my wedding memories and putting it all behind me. I think about my wedding dress hanging in the spare room closet, not far from where Max is sleeping right now—when he even bothers to come home.
As I expected, last night he slept somewhere else. With someone else, probably.
Maybe I’ll burn my wedding photos.
After brunch, I drive Kiley to her brother’s apartment so she can pick up her dog, Puck, who she shares with her twin, Grant.
“Do you want to come for a walk with us?” she asks. “We’re going to a park first so Puck can do her business, then we’re going to check out the new condo and take some measurements.”
I have nothing else to do today, so I agree.
We talk about her conflicted feelings about leaving behind the clerical work she was doing at the hospital for the more precarious nature of regional theatre work. As we leave the park, she stops to take a picture of a restaurant so she can text it to Ty, then she explains it’s for a recommendation list they’re building together on the Lusty app, a travel and lifestyle app for “people with wanderlust” where they first met. Apparently they take their foodie lists very seriously, and it’s deeply entertaining to hear how in-depth their debates get.
By the time we’ve reached her new building, I’m in a much better mood than I’ve been in all week. More than any of my other friends, Kiley can reliably be counted on to not make every conversation about the WAG life.
Ironic, then, that we were once considering a podcast together with that exact title.
At the front door, she types in a code, saying it out loud for me. “Remember that for when you come over.”
I laugh. “Will do.”
It’s a gorgeous new building, with a great lobby and fast elevators that whisk us up to the top floor. They’ve bought one of two penthouses on this floor, and the apartment is flooded with light.
“Wow, these windows,” I say, taking it all in.
“I know, right?” She closes the door and unclips Puck’s lead. “Go on, girl. Get your sniff on.”
“What are you measuring?”
“Everything.”
I play with Puck while Kiley does what she needs to do. Then the energetic pup curls up in a beam of sunshine for a little nap, and we step outside onto the wraparound terrace.
“This is a beautiful place,” I tell her, meaning it with every fibre in my being. “I’m so happy you get to move here soon.”
Kiley being Kiley, she takes the compliment, but her gaze searches my face with an astuteness that makes me feel very vulnerable.
I turn and glance out over the city. We can’t see the arena from here, that’s on the other side of the building.
“At brunch, Emma mentioned that you’d asked her for some advice,” Kiley says softly.
I’m prepared to lie here. I have a complete, easy explanation. The same thing I said to Emma—it was for someone I know, someone in a bad spot.
But my friends are going to learn the truth soon enough, and I’d rather they hear it from me. “I’m leaving Max.”
“Oh.” She leans against the railing next to me. “How are you feeling?”
“Numb.”
“What do you need?”
“A time machine.” My voice cracks. Not completely numb.
She pulls me into her arms and I sob on her shoulder. She rubs my back and doesn’t say anything else, which is exactly what I need her to do.
“I can’t talk about it yet,” I finally whisper, wiping my eyes.
“Okay.”
“I haven’t told anyone else.” Except Russ, but that’s…different.
“I won’t say anything.”
“I don’t know when the separation will happen. It’s complicated because I’m here on a spousal visa.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard.
“Whatever you need, we’ll make sure you get it. We’re friends no matter what, Shan.”
I lift my head and look her in the eye. “That’s not how it works with the team. It’s okay.”
“Fuck the team. That’s how it works with me .”
I hug her back. “Thank you.”
“I can do different voices. Do you want me to call Emma and get a referral to another lawyer? She’ll never know it’s me.”
I let out a watery laugh. “No, it’s okay. I think I’ll call her myself.”
“Good. Remember what Emery said about how they control the WAG groups. That’s not how it’s going to be for us. You leave our group chat, babe, we’re just dragging you into a new one.”
I burst into tears all over again. I don’t deserve these friends. But I love them so, so much.
“Call Emma,” she whispers. “It’ll be confidential. That’s her job.”
I nod. I will.
Puck pats at the glass door. Kiley cringes. “We’re going to have to come up with a better system for that to avoid the paw marks.”
Inside, I try to grasp for something I can help with. “Do you need any decorating assistance?”
Kiley shakes her head, smiling gently at me. “We have it covered. The only thing I want you to do is come and visit once we move in.”
A little frown tugs between my eyebrows despite myself. My mask is slipping and I hate it.
After she reconnects Puck’s lead, she holds the door open for me.
The elevator whisks us back down to the lobby in seconds, and Puck is excited to lead us off. I’m leaning over, telling the dog to be patient, so I don’t notice Russ standing at the elevator doors right away.
“Kiley,” he says. I jerk upright. His gaze sweeps over me. “Shannon.”
“Russ,” I manage.
Great. Now everyone has been named.
Kiley tugs Puck around Russ’s legs. “We were just here to measure upstairs.”
“You live here,” I breathe.
He nods, turning slowly as I reluctantly follow my friend. Watching me, even as he steps backward into the elevator car.
“Russ lives here,” I say to Kiley once we’re outside.
“Yeah.” She gives me a curious look. “You didn’t know that?”
I have helped a lot of the team find accommodations and furnishings. Russ, though, never asked for my assistance. Where he lived has never come up. “No.”
“It’s how Ty heard about the condo even before it was listed.”
“Ah.”
Kiley and Puck walk me back to my car. I ask her if she wants me to drive her to her apartment on the other side of downtown, but she says Ty is going to pick her up shortly, now that they’re finished practice.
She gives me another hug before I leave. “Hey,” she whispers. “You don’t have to do anything to be worthy of our friendship, you know that, right?”
“I—” I don’t know what she means.
“Decorating help, being resourceful. Always having whatever someone needs, or knowing how to get it.” She shrugs. “That’s all amazing. But that’s not why I like you.”
I stare at her. “Right.”
But as I drive away, I actually can’t figure out why else anyone would like me, unless they wanted to sleep with me.
That unsettling thought drives me to make two phone calls that afternoon. The first one is to a therapist. The second is to Emma Point.