by Toni Aleo
“Okay, sure.” This seemed like a reasonable trade.
Ian grinned. All his smiles looked dirty. “Might be expensive though.”
“Really?” Em started searching on her phone.
He watched over her shoulder. He was close enough that she could feel the heat of his body and smell his post-game sweatiness. Yuck.
“I want club seats too. Gotta make all this torture worth my while.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Oh my gosh. Who pays prices like that for hockey tickets?”
“Leafs fans. Besides you’ve got the fancy-ass government job. You can afford it.”
Em did have a good job at the Bank of Canada. But that didn’t mean she had a thousand bucks to burn. Once more, she pondered whether this was worth it. And she’d have to spend several days with Ian. The way he pressed all her buttons, she’d be lucky to escape the holidays without manslaughter charges.
She conjured up an image of Thomas. For their first date, they attended a movie at the ByTowne Cinema, her favourite indie movie house. He was worth a little sacrifice.
“Okay, well, do I have to get two tickets? It’s not like I’m a Leafs fan.”
“What kind of girlfriend gets her boyfriend a solo ticket for Christmas?” Ian asked.
One that doesn’t really like her boyfriend, Em thought. “Aren’t you from around here? How come you don’t cheer for the Sens?”
“Came by it honestly. My granddad was a diehard Leafs fan.” Ian grinned and then draped an arm over Em. “So, when does all this relationship stuff start? Maybe we can practice tonight.”
Em gently removed Ian’s muscular arm. “Thank you so much for doing this. But it’s a pretend relationship.” Now she sounded like a kindergarten kid.
She consulted her calendar. “Would it be okay with you if we drove down on December 24th? And if we go to the game on the 26th, we can come back the next morning. Because I’m sure you’re going to be drinking a lot at the game.”
He held up a hand. “Yeah, we need to get one more thing straight. I’ll do this, but I’m not your lapdog. You don’t get to tell me how much to drink or what to wear or any shit like that.”
Em shook her head. “Don’t change a thing, Ian. You’re perfect exactly as you are.”
A total jerk.
3. Slow Ride
“I don’t know why we’re not taking my car,” Em complained. She was a bucket of fun this morning. First, she’d made Ian turn up the heat so her hedgehog—yes, a goddamn hedgehog—wouldn’t get a chill. Then she complained that he was driving too fast, and now she didn’t like the country music he was playing. Country music was about love and genuine emotion. Chicks should be all over that.
“My truck, my tunes,” Ian said. “And don’t forget, I’m doing you a huge fucking favour here.”
He’d almost spit out his entire beer when Em asked him over for Christmas. She was a huge snob who always made him feel stupid. Since their best friends were married, he and Em got thrown together regularly. And now she’d cooked up some scheme to pave the way for her next big relationship.
If she asked him, Ian could tell her exactly how to fix her love life.
Step one: take the big honking stick out of her ass and relax.
Step two: stop dating little boys.
Ian had played hockey with her ex, Lucas. Most indecisive guy on the ice. He had some skills, but he analyzed the game too much. Too many set plays and all this “team identity” shit. Ian had played high-level hockey for years. If you want to play a certain way, you have to pick the players that fit that style, and then practice the hell out of them. You can’t tell a bunch of beer-leaguers to do complex shit. And what kind of name was Lucas? Luke was a hockey name. He was an idiot, and the team was better off without his yammering. And Em was better off too. Lucas probably wasted time analyzing which one of her fine tits he should suck on first to maximize his pleasure. Sex or hockey, it was all better when you reacted in the moment.
Ian shifted in his seat. He couldn’t start thinking about Em’s body when she was sitting this close to him for the next four hours. As irritating as she was, she was really cute. A pretty face with big brown eyes, brown hair done up fancy, and perfect skin. And that body, holy shit. A body like that was wasted on someone so uptight.
Whenever Em gave him a semi, Ian had a trick to ease his pain: he picked a fight with her. Magically, his cock softened the moment she began bitching.
“So, where are your little lists?” he asked.
Em turned to him. “What little lists?”
“I don’t know. Those things you always have. You had them at Mase and Abby’s wedding. Covered with your stupid to-do lists.”
“Oh, my index cards.” Em reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of colourful cards clipped together with a pink bulldog clamp.
Ian shook his head. Everything she owned looked like the scrapbooking aisle in Michael’s—a place where his last girlfriend forced him to spend too much time. “Yeah, pull out the ones that have my script on them.”
“Your script?” Her eyes opened wide, and her pink lips parted. Damn. He shifted position again.
“I’m sure you’ve already planned all the shit I’m supposed to say, how many puppies I have to kick, and when I’m allowed to take a piss.”
“Why are you so vulgar?” Em asked. Now she was getting mad. Good thing, because it was tough to drive with this third leg.
“If I started getting all prissy on a job site, guys would wonder what the fuck was wrong with me. Let’s hear you swear.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because you can’t do it. You’d be stammering so long on the F that you couldn’t finish the rest.”
“Okay. Damn. Happy now?” she said.
“Damn is like baby swearing,” Ian replied. “Say, ‘fuck.’” Or better still, fuck me, daddy.
Jesus fucking Christ, he needed to stop thinking dirty about Em. She was bossy and too intense. The only problem was when she was joking around with Abby or Mase, Ian could see the fun side of Em. A relaxed, happy Em would be dangerous.
He could tell by the tight pinch of her lips that she wasn’t going to say another swear word. In fact, she looked ready to tear a strip off of him. Then she swallowed and took a deep breath. He could almost see the thought bubble above her head: Ian is helping me, so I must be nice to him. For three days, Em had to be sweet to him. This was going to be more fun than he realized.
“Well, I did put together a little game for us to get to know each other. I found these questions on a relationship website.”
If he rolled his eyes any higher, he wouldn’t be able to see the road. “We already know each other. We’ve known each other for years.”
“How can you say that? We never talk when we’re together.”
“And whose fault is that?” Ian asked.
“Yours,” declared Em. “Because you’re so...” Her voice trailed off, and she took a deep breath again. She probably had a mantra written on a blue index card: Before you get mad, take a deep breath. She shuffled her index cards. “Okay, maybe you’re right. I can skip the superficial questions and get right to the more serious ones. First off, if your life was a book, what would the title be?”
“The Joy of Sex,” said Ian.
Em scowled. “Take this seriously.”
“I take sex very seriously. That’s something you should know if we’re dating.” He grinned. “You know, a girlfriend of mine would never look like you do right now.”
She touched her cheeks. “How do I look?”
“Sour. Unsatisfied.”
“From what I’ve seen, your girlfriends run the gamut of emotions from A to B. Stunned is their normal look.”
Ian wasn’t quite sure what Em meant, but he knew it was a diss. “You’re jealous, I’m sure. But don’t worry, this holiday is your big chance with the Reed-man.”
“Men who speak of themselves in the third person are beyond ridiculous.”
Perfect, h
is hard-on was all gone now. Bitchy Em worked every time. “Are we sleeping in the same bedroom?”
“No. I’ve already explained to my mother that your snoring keeps me awake, so we’ll be across the hall from each other on the third floor. They’ll assume that we cross the hallway for hanky-panky.”
Only Em could use a word for sex that made him not want to have sex.
She pulled out a new card. “Okay, next question. Where do you see yourself in ten years?”
“Doing what I do now.”
“What is that, exactly? I mean, I know you work construction, but I don’t know any more than that.”
“I’m a carpenter. Right now I’m doing framing on a commercial project downtown.” Ian focused on the road. The highway was clear of snow, and they were making good time.
“But wouldn’t you like to be a project manager or whoever is your boss?” asked Em.
“I don’t want all the hassle. Customers complaining and all that shit. Sometimes I pick up the odd side job, but I don’t really like them.”
“Why not?”
“I helped out this one couple. They wanted a bathroom reno’ed, and I could do most of the work myself because the plumbing was basic stuff. But I didn’t like doing the estimate, and they kept making changes. I barely broke even by the time I was done.”
Em nodded. “Yeah, but that’s the kind of thing you’d get better at. You need a basic contract that spells out everything, including how much changes cost. Then you can fill in all the job details for each project.”
“Where am I gettin’ that?” Ian asked.
“I can write it for you. We’ll get Sophia to give us the legal stamp of approval.”
Ian pursed his lips. It didn’t sound like a bad idea. “Yeah, okay, thanks.”
“It’s the least I can do for you after everything you’re doing for me,” Em said. She turned to the back seat of the cab and cooed at the pet carrier. “How’s it going, Isaiah?”
“What’s he doing?” Ian asked.
“Hiding. Hiding is his thing.”
A hedgehog was the best pet for Em. Prickly, so high maintenance that she couldn’t get a pet sitter for a few days, and giving zero back in the affection department. Whoever heard of a pet whose best quality was that you couldn’t find him?
“Where do you see yourself in ten years?” he asked Em.
“Married with children,” she replied.
“What about your job?” he asked.
“I’ll take the maximum maternity leave and get a nanny.”
Ian shook his head, and Em saw him. “Look, I know I sound like the stereotype of a desperate single woman, but these are the facts.” She held out her hands. “My physical attractiveness is on this curve, and my earnings are on this slope. Where they intersect, I’m at my peak as a potential mate. My earning power will continue to rise, but my physical appeal—whoosh—it’s going to decline precipitously as I age. So my best opportunity to get married is around the point of intersection.”
He had heard a lot of women hint about marriage but never like this. She was like a fucking love robot, and not the good kind from Japan.
“What happens if you don’t find the right guy?”
“If by thirty-one I don’t find him, I have a Plan B.”
“Thirty-one? Are you sure that’s not thirty-one years, four months, and twelve days?”
“Ha, ha, very funny. I’ll do my PhD instead. I wanted to do that earlier, but Lucas was getting tired of living in student poverty.”
That was hard to believe because from what Ian had seen, Em wore the pants in that relationship.
“What is it you do anyway?” Ian asked.
“I’m an analyst at the Bank of Canada. Specifically, I study the regulation of the derivatives market.”
“Uh, okay. I only understood one word in all that.”
“Which one?”
“Anal.” He laughed.
“I said ann-al-list not A-nal-ist,” replied Em. Then she flipped her index card over. “What is your biggest fear?”
Ian sighed. It was going to be a long drive.
Traffic in downtown Toronto was a shit show as usual. Em directed him to the Kensington Market area and a row of connected brick townhouses.
“That’s our house.” She pointed at a tall house painted bright blue.
“Really?” Ian was surprised. He expected Em to have grown up in some huge suburban house with a big yard. But this place was old and funky. In fact, the whole street looked a bit run down.
He opened up the tonneau cover and pulled out Em’s large suitcase and his small duffel bag. She carried the hedgehog case. They walked up to the sunny yellow door, which was decorated with a wreath made out of branches and berries. When Ian put a hand on the railing, it trembled. The thing was held together by dead vines.
Em opened the door and walked in. “We’re here,” she called out.
“Welcome, Emerald darling!” An exuberant woman with blondish gray hair and red-rimmed glasses emerged from a dim hallway. She was wearing a flowing, hot pink caftan with glittering embroidery. She enveloped Em in a massive hug.
Again, Ian was shocked. He had been expecting some society matron with helmet hair who would look down on him. Also, Emerald? He’d assumed that Em was short for Emily or some proper name like that.
Em was beaming until she turned to him. “Mom, this is Ian. My new, um, boyfriend.” She nearly choked on the word boyfriend.
“Oh greetings, Ian. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She squeezed Ian in a big hug as well. He was enveloped in pink silk and a musky floral scent and wondered if this was what it was like to be a bee.
“I’m Hannah. Ronald will be along in a moment.”
She guided them into a crowded living room. The walls were yellow, and there were books and artsy-crafty junk everywhere. The contrast between this hippie paradise and Em’s tidy condo was stunning.
“Ah, you brought your little porcupine again,” Hannah said. “Better make sure the cat doesn’t get at him.”
“I have a portable cage with a cover this time,” Em said. “And Isaiah is a hedgehog.” Em’s mother looked as unimpressed with this odd pet as Ian.
“How was the trip here?” Hannah asked.
“Fine,” said Em.
“The roads was pretty good,” Ian added.
Hannah nodded. “The radio mentioned freezing rain, so I was worried. Usually by now we’d have more snow, but you can see the micro-effects of global warming on our climate.” Then she turned to Ian. “What kind of car do you drive?”
“A Toyota Tacoma.”
“Gracious goddess, a truck is not very fuel efficient. Have you considered going with something more green? And why do you need such a big vehicle?”
“I’m a carpenter. I need a pickup for my tools and materials.
Em added, “I told Ian we should take my Prius, but he insisted on driving. He said the man should do the driving.”
And what was wrong with that? Ian wasn’t going to apologize for the natural order of things.
Hannah waggled her finger at him. “You’re not against women’s equality, are you, Ian?”
“I think men and women are different. You can’t pretend a chick can play hockey as good as a guy, but there’s lots of stuff that women do better.”
“Like what?” Em asked.
“Having babies,” he said.
Em scowled. “That’s not a skill, that’s a biological difference. Men can’t have babies.”
Ian nodded. “That’s what I said.”
“Oh my gosh, you’re so ridiculous. Those two things are not analogous!” Em’s face turned pink, but then she took a deep breath and pasted a smile on. “I swear, you do this just to get me riled up.”
Ian reached over and squeezed Em’s thigh. “That’s because you’re cute when you’re mad, Emerald.”
He felt her leg tense under his hand. If she wasn’t mad before, she certainly was now. All she was missing was the st
eam coming out of her ears. Em was so easy to bug.
“You’ve sure got a lot of books here,” Ian said.
“Well, Ronald teaches literature at Ryerson. And I’m involved in drama, so—” Hannah waved an arm decorated in multiple bracelets. “What kind of books do you enjoy? I’m sure we can find something to your tastes.”
“I don’t read,” Ian replied.
There was a sharp intake of breath. Ian didn’t know if that was Em or her mother. Or both.
“Not at all?” Hannah asked.
He shrugged. “Well, sports stuff online. Texts. That’s about it.”
Before the literacy lecture could begin, a thin man with a long grey ponytail walked in.
“Emerald!”
“Dad!” Em sprung up and kissed her father.
“Oh, Ronald, you’re finally here. This is Ian, Em’s new...friend.” Apparently, everyone in this house had trouble with the word boyfriend.
“Welcome to our home, Ian.” Em’s dad unexpectedly hugged Ian as well. Ian smelled a whiff of something familiar. Given their hippie clothes and house, it wasn’t a huge shock that Em’s parents were into weed. The only shocking part was how Em had turned out so straight-laced.
“It’s nearly dinner time,” Hannah said. “Ian, I hope you like mung beans.”
“I’ve never had them,” he said. But they sounded like crap, literally—mung rhymes with dung.
“Don’t worry, son,” Ronald said. “We take turns cooking, and I’ll be doing Christmas dinner. Turkey and all that.”
“Our eating habits have a huge impact on the planet,” Hannah said. “There’s no escaping the fact that food is political.”
Jesus, this was going to be a long holiday. Ian said to Hannah, “I’ll try anything once.”
4. Best Laid Plans
Late on Christmas morning, Em woke up in her old bedroom. Her mother had redecorated and made it into her writing room. But the sunlight still fell across the sloped ceiling in familiar patterns that reminded Em of her childhood.
She felt a pang of guilt about Ian. Maybe it wasn’t right to trick her parents. Last night at dinner, her mother and Ian had a heated discussion about tax rates and the social safety net. Not surprisingly, Ian was on the side of reduced taxes for “small businesses” like himself. He didn’t even know what a small business was.