by Katia Rose
I won’t lie about it; a lot of people stare at me, but nobody stares at me like that.
I let him help me out of the car and then hunt around for my keys.
“Will you come up with me?” I ask as I jam the front door key in. “It’s just Valérie is at her boyfriend’s place tonight, and I...I just hate going into an empty apartment alone. I know it’s stupid, but it freaks me out.”
“Hey.” He grabs the edge of the door when I swing it open. “It’s not stupid, and of course I’ll come up.”
Our place is on the fourth floor, and there’s no elevator, so we trudge up the stairs, me in front and Zach close behind.
“Moving must have been a bitch,” he comments.
“You swore!” I whoop.
He sighs. “I do swear sometimes.”
“It was a bitch. Valérie and some of her friends helped, and so did Monroe and her boyfriend. I don’t have much big furniture, but the bed and stuff was hard to get up here.”
I don’t say it, but I missed him so much that day. I was planning on inviting him before everything went to shit between us. It was a fun afternoon. The moving didn’t take long, and after, we all sat around drinking beer with the windows open, breathing in the warm breeze like we couldn’t get enough of it.
People go a little crazy in Montreal during winter. Every year, the whole city starts to believe that spring will never arrive again, and then when it does, all everybody wants to do is dance around and hug each other. Even when we were hauling my bed frame up four flights of narrow, creaky stairs, we were laughing, but every smile felt forced when I was thinking about Zach.
“This is us,” I announce. It takes me a couple tries to get the key in. I flip some lights on after stepping through the door.
It’s not much, just a tiny two bedroom, but Valérie is very clean and organized and has cute decorations like plants and little string lights shaped like turtles. It always smells like her vanilla candle in here, even when she hasn’t had it on for a while.
“This is nice,” Zach says after taking off his shoes and walking into the living room. “Nicer than me and Paige’s place.”
“Ben, you and Paige both decorate like men.”
He stops in the middle of the living room and looks around, like he’s wondering if he should sit.
“Zach.” I’m still standing at the edge of the little front hallway that leads to the kitchen.
“Yeah?” His voice has gone all raspy and quiet.
“What are we gonna do?”
I don’t have to explain. He knows I’m asking what we’re going to do about this, about us.
He closes his eyes for a second and sighs. “We’ll figure it out, but right now, you’re going to drink about three glasses of water, take some Advil, and head to bed.”
I lean against the wall and laugh. “Okay, Mom.”
“You’ll thank me in the morning. Here. Sit on the couch.”
I’m still sleepy from the car ride, so I don’t put up a fight. I walk over and collapse onto the couch cushions, then listen to him banging around the kitchen before he comes back with a glass of water.
“Drink up.”
He sits beside me while I gulp it down.
“Merci,” I thank him once I’m done.
“You want more?”
“In a second. My head is really itchy. I—Oh.” I stop scratching my head and pull my fingers away to find a leaf pinched between them. “I forgot I had this thing on my head.”
I try to get the wreath out, but it’s all wrapped up in curls and pins and twisty braids.
“Câlice. Whatever. I’ll sleep in it.”
“Here. Let me.”
Zach shifts on his couch cushion and motions for me to spin around so I’m sitting cross-legged with my back to him. His fingers start untangling my up-do. All the bridesmaids got their hair done this afternoon, and so many hours of pins and hairspray has me feeling like my scalp is about to fall off. I sigh as the pressure loosens.
“That feels nice,” I murmur.
The sleepiness is already setting in again. My chin droops forward onto my chest. I hear Zach chuckle, and the sound seems like it’s coming from far away. His hands feel so good playing with my hair, and everything is warm and peaceful and quiet. I make a little humming sound.
Enough minutes pass that I’m sure I must be dreaming, but when I mutter, “Did you wear that tie to match my hair?” I swear I hear him laugh and tell me he was hoping I would notice.
Twelve
Zach
PICK ME UP: any beverage consumed with the intention of easing the effects of overindulgence in alcohol
I don’t know where I am when I wake up. There’s an Indian tapestry hung across the window instead of a curtain, and the light that filters through it casts the whole room in a red and orange glow.
I do know that I’m cold. I look down and find myself curled up in a ball under a thin, knitted blanket that’s not big enough to cover my feet. I’m only wearing boxers and socks. Scanning the room, I find my suit in a heap on the floor next to the brown couch I’m lying on. I spot my pink tie, and it all comes flooding back.
I’m at DeeDee’s place. I took her home last night.
Sitting up, I rub the back of my neck before stretching my arms above my head. Then I throw the blanket over my shoulders for warmth.
I hear water running in what must be the bathroom and jump to my feet, digging for my pants in the pile of clothing while trying to keep the blanket from sliding off. It really is damn cold in here. I’ve managed to get one pant leg on, and I’m frantically hopping around to get my foot through the other when the bathroom door opens.
A girl I’ve never seen before walks out.
She pauses and stares me as I hit the edge of the couch and fall back onto the cushions.
“Salut, cutie.”
“Uh, bonjour.”
She clucks her tongue. “English?”
Is my accent really that bad?
“Either or.”
She switches to English for me. “Usually when girls bring boys home from weddings, they sleep in the same bed, but who am I to judge? Do you want some breakfast? I just popped in to change and grab some food before work.”
“Um...” I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m sitting here with a blanket around my shoulders and my pants around my knees while a strange woman with fire-truck red hair asks me if I want breakfast.
“Or just a coffee?” she prompts.
She’s wearing a black pants and shirt combo that looks like she works at a restaurant or cafe. I stare for a moment longer before it clicks.
Roommate.
“Uh, yeah. Coffee would be great. Thanks. I’m just gonna excuse myself for a sec...”
I stand up to escape to the bathroom, and my pants send me stumbling right back onto the couch.
Red hair girl laughs. “You’re pretty cute.”
She disappears into the kitchen, and I hitch my pants up before grabbing the rest of my clothes and hurrying to the bathroom. My face feels like it’s on fire.
After throwing my shirt on, splashing water over my face, and squeezing some toothpaste onto my finger for a makeshift brush, I head back into the living room. A steaming mug of coffee is waiting on the table in front of the couch, and DeeDee’s roommate is pulling her shoes on by the door.
“Gotta run, strange boy. Bonne chance avec DeeDee.”
I accept the offer of good luck with a nod and sag back into the cushions as soon as she’s gone.
Yesterday replays in flashes as I sip my coffee: DeeDee walking down the aisle in that long green dress, a bouquet of flowers clutched in her hands. The sight of her laughing at the head table. Glimpses of her through the crowd as she took the whole dance floor by storm.
The unguarded honesty in her eyes as she said the words that shifted the ground under my feet.
I want you.
I could have kissed her. I could have pulled her to me and never let h
er go, told her that whatever was holding her back couldn’t hold a candle to what would grow between us if she’d just give it a shot.
I wasn’t so swept away that I couldn’t see it was the absolute wrong time for declarations. What DeeDee really needed last night was water and sleep.
Feeling her hair in my hands, hearing those little sighs she made when I rubbed her scalp—maybe it’s the small town boy coming out in me, but I swear I was in heaven. When she nodded off and fell back against my chest, I could have sat there all night listening to her breathe.
I do pride myself on not being that much of a creep, and to be honest, sleeping upright on a couch with a girl leaning on you sounds more romantic than it is. Mostly you just get cramps, so I scooped her up as gently as I could and took her to bed.
I was planning on leaving after that, but just as I was closing her bedroom door, she called out my name. She sounded like she wasn’t even fully awake, but I answered her anyway.
“Yeah?”
“Peux-tu...juste...rester?”
The last word got drowned out in a yawn. She muttered something that didn’t sound like actual words after that, but I’m sure I caught the first bit.
Could you just stay?
I wasn’t about to be the guy who jumps into bed with the drunk girl, even to do nothing but sleep, but I couldn’t say no to her. I couldn’t. I told her I’d be right outside all night.
So here I am, right outside and absolutely clueless about what I’m supposed to do next. I doubt she even remembers saying that. She’ll probably ask me what the hell I’m doing here when she gets up. She’ll probably want me to leave.
I want you.
I grin around the rim of my mug.
Or maybe she won’t. Maybe she’ll tell me to stay again. Something happened last night at that table in the wedding hall. She looked at me, and some wall that’s been crumbling flake by flake for years finally came down. I don’t know what happens next, but I do know we’ve reached the point where we get to find out.
I’ve finished my coffee and start to wonder if I should raid the kitchen to silence my growling stomach when DeeDee’s bedroom door inches open. She steps into the living room and freezes like a deer at the sound of a snapping branch when she sees me.
She’s wearing a t-shirt that goes down to her knees and some pink plaid pajama pants. Her hair is an absolute mess, snarled and knotted and sticking out in every possible direction. The remnants of last night’s makeup are still smeared on her face, making her eyes look like a panda bear’s.
And yet she’s stunning. She really is. I’m frozen to the couch as I stare at her, like it’s a divine commandment from the universe that I give this moment the appreciation it’s due.
She blinks a few times before speaking in a croaky voice. “You stayed.”
“I...You asked me to.”
Her face softens. “I remember. I didn’t think you would.”
We stare at each other for a few more seconds, the tension and anticipation rising like the threat of lightning in the air.
Then DeeDee shrieks and looks down at herself.
“Câlice! I look like shit!”
She bolts into the bathroom and slams the door closed before I can protest, leaving me to once again wonder what the hell I’m supposed to do with myself.
When I hear the shower come on, I decide I can’t wait any longer for breakfast. My mother would be fainting away in shame at my lack of my manners if she could see me prowling around my host’s kitchen without their permission, but I figure DeeDee’s roommate already asked if I wanted food, so that should count as enough of an invitation. I slide two pieces of bread into the toaster and have time to slather them with peanut butter and head back to the couch before DeeDee emerges.
Her wet hair is up in a bun on the top of her head, and she’s cleared off all the makeup, leaving her face bare except for her nose ring. I love how much her freckles stand out when she doesn’t have makeup on. It makes me feel like I’m getting to know a secret side of her.
She sinks down onto the couch next to me, still in her pajamas, and snags a piece of toast off my plate.
“Hey!” I protest.
“I bought the bread,” she defends herself after swallowing a bite.
“Fair enough. I’m surprised your hangover hasn’t destroyed your appetite.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t get hung-over. Just hungry.”
“Then I guess we’ll be making more toast. There’s coffee if you want it. Your roommate made it.”
DeeDee pauses mid-bite. “Valérie was here?”
“Yeah. She said she had to get her work clothes.”
She looks around the living room like she’s assessing the scene Valérie must have walked in on.
“What did she say to you?”
“I think I was asleep when she showed up,” I explain. “Then she offered me breakfast and called me a strange boy.”
“Ha!” DeeDee lifts a hand to pat me on the head. “You are a strange boy.”
Her hand stills, but she doesn’t pull it away. She leaves it sitting there, fingers twining into my hair. Our eyes lock. I hold my breath, like a single exhale could break this moment.
“Zach...”
Don’t run. Don’t run from this again. I don’t know if I could take you running away again.
Her hand slides to my cheek. “I’m scared.”
I close my eyes and slowly let my breath out. “I know. Me too.”
I can smell the trace of flowery shampoo in her hair, smell the toothpaste on her breath.
“Is it supposed to be this scary?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. Her fingers are still cupping my cheek. “I think so?”
She lets out a shaky laugh. “Everyone keeps saying it’s supposed to be scary, and no one can tell me why.”
“Because anything that matters is scary.”
It’s the same thing my parents told me when I left home for Montreal, the first of their kids to head out of our small town. I was standing there with my suitcase wondering if I should just haul it back up the stairs when my dad came up behind me and grabbed the handle while my mom hugged me and said those words.
Anything that matters is always going to scare you. That’s how you know it’s real.
“And I matter to you?”
I place my hand over hers and squeeze. “So fucking much—and yes, I’ll swear like a sailor until you believe me.”
She giggles, and I pull my hand away, keeping hers clasped in mine as I let them both drop to the couch. We sit there holding hands while she finishes her half of the toast.
I feel like the sun itself is beating inside my chest.
It says something about the force of my hunger that I actually give up holding hands with DeeDee Beausoleil to go make more toast, but when both our stomachs starts rumbling in unison, I figure it’s necessary. I come back with a heaping plate of slices and a bowl of grapes I found in the fridge.
The tapestry is still pulled over the window, making the whole room look like it’s bathed in a rosy sunrise glow even though it’s almost eleven. DeeDee’s got her legs tucked up under her as she spins that ring she’s always wearing around her finger, two little creases forming between her eyes.
“I’ve always meant to ask you about that.” I gesture at the ring after setting the food down and reclaiming my couch cushion. “You wear it all the time.”
She stops messing around with it and gives me a guilty look, like I’ve caught her indulging a bad habit.
“Ouais. It belonged to my grand-mère.”
She holds her hand out, and I take a closer look at the burnished gold band and blue gem.
“It’s pretty. Were you close with your grandmother?”
She shrugs. “Not really. She died when I was little. She used to scare the shit out of me.”
I let out a surprised laugh. “So why do you wear her ring every day?”
“She told me some important things.”
She catches my curious look and sighs like she’s resigned herself to sharing more of the story.
“She grew up in this cabin in northern Québec, real pioneer-style, you know? No electricity. No running water. It wasn’t even that long ago, but it took a while for them to build stuff like that so far up north. She was always telling me about the wolves.”
She shudders at the word ‘wolves’ the way people do when they’re talking about murderers or thieves.
“They’d come all the time in the winter. They were big wolves. Mountain wolves. Not the kind you see in the zoo—like, these were big ass wolves.”
“Now I’m just picturing wolves with big asses.”
She smacks my arm. “I’m serious! They’d eat babies, these wolves. They’d eat people. In the summer, they stayed away, but in the winter they got hungry enough to come close. At night, my grand-mère said you could hear them right outside the cabin. Howling.” She shudders again. “The only way to stay safe was to never be alone. That’s what the wolves wanted: to cut you out of the pack. If you were in a big group, you were usually safe, but the less people there were, the braver the wolves got. That’s what her parents told my grand-mère: you never leave the cabin alone, especially not in winter, and especially not in the dark.”
She’s playing with the ring again, alternating between stroking the gem and twisting the band around her finger.
“Yep,” I agree, hoping to shake off some of the darkness that’s crept into the room. “I can see how that would scare a kid shitless.”
DeeDee nods, still staring at her fingers.
“So why do you wear it every day?”
“To remember,” she murmurs. “To remember not to be alone.”
I wait for more of an explanation, but she stays quiet.
“DeeDee.” I hesitate before laying a hand on her knee. “There are no wolves here.”
Her head snaps up, and when she looks at me, her face is pinched with pain. “There are wolves everywhere, Zach. Out there.” She points to the window behind us. “In here.” She points to her head. “Things...Things happen when you’re alone. When I was a kid, I was always so scared. Sometimes I was stupid enough to be scared of real wolves coming to get me, but I could hear it. That howling. I heard it whenever I was alone, and I was alone at home all the time. Everybody...everybody just left. My dad. My sister. My step-siblings. Even my mom didn’t have a lot of time for me. That’s why I made so many friends. I was that kid who was always running around the neighbourhood knocking on people’s doors. I was probably pretty annoying, but I learned how to make people like me. I learned how to be fun. I made my own pack so I wouldn’t have to be scared of the wolf pack.”