Tremendous Things
Page 18
So I go. It isn’t easy, especially before and after in the change room where Sal and I had so many conversations, but I can see it really does bring the ladies some comfort, and I think it’s what Sal would have wanted.
And get this, Mum has managed to get every last penny of my back pay from Foot Long! At first, she called Mr. Chernov incessantly, asking politely for my money. When that didn’t work, she did some research and found out you have to be at least fifteen to do food prep. So she threatened to report him for using underage workers. All this time I’d been breaking the law without knowing it!
Anyway, it did the trick.
I know I shouldn’t let my mum fight my battles.
But once in a while, it’s pretty nice to have someone who is so firmly in your corner.
* * *
—
Once or twice a week, the Mumps and I go over to Sal’s house to pack things up. Sometimes Alex and Fabrizio come, too. Thanks to his death cleaning, and the clear instructions he left in his will about where things should go, there isn’t a lot to do. Still, I’ve found a few treasures that I’m keeping. Some photos of Sal when he was a young man, freshly arrived in Canada. The photo of him and Irma in Paris. His landing papers. His gray fedora.
Oh, and also.
Sal left us his house.
Yes. That’s right. We were stunned when his lawyer contacted us. Sal’s instructions were for us to sell it and pay off our mortgage, and that’s exactly what we’ve done. There was a small amount of money left over, and that’s gone into an education fund for me.
His house sold just a few weeks ago, to a family with two little kids. They move in at the end of the month. The mom has already asked if I’d consider babysitting. I said I’d have to think about it. It’s going to be weird at first, seeing new people living in Sal’s old place.
But maybe, eventually, it will be nice, too.
* * *
—
I changed into my running gear and got Templeton, who was dozing on a doggy bed in the front room of It’s a Dog’s Life. It’s the other great perk of this job; Robin doesn’t mind if I bring him to work. I put on his leash and shouted toward the back. “Bye, Robin, see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, hon! Have a good Friday night!”
Templeton and I jogged home.
I was looking forward to my evening. Alex, Fab, and I were going to get together and go for a swim at Sunnyside pool, then we were going back to Alex’s. He was going to cook a full Persian feast for us, and then we were going to try for the umpteenth time to teach Fab how to play Carcassonne. The three of us spend a lot of time together. They check in on me all the time and invite me to hang out with them more than they need to. Sometimes I feel like a third wheel, so I am trying to wean myself from spending quite so much time with them—but not tonight.
When we got back to our place, I fed Templeton, then I went upstairs to have a quick shower and get changed. I wasn’t meeting Alex and Fab for another couple of hours, and I could feel all of my emotions welling up, so I told the Mumps I was heading back out. “I’ll be home before they arrive,” I said.
As I left, they shared a concerned look.
I took the subway from Queen up to Bloor along the University line and walked the rest of the way to the ROM. I’ve been going there at least once a week since I got home from Paris. It helps me feel close to Sal. I go and lie down under Fulton, and José lets me stay there for as long as he can, because he misses Sal, too. I think about the things Sal told me. About how, in the history of the Earth, our lives are a blip. I sometimes swear I feel him lying beside me, saying: “Miraculous! Tremendous! But still a blip!”
It is oddly comforting.
* * *
—
I flashed my membership card and headed straight for Fulton. But when I got there, I saw a pair of legs sticking out from between the two metal slabs. Someone was lying in my spot. For a split second I thought it was Sal—my mind, playing a nasty trick. Then I remembered (a) he was dead, and (b) he did not have sparkly silver sandals. Or red hair.
“Mitzi?”
She gazed up at me. “Wilbur!” She was in shorts and a T-shirt. She patted the floor beside her. I lay down. “I kind of hoped I might run into you here sometime.”
“You come here a lot?”
She nodded. “Ever since I ran into you that day. Sometimes I just feel kind of…I don’t know…overwhelmed…”
“By what?”
“By life? And I remembered this sort of calmed you down, so I decided to try it, and it works! It sort of calms me down, too.”
“Well. That’s cool.”
“Hey. I quit Foot Long.”
“Yeah?”
“About a month after you left. I have a job at Meeplemart now.”
“The board game store? I love that place.”
“Me too. It’s a way better job.”
“I have a better job too, at a dog groomer’s.”
“That’s perfect for you. Do you still run?”
“I do. Three times a week. You?”
“Yup. Hey, did you wind up going to Paris?”
“I did.”
“How was it?”
“Life-changing,” I said without hesitation. “How about your Pennsic Wars?”
“Just came back last week. It was mind-blowing.”
We lay in silence for a while. I could see José out of my peripheral vision; he was pretending not to notice us.
“How’ve you been otherwise?” Mitzi asked.
I thought about how to answer that. “Not great. My best friend died.”
“Seriously? Wilbur, that’s terrible.”
“He was eighty-five. But still.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks.”
“My best friend died, too,” she said. “Franklin.”
It took me a moment.
“Not that I’m comparing the two. But my parents are separating too, and—I don’t know. I feel like I can’t control anything. And Franklin was just always…there, you know?”
Because he was in a terrarium and couldn’t go anywhere else, I thought. But all I said was, “I’m really sorry, Mitzi. That’s a lot to be going through.”
Her fingers grazed mine. I didn’t know if it was an accident, or on purpose. I could smell her hair, and it smelled good, like coconut.
Suddenly I pictured my seventh-grade time capsule letter, the last sentence I’d written: He who takes no chances, wins nothing!
I turned my head toward her. “Would you like to get together some time?”
“Yes. I would.”
“Great. How about—”
“Tomorrow?”
“Oh. Yes. Awesome. Run? Coffee?”
“Both?”
“Deal.”
Then she wrapped her hand around mine. Absolutely, definitely, not an accident.
I looked back up at Fulton. I heard Sal’s voice, clear as a bell:
“What a marvel life is.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I was lucky enough to go to the UK a few years ago on a small book tour and traveled one day with a charming and unflappable twenty-something publicist, Harriet Dunlea. She told me in passing that she took aquacise for seniors once a week with her mom. Something about this image just made my heart swell, and I told her, “Careful, Harriet, I’m going to put this into a book one day.” I swear it’s that image that started me on the journey of discovering the friendship between Wilbur and Sal. So, people who spend time with authors, be very careful what you let slip, unless you’re prepared to see it in the pages of a book.
By the time a novel is published, one hopes it looks effortless. But the process is often like pulling teeth. I owe a huge thanks to the people who took early looks at the m
anuscript: Susan Juby and Linda Bailey, two of our finest Canadian authors, and Göran Fernlund, one of the finest Swedish Canadian husbands. And my intrepid agent, Hilary McMahon, whose honesty, hard work, and enthusiasm are always appreciated.
My editors—Tara Walker, Wendy Lamb, and Charlie Sheppard—are a triumvirate of talent, and I’d have been lost without their thoughtful notes and encouragement. Peter Phillips, Dana Carey, and Chloe Sackur, you are all marvels, as are your entire teams.
Once the manuscript was at a stage where I could let other eyes see it, I got feedback from a wealth of amazing authenticity readers. I was tickled when Dr. Rob Bittner agreed to read the manuscript. Rob, your comments were invaluable.
To my friends Jennifer Daley and Melissa Likely, I’m so grateful for your considered read and your notes on the Mumps. Olly is a lucky boy to have such wonderful parents.
To my young beta readers: Ryan Brown—who, full disclosure, happens to be my awesome nephew—started the first Pride event in Owen Sound, Ontario, I am enormously proud of his accomplishments. Thank you, Ryan, for your considered feedback. Noah Poursartip also gave me fabulous notes, especially on the Alex Shirazi character. It’s a toss-up who will become prime minister of Canada first: Noah or Ryan? We’ll be in good hands in either case.
I also wanted a young female beta reader, but most of my friends’ girls are now in their twenties. Then I realized I had the perfect person hiding in plain sight: Eden Summer Gilmore had recently been hired to play the daughter of the lead on my new TV series, Family Law. Eden, thank you for your considered notes. One day people will read this paragraph and think, “She got Eden Summer Gilmore to read her manuscript?? The Eden Summer Gilmore??”
This is the first time I’ve set a book somewhere other than Vancouver. B.V.—Before Vancouver—I spent twelve years living in Toronto. I went to post-secondary school there (Ryerson) and began my TV career there (writing for shows like Degrassi Junior High and Ready or Not). I lived all over the west end, including, for a few years, in a cockroach-infested apartment right next door to Kensington Market. Oh, how I loved it. I had so many adventures in the Market—including getting punched, not once but twice, on two separate occasions by two separate strangers (it’s a long story. I was fine). So I wanted to set one book in a city I still visit regularly. Thank you to my mom, Eleanor, and my stepdad, Charles, for letting me crash at their place while I toured the city to make sure my descriptions were accurate.
This novel also wound up being my love letter to another of my favorite cities: Paris. Merci beaucoup to Valérie Le Plouhinec—she has translated every one of my novels into French (and will hopefully translate this one, too), and she does such a fabulous job. She read this manuscript and had invaluable feedback when I massacred the French language or got facts about a place wrong. And to Gilberte Bourget, from whom I shamelessly lifted Charlie’s adamant “Non!”, and Sophie Giraud at Hélium for so faithfully publishing my novels, and for managing to get me invited to Paris on numerous occasions for festivals. Paris, je t’aime!
A couple of years ago I had a long, hard ride with my cycling club, Glotman-Simpson. Afterward we stopped for food, and mine took a long time to come. At one point the waiter brought out a chicken jalapeño burger, which no one had ordered. After he walked away, I, getting hangry, said, “I should have had the chicken jalapeño burger.” One of my cycling friends scoffed, “That will be on your tombstone. Your life’s biggest regret.” Thanks, Matt Dwinnell, both for keeping it real, and for the inspiration behind the title of one of the self-help books within the book.
Lastly, I owe a debt to E. B. White—his famous children’s novel, Charlotte’s Web, helped me find my way toward the themes of this novel. Melissa Sweet’s absolutely delightful biography of E. B., called Some Writer!, was also really helpful, and I highly recommend it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SUSIN NIELSEN is the author of Word Nerd, Dear George Clooney: Please Marry My Mom, The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen, We Are All Made of Molecules, Optimists Die First, and No Fixed Address. She got her start writing for the original hit TV series Degrassi Junior High, and has written for more than twenty Canadian TV series. Her books have won critical acclaim and multiple awards both at home and around the world, including the Governor General’s Literary Award and the UKLA Award, and have been translated into many languages. But best of all, a reluctant reader once told her that her books “weren’t trash” and congratulated her on a job well done. Nielsen took this as high praise indeed. She lives in Vancouver with her family and two naughty cats.
susinnielsen.com
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