My Date with a Wendigo

by Genevieve McCluer

  “Not that. We can save that for when we get home.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll find out when we get there.” It’s only now that I notice she’s not wearing pajamas anymore. How did I miss that? I normally can’t take my eyes off her when she’s wearing a shirt and slacks.

  “So we’re going to the Community Center.”

  “Nope.” Her grin only widens. “Go get dressed.”

  “There’s literally no place else we can go. What, is there some fancy new fiend club I’m not aware of?”

  “Maybe. You’ll find out when we get there.”

  Why is everything a surprise today? “I really wanted to stay in tonight and just relax and cuddle.”

  Her lower lip protrudes in a pout. “I promise you’ll love it, Abby. It’ll be amazing.”

  I can’t say no to her. “Fine. Will you at least tell me what I should dress for? Are there gonna be people? Should I grab a hoodie?”

  “Nope.” She slaps my ass, pushing me toward the stairs. “Go throw on a cute dress or something. We’re going on a date.”

  I haven’t had the chance to do that in ages. It’ll be nice to have a normal date with her. What can that even entail, though? I can’t eat, and we can’t go anywhere. Well, I guess she has something in mind. I climb the stairs and sort through every single outfit I have to find something I would be willing to be seen in. It takes a while.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Elizabeth

  Taking a wendigo someplace as a surprise is a lot harder than I was thinking it would be. She can barely fit in my car, and I know that even curled in the back, she can smell and hear every single thing in our path. There’s almost no way she doesn’t know where we’re going. It’s okay. She still doesn’t know what I have planned.

  I pull over in front of the University of Toronto and climb out. It takes Abby a moment to unfurl in such a way that she can escape. “There is no way on earth that I’m riding back.”

  “That’s fine.” I break into a smile I’ve been barely holding back.

  “Why are we at our old school?”

  “I’d like you to break us into this building.”

  Her eyes narrow, but I suppose she must trust me because she doesn’t ask any questions. Maybe she’s accepted that I’m hell-bent on making this a surprise, and nothing she does will change it. We walk through the building, the empty halls strangely silent. In my mind, they’re always so crowded. Fortunately for her, the ceilings are high enough that she can stand to her full height, and she takes advantage of this fact. “I was stuffed back there like a sardine for over an hour.”

  “I know, honey, but I promise it was worth it.”

  “You could have told me to meet you at the University of Toronto.”

  “That would ruin the surprise,” I grumble and lead on.

  I think it’s now that she finally realizes where we’re heading. She stops waiting for me to lead and instead, approaches the door to the dance room. “This was your diabolical plan?”

  Nodding vigorously, I gesture at the door.

  She rolls her eyes and kicks it open. I feel a little bad doing all this damage to our alma mater. Maybe we should leave some money.

  I set my messenger bag on the ground, shrug off my heavy winter coat, and begin rifling through the bag.

  “I knew you had to be up to something. You’ve used the same purse since you were nineteen, and that’s not it,” she says.

  “I assumed the ‘it’s a surprise’ already suggested I was up to something. A purse would hardly change that.”

  She shrugs, then stares as I pulled out a Bluetooth speaker and my phone and set them on the counter. “You’re joking.”

  “I told you. I’m giving us a real date.”

  “Liz—”

  I put on an old-fashioned waltz. “I trust you still remember how? I thought I’d start off with something easy.” I hold my hand out, beckoning her to join me.

  “You know if I step on your toes this time, they might come off.”

  “Steel-toed boots.”

  “You think of everything.” She laces her fingers with mine, careful not to cut me, and places her other hand on my shoulder. I rest my hand on her hip and lead her through a few practice steps. I’m really rusty. “I know how much you liked the class back in college. I thought it’d be fun.”

  A soft chuckle erupts from above my head. It’s weird leading someone two feet taller than me. “I only signed up because you did. You were the one who was all into it. I just wanted to spend time with you, and if I’m being honest, to hold you like this.”

  I try to stare, managing to gape at her chin. “What do you mean? You told me you loved it. I thought this would be really special.”

  Her grip tightens on me but loosens immediately. “I’m sorry. I do love it. I just love it because of you.”

  Damn it. “I thought this would be like the most romantic thing ever.” I dance sulkily.

  “It is romantic.” We’re starting to get back into the swing of things, our steps matching, my boots becoming less necessary, and the movements becoming so much more natural. I do my best to dip her, but it’s quite a feat. She smiles, keeping herself aloft with the hand that had been on my shoulder. “It’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me. I didn’t think I’d ever have a real date again.”

  That mollifies me a bit. She looks so beautiful. I focus again on the dance, leading her through two numbers. She smiles—her teeth showing without her even trying to hide them—swooping along beside me, her skirt flowing to the music. After the third song, she freezes. I can feel her staring. “I didn’t say it was all waltzes.”

  Chuckling nervously, she resumes following my lead, our bodies closer now as we attempt to remember our old Latin dancing lessons. We salsa as best we can. By the second song, it’s not coming as naturally as the waltz, but we do seem to be recalling the steps.

  Once I’ve managed to relearn how to samba, I’ve worked up a bit of a sweat. I haven’t danced in a while, and steel-toed boots are not the best footwear for it. Abigail, however, hasn’t begun to slow. She seems as if she could go all night. I do my best to keep up with her. I don’t want this to end.

  I was a little worried that I wouldn’t be able to get her to dance, that it would be too awkward or that it had been too long, so I included a few sillier songs at the end of the playlist. We make it through every song, so by the time we’ve finished “YMCA,” “La Macarena,” “The Chicken Dance,” and “The Time Warp,” I’ve finally run out of music, and I feel like I’m ready to collapse on the hardwood floor. “Damn wendigo stamina,” I say as I do just that.

  “You didn’t seem to mind it the other night.”

  “Wendigo tongue stamina is excluded from all complaints.”

  She giggles, sitting down beside me. “Thank you, Liz. This has been perfect.”

  I manage to gather enough energy to lift my head off the ground and onto her thigh. “It’s not over. There’s more I want to do.”

  “And what’s that?” That smile, uncovered, unashamed, and so very beautiful, manages to give me a second wind.

  I force myself to my feet and extend a hand, helping her up. I know she doesn’t need it, but I thought it’d be cute. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  We head back outside, leaving a couple hundred to pay for the broken doors, and walk through the snow. I have to stop holding her hand and stuff mine in the pocket of my heavy coat. Toronto winter at three a.m. may look idyllic, but it’s not the best time to go for a walk. I’ll manage. It’s worth it for her.

  We see the park bench where we used to eat lunch during the summer and smoke pot back when we had roommates who weren’t each other. We walk by the cafeteria where we ate every meal of our first year with our meal plans. We pass a thousand memories: classes, study groups, other romances and failures, helping each other through breakups—which was mostly her helping me—and the life we spent in o
ur first years as adults, our first years alone and a whole half hour away from our parents. Looking at her, I can see that she’s seeing the same things.

  I lead her by our old dorm and spin her around so she can see the snow-covered landscape marked only by our footprints. We’re right by the place where we first confessed our love for each other without a sign of another living soul having ever touched it. I reach into my bag and, with some effort, pull out a small canvas and an easel. “I grabbed some of your paints and stuff too. I’m sure these aren’t the best conditions for it, but I thought maybe, since it’s so nostalgic, you might want to paint it?” I offer it all to her, feeling completely ridiculous. I planned out this big, heart-wrenchingly romantic date, but in reality, it all seems so silly.

  “I never really painted landscapes.”

  “Right. Yeah. I should’ve known that. I’m sorry.” Just like I didn’t know that she wasn’t that into dancing. I’m ruining everything.

  “But I’d love to try. This…” She gestures at the snowy grounds. “It’s all so wonderful. I haven’t been anywhere so human in such a long time. Aside from that issue with Sandra, at least. I love it. It’s getting late, though, so I think just an outline, and I’ll finish painting it at home. I don’t want you to freeze.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Sure. That sounds amazing.”

  I stand there, watching as she’s completely lost in her work. She’s so cute when she’s working. She keeps having to stop herself from biting her lip. I wonder how long it took for her to master that grip so she has such precise control of the brush without her claws getting in the way.

  It only takes her half an hour before she looks up from the painting and smiles. “I got a little carried away, but that’ll do for now. I covered all the important stuff. I can fill in the rest later.”

  I take a few pictures from a couple angles with my phone. “Will these help?”

  “They might.” She giggles, fingers wrapping around my forearm, gently tugging me to her. “Let’s head home.”

  “Not quite yet. There was just one more thing I wanted to do.”

  Eyeing me suspiciously, she asks, “Yeah, and what’s that?”

  “Come on.” I drag her along. We’re almost there. Here. This is it, the exact spot. I point at a third-floor window. “That was our room our third year in college, right?”

  She looks up, tilting her head and squinting. Fortunately, no one is looking back. “I think so.”

  “I remember looking out of it, right to this spot, whenever I was staring into space. I can still picture it perfectly, and even covered in snow, this is it.”

  “Okay?” She turns her gaze back to me as if trying to unravel whatever strange mysteries may be playing in my mind.

  “Six years ago, right up there, we confessed our love for each other before leaving for winter break.” I thought I’d be seeing her since we lived right by each other, so it wasn’t the big dramatic gesture it sounds like so as much as asking out a cute girl, but I play it up. “So I wanted to do this here.”

  “Do what?”

  I stick my hand in my pocket and come out with a small box, bending down on one knee. “Abigail Lester.” I pop the black velvet case open, revealing the emerald ring. “Will you marry me?”

  Her hand clasps over her mouth as she nods. “Oh my God! Of course, Liz! Of course I will.” She pulls me from the ground, sweeping me into a kiss, her arms wrapping tight around me. I meet her lips, tasting her tongue, feeling her against me, running my hands down her back. She pulls back and nods again. “I can’t believe it. I love you, Liz.”

  “I love you too.” I slide the ring onto her finger, and she stares at it, her charcoal eyes alight with wonder.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Not as beautiful as you.” I know it’s cheesy, but now seems the perfect time for that kind of line. “My wife.”

  “Your fiancée,” she retorts. “You’re gonna have to actually follow through to make me your wife.”

  “Oh, I will. There’s nothing I want more.”

  After we properly celebrate back home, we start working out the details. I can scarcely believe it. We’re planning our wedding!

  * * *

  “You’re serious?” Sandra asks, dropping her menu on the table. I wait for her to insult Abby, call her a monster, any of the things she’d have done without question a couple months ago. “You’re actually getting married? You?”

  “No, I’m lying, I just proposed to the love of my life as some elaborate con for sex.” Fuck, I wouldn’t even blame me; the things she can do with that tongue. “Of course I’m marrying her. You’ve been telling me it’d happen since we were eighteen.”

  “Yeah, but that was back when you had feelings and treated women with respect.”

  “I treat Abby with respect.” Does she really have to remind me of how awful I’ve been? “And I apologized to Carol. I’ve changed. I can actually be in a healthy relationship now. Especially if someone doesn’t kidnap me.”

  She glares. “That was one time. You had a pattern, while I made a single mistake.”

  “Kidnapping is hardly a mistake.”

  “I thought she was abusing you.”

  “Well, she wasn’t.”

  “I know that now.” Folding her arms over her chest, she stares at the menu. I haven’t gone out to eat in ages. It’s kind of a nice novelty.

  “Does that mean you don’t want to be my maid of honor?” Abby and I talked about it earlier in the hypothetical. I am not looking forward to telling her about this.

  Sandra’s gaze flies back up to me, her eyes wide. “Wait, are you serious? I didn’t think…after everything…we hardly even talk anymore.”

  “I know, but you were always the one trying to get us together, and I wouldn’t have called her if you hadn’t pushed me to.” And I don’t have anyone else I can ask. I haven’t talked to any of my human friends in months, and Ashley is obviously going to be Abby’s. “Please?”

  “Of course I will.” She clasps my hand. “I swear to you. I will be the greatest maid of honor the world has ever known. You will want for nothing. Your wedding will go off without a hitch.”

  Maybe she can keep James in line. I had him renewing his credentials last week to make sure he could conduct our ceremony. He did manage to hook us up with this gorgeous chapel on the upper floor of the Community Center, and he’s been working to renovate it with a few contractors. For an incubus, he’s kind of terrible at lying, so I had to keep him away from Abby. I know I should’ve waited for her to say yes, but I wanted to make everything perfect for her. “Thank you. It might need it.”

  “When is it?”

  “Well, we haven’t finalized the date yet, but I was hoping for about two months from now. I’m already having the venue set up. I wanted to make sure that was out of the way so we could plan everything else.”

  She stares into my eyes, taking a deep breath. “Okay, one more important question. Can I bring Peter?”

  I let out a sigh. “No. No, you cannot. You know this. You haven’t told him about fiends, right?”

  “Well, no.”

  “You and I will be the only humans there. He can’t come.”

  “You hardly count as human.”

  I grin. “Thank you. That’s so nice of you.”

  “My point exactly.” She rolls her eyes, returning her attention to the menu. “Fine. I’ll be the only normal person there. That’s how much I love you, Liz. I’m willing to go into monster land just for your wedding.”

  “Sandra.” My voice is firm, almost deadly. “What did I say?”

  “Shit, I’m sorry, I forgot, I didn’t mean anything by it. Fiend land.”

  “Better.”

  “Am I uninvited?”

  Grumbling, I shake my head. “No. You’re not.”

  “Good.”

  The waiter arrives, and she orders a prime rib dip. I get a steak and a glass of wine. We don’t have a grill, and Abby doesn’t d
rink. I’ve missed it. “So I was thinking about going shopping after this.”

  Just as I expected, she squeals, and her eyes light up. “For a wedding dress? Oh my God, I get to help, right? We have to pick out my dress too. This is so exciting!”

  “I was planning on wearing a suit. I haven’t worn a dress since college.”

  Her face falls, and she gapes at me, looking as if I told her she wasn’t invited to Disney World. “You can’t do this to me.”

  “It’s my wedding.” She sounds like Ashley. Straight girls, I swear.

  “Yes, it’s your wedding. You can’t wear a suit. This is the day you’ve been dreaming of since you were a child. We have to find you the perfect dress. It’ll be magical. You’re going to love it. I promise. If you hate it, I’ll pay for your tux.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “If you can’t find a dress I love, you’ll pay for my tux? That’s the deal?” Free tux, yes!

  “That’s the deal.”

  “All right.” I extend my hand. “You have yourself a bet.”

  She grins as she takes it. “So can we go now? I can get my sandwich in a doggy bag.”

  “No, I’m hungry.”

  “But dresses!”

  “But steak.”

  She stays and looks at dresses on her phone the entire time. I guess it’s a fair compromise. My steak is absolutely amazing. Perfectly seasoned and grilled, medium rare. Having to deal with my own culinary skills is the worst part about living so far from anything resembling a decent restaurant. I’ve missed food.

  “Oh my God, look at this one.” She almost knocks her uneaten sandwich onto the floor as she shoves her phone in my face.

  I’m loath to admit it, but it’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen and would suit me perfectly. I grit my teeth and glower. “I love it.”

  “I thought you would. Oh my God, it’s perfect for you. Abby is going to go crazy. Wait, will she actually? Like, if she sees your cleavage in this, is she going to eat everyone in the front row or something?”

  “No, Sandra.” She will love it, though. The nice swooping neckline to show me off, the somewhat excessive train, the hoop-skirt that’ll make me look like some distressed Victorian maiden. I’ve seen some of the books she reads. She’s going to lose her mind. “All right. I’ll get it.”