53. nick
NICK
STEREOTYPICAL CUTE COUPLE SHIT
Fridge’s going-away party happened a couple of days before our flight to Houston.
Denali and Montoya texted me about it. I was glad they told me, because when the first pictures came through on our group chat of everyone taking selfies with Fridge and bringing out his Firebirds cake, it hurt like a punch to the stomach.
I shut off my phone. Tallulah came to me with a screenshot of a ravine hike, about a forty-minute drive from the house. Her parents, Tallulah, and I spent the day with no technology.
It made me feel so much better.
The hike was easy to schedule, because the Blades had to plan our own practices now that the coaches vanished.
Everybody connected to Tomasini had decided to jump ship.
The Olympics were in shambles too. The events themselves, awesome, but they were marred by the allegations that were stacking up against Tomasini.
It didn’t help that his name was built into the very foundation of Toronto hosting the Olympics.
He wasn’t the only one. More and more coaches were being called out, a spider web of connections between them. Everybody had been ignoring everybody else doing awful shit.
It was pretty cool that the domino effect happened because of my girlfriend.
The day of our flight, her parents bought us lunch and drove us to the airport. They’d stay in Canada for another week to visit Tallulah’s cousins in a Quebec artist colony. Jacoby and Kendra squeezed Tallulah for a group hug and turned to me, the debate clearly on their face of what to do.
Jacoby clapped me on the shoulder, smiling, then glanced Tallulah’s way for her approval. She smiled back. He instantly relaxed. It was kind of funny, I didn’t know what Tallulah said to them, but now they were almost nervous around her.
Kendra squeezed my shoulders. “We’ll see you…Jacoby, when are we going to see them?” She nodded to herself. “Right, right, when you two get back from Japan.”
It was the first time they’d mentioned the trip without a grimace. Progress.
Tallulah and I checked our bags and stood in the slow line for security, the TVs playing above us. I spotted a familiar picture on the screen, the blurry snapshot of Tomasini punching Drew in the back of the head. I nudged Tallulah, nodding towards the TV.
When we came close, we could hear it. “Joseph Tomasini, the “Demolition Man,” has released a statement concerning the allegations. Tomasini has decided to step back from his day-to-day operations due to severe mental health struggles. He vows to reflect on the harm he’s caused the community.”
Tallulah rolled her eyes so hard at me, it looked like it hurt. I grinned.
The newscaster continued. “Stocks for Tomasini Life Insurance, Tomasini Investment Corporation, Demolition Man Fund Incorporated have seen catastrophic dips since the release of Toronto Chronicle’s interview with Tallulah Walker.” Her photo flashed across the screen. “Tallulah is—”
“Oh my god,” Tallulah whispered, ducking her head.
“My girlfriend’s famous,” I teased.
“Shhh.”
People down the line glanced back at Tallulah. A few of them frowned, eyes darting between the TV and my girlfriend, who was throwing her hood up, burying her face against my chest.
“My girlfriend’s faaaamous,” I belted out loud enough for security to glance over.
“Shut up,” she groaned.
Rat meowed from her carrier, still drowsy from the meds. I took Tallulah’s face in my hands. “Did you hear that? She doesn’t like when you’re mean to me.”
“Oh, please, she bites you all the time.”
“I don’t know why she does it.”
“It’s because you bother her,” she giggled.
I frowned. “But I bother you and you don’t bite me nearly enough.”
Tallulah tried to frown, she really did—it didn’t work. Her face broke into one of those pleased grins—the best kind—when she didn’t want to laugh at one of my jokes but couldn’t help herself.
We fit perfectly into the annoying stereotypical couple shit. We took photos together at every Canadian statue on our way to the gate. And while we waited to board, I slipped out my phone. “Want to hear some comments from the articles about you?”
Tallulah was feeding Rat some treats through her carrier. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on, I’ll cherry pick them.”
“They’re so embarrassing—”
I smirked, reading the first headline. “Indigenous star takes down hockey legend in tell-all interview—”
“Oh my god,” she muttered.
“‘Amazing work of journalism,’” I read, scanning the comments. “Fucking look at that. Oh, here’s one. ‘Astounding investigative work, can’t wait to see this little lady rise above—’” I stopped. “‘Little lady?’ That’s condescending.”
Tallulah snorted.
“‘Nice piece of ass—’ what the fuck?” I demanded, staring at the commenter’s profile picture. “Why the fuck would he write that on a public article—this dude is like seventy-years-old!” I stuffed my phone in my pocket, fuming. “I pissed myself off. I’m not reading anymore.”
Tallulah burst into laughter, like there was anything funny about this. She poked my stomach, teasing me. “Hey, grumpy. Don’t forget to do laundry once you get back to RV.”
“Yeah, I know,” I grunted, still irritated from the article.
“We’ll have to do this all over again in ten days for Japan,” she remarked. Her eyes brightened. “Nick, you never showed me your bucket list!”
The bucket list.
Oh, shit.
I couldn’t look away from her, I couldn’t dodge the topic. Guilt sank into me, the last of the secrets I’d kept from Tallulah was now surfacing.
“Can I confess something shitty?” I asked, sheepish. “Promise you won’t be mad?”
“Uh, I don’t promise that.”
“I kind of, sort of…made up the bucket list.”
“What? Why?”
“I wanted to spend time with you,” I groaned.
If there was any time to confess, it was here and now.
“I thought you’d like me more if we had something to work on.
Or if we just spent time together. I don’t know.
Maybe I was kind of hoping to be your pet project.
So I came up with that and…” I pointed at Rat, meowing blearily in her carrier. “We found an actual pet project.”
“That—that is so—”
“Stupid,” I finished for her. “I never said I was smart.”
“Sweet,” Tallulah said, flabbergasted.
“Sweet?” I repeated. I waited for her to take it back, and when she didn’t, I grinned. “Hell yeah. I’ll take sweet.”
“You made up a whole bucket list lie to hang out with me?”
“Yep.”
“So stupid.” Tallulah sighed, picking up Rat’s carrier when they called our number to board. “And very, very sweet.”
We were the definition of a nerdy couple on the plane. The two of us settled in with our books, waiting for takeoff. I snuck another grin at her. The bucket list truth had come out, and there were no more secrets between us. Done and done. It felt good.
The flight attendant finished up the safety information and I flipped another page of my book, staring down at two words I hadn’t expected.
‘The End.’
It couldn't be the end of the book. There were still a bunch of pages left. I thumbed through them, confused. It was a chapter full of book club discussion questions. What the hell was this?
“Holy shit,” I muttered. “I’m done.”
“Ooo, good job,” Tallulah murmured.
“No, like…” I slid out my bookmark, staring at it. “Only one brother made it, the rest of them died—what do I do now?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tallulah smile over her book.
“That was a shit ending,” I continued. “I mean, it was realistic, there was no way they’d get past a rabid bear, but…damn. The author had to leave him all alone?”
Tallulah grinned. “Was it a bad ending or are you bummed that the book’s over?”
“I’m bummed that the book’s over,” I sighed. Tallulah burst into giggles and I frowned. “Stop laughing at me. This is serious shit.”
“It’s a reading hangover,” she explained.
“I don’t like it,” I decided. “I don’t know why anybody finishes books. This sucks. We have another three hours, what am I supposed to do now?”
Tallulah leaned down, sliding something from her backpack, a bright yellow book. She held it out to me.
I took it, turning it over to check the cover. “What is this?”
“It’s your next book.”
“Is this a sequel?”
“No, this book is…I can’t spoil it.”
I flipped it open, stopping at the fifth page, where a huge, detailed map was drawn inside. “Holy crap, there’s a map in here—is this another hiking book?”
“No, it’s better.”
“How is it better?”
“Ugh, I’m going to spoil it.” Tallulah sighed to herself, and faced me fully, tapping the map. “It’s about this couple who sign up for a survival show in Brazil. When they fly in early…” She dropped her voice. “They see the host, this famous survivalist guy, murder somebody.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah. So they escape into the jungle. Not only do they have to survive, but now this whole survivalist crew is coming after them to kill them to keep them quiet.”
I whistled, studying the map again. “Duuuude.”
“That’s the first three chapters. I didn’t spoil anything.”
“You read this?”
“Mm-hmm. I wanted to make sure you’d like it.” She laughed at herself, returning to her book. “I made a spreadsheet of books to figure out what you’d like the most.”
Did she? Did Tallulah put that much time into finding something for me to read?
I gazed down at it with a new feeling. This wasn’t just something to pass the time.
Goddammit, that was kind of her to do. It was another moment where nothing I could say would be enough to show how much she meant to me.
Tallulah caught my eyes on her and flushed. “What?”
“I feel loved,” I said simply because I didn’t know what else to say.
Her lips curved into a soft smile. “You are loved.”
I wished I knew how to tell her, how to explain these things inside of me. I didn’t know how. I said thank you, but that wasn’t enough. Not even close. Slowly, I dipped down and kissed her.
She rested her cheek on my shoulder and began to read again. I kissed her hair and opened my book, the two of us leaning in together.