“Of course.”
“Can I ask you something?” I said, unable to stop myself now that we were talking again, now that Taylor had used the word friend.
“Depends.”
“Are you taking hormones?”
“Perfect example of you being awkward and weird.” They smiled and shook their head, curls bouncing.
“But the…” I rubbed above my lip.
They laughed, a big belly laugh. “All natural, baby. I just stopped waxing. Remember how you used to rip it off for me in high school because I was too much of a pussy?”
I remembered the hot resiny smell of the wax and Taylor’s parents’ bathroom with its mallard duck motif—duck wallpaper, duck soap-dispenser. The cold tiles beneath us as we sat cross-legged and I slabbed the wax on thick. How proud I felt when I got a nice clean yank, the skin underneath smooth and hairless.
“You used to squeal,” I said. “Like a cat possessed by Janis Joplin’s ghost.”
“Fart face.” Taylor punched me. “Scoot over. I’m cold.”
I massaged my bicep. “So we’re good, then?”
“Getting there,” they said.
Taylor climbed into bed, pulling the floral duvet up to our chins. For the first time in a year I felt comfortable again. We talked and reminisced and laughed. I asked about their internship, their co-workers. They were all excited about a new form of bio-concrete, something about magical limestone-creating bacteria that were activated by the rain and could seal any cracks or fractures in the concrete on their own.
“So the concrete is alive?”
“In a way,” Taylor said. “It can heal itself.”
They asked about La Senza, and I told my worst stories in my most charming style, doing the voices, drawing out the punchlines. We gossiped about our mutual friend’s terrible boyfriend and their terrible couple tattoos: a heart-shaped lock for her, a steampunk key for him.
“So heteronormative,” I said. “Am I right?”
Taylor rolled their eyes.
I was feeling so generous I even asked about Caroline.
“Actually,” Taylor winced. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Is something wrong?” I said with maybe a smidge too much enthusiasm.
“We’re moving in together.”
Of course. Why else would Taylor be so nice to me? They wanted me to move out of the apartment. The apartment I’d found. I was so pathetic I’d forgiven them right away. Taylor didn’t care about me.
“I have big news, too,” I said. “I’m moving to Abu Dhabi in the fall. Got a teaching gig there.” What the hell was wrong with me?
Taylor clapped and drew me into a hug. I was surrounded by the sweet punch of stale weed. “I’m so happy for you. That’s just wonderful! And Car and I can keep the apartment. I was so worried about finding a new place.”
“Awesome,” I said in a freaky high-pitched voice. “I’ll be out of here by mid-August.”
It was disturbingly easy to secure a job in Abu Dhabi through Byron’s agency. All they needed was a headshot and a copy of my teaching degree. Once I signed the papers I found myself getting excited. Why hadn’t I listened to Byron before? I stayed up late reading about the region and planning fantasy trips to nearby countries. Instead of hitting the bar after work, I went to Arabic classes. I decided to wean my geckos off baby food. It had been a week since they’d gotten any. Two crickets had died in their terrarium, and their corpses were still there, but I’d seen the leg of a third one poking out of Hera’s mouth. The lizards were going to live with my parents. I had made them promise that I could Skype with the divine couple at least once a week.
My flight was in three days and most of my room had been packed for storage. While I was taping a box of shoes shut, Taylor called from the other room.
“Anything I can help with? I’m heading to the Centre’s five-year anniversary party in ten.”
“Nope,” I said. Caroline’s stuff had already started to fill up the apartment. Her fancy knife block was in the kitchen and she’d hung a portrait of Patti Smith on one of the walls in the living room. I’d been so focused on my own shit that it didn’t bother me. At least not as much as it once would have.
I was going to my parents’ house for dinner, but I had to feed Zeus and Hera before I left. They’d definitely gotten leaner in the past few days. I did the whole cricket/vitamin/Ziploc routine and opened the lid of the terrarium. Maybe I opened it too wide. Maybe they were just feeling more adventurous or more desperate. Whatever the reason, Hera darted out of the terrarium and manifested on the wall, then on the ceiling, then on the curtain. I slammed the lid down before Zeus could get out, too. I yelped. I shook the curtain and got down on my knees. Where had Hera gone? Taylor rushed into the room.
“You okay?”
“Hera escaped,” I said. “We need to secure the area.”
Without comment Taylor closed the door, and I stuffed my pink terry cloth robe under the gap.
“There,” Taylor pointed at my bedside table. By the time I looked over it was gone.
“Are they both out?” Taylor asked.
Inside the terrarium, Zeus was blinking at the cricket, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth.
“Just Hera.”
The gecko kept emerging and disappearing. She was on a lampshade. The door frame. A pillow. The speed of these apparitions made it seem as though she was travelling in and out of dimensions or being teleported. I’d armed Taylor and myself with empty Ziplocs to trap her. We were stalking so intently, with so many thrilling near-captures, that I didn’t notice how much time had passed. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it had been nearly an hour.
“You’re late,” I said. “For your thing at the Centre.”
Taylor dove under the bed. “Got her!”
They re-emerged with the reptile in the bag.
I twirled around and kissed Taylor on the cheek. Carefully we opened the terrarium and deposited the captive. It wasn’t until Hera had landed that we noticed.
“Shit!” Taylor said. They dropped the bag to the floor. There was a slip of green inside, still squirming. A tail.
The sight of the truncated god was so depressing it was hilarious. I grabbed the bag from Taylor, extracted the tail and flourished it like a limp fencing foil.
“The poor thing,” Taylor whispered.
Holding the bright green appendage at the small of my back, I wiggled my butt. “Can I pull this off?”
They smiled weakly. “I feel terrible.”
“It’s my fault, all of it,” I squeezed their hand. “And don’t worry, it’ll grow back.”
“It will?”
“I think so,” I said. “It might take awhile.”
Taylor, all flushed, held my hand a moment longer, then let go.
Notes and Acknowledgements
Earlier versions of these stories appeared in Event, Joyland, Grain, Dragnet and TOK 7: Writing the New Toronto. Thank you to the editors.
I am grateful to the Toronto Arts Council and the Ontario Arts Council for their financial assistance. Thank you to Emma Dolan for the beautiful cover design (and for her many years of friendship!) and to Amber McMillan for the insightful edits. Thank you to Nathaniel G. Moore, Silas White and Carleton Wilson for their belief in this book and their ongoing support.
Thank you to my teachers: Jeff Parker, Robert McGill, Barbara Gowdy, R.O. Kwon, Nino Ricci and Jade Sharma. Thank you to all the writers (there are too many to list!) who have read and commented on these stories. Your generosity and insight have made me a better writer and person.
Thank you to all my wonderful friends and family members. I am blessed to have you in my life.
And finally, thank you to Ted Nolan, who listened to me complain and doubt myself throughout the writing of this book. You always knew when I needed
encouragement and when I needed to be left alone. Thank you for loving a difficult person.
Photo credit: Emma Dolan
About the Author
Catriona Wright is the author of the poetry collection Table Manners (Véhicule Press, 2017). Her short stories have appeared in Geist, The New Quarterly, Grain, Event and Joyland. She lives in Toronto, Ontario.
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