June 14, Ten Years Ago
Will took me to Sonic Boom. It was one of the biggest record stores in the city, and I’d been there many times, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. He was right—it was exactly what I needed after my minor meltdown at the gallery. I’d been homesick before, but the paintings stirred a deeper kind of longing.
I felt better flipping through the vinyl, showing Will which albums I’d get if I could afford them. Not that I owned a record player—there was no room in my apartment.
“If you could buy one today, which would you choose?” he asked.
“Only one?”
He nodded.
I stared at the rafters, thinking, then led him to another section to dig for my prize. I plucked out an LP of Patti Smith’s Horses, displaying it to him between both my hands. “In commemoration.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Will said.
But he didn’t elaborate.
We spent what was left of the afternoon strolling around Kensington Market, a small neighborhood of vintage stores, trinket shops, and food vendors that remained steadfastly ramshackle despite the influx of specialty butchers and boutiques. We panned for gold in every knickknack store. I went straight for the sunglasses rack, looking for cheap frames to suit my new haircut, while Will did his own hunting, though he wouldn’t say what he was searching for.
“What about these?” I called over to him at our last stop. He was eyeing something near the register. The glasses I wore were oversized with plastic arms and yellow-brown lenses. They were also $7.99.
“You look like a film star from the sixties.”
I checked myself out in the mirror again. “Sold.”
By the time evening fell, the air had turned humid, and the sky was covered in a thick bed of gray clouds. We needed drinks, we agreed.
“This is an excellent gin and tonic,” I said after we’d sat down at a tiny metal table on the tiny front patio of a tiny bar. It was what my mom always drank on the first warm day of the year.
“I didn’t realize there were degrees of excellence in a gin and tonic.”
“Oh, there are. I’ve had some truly heinous G and T’s in this city. Flat tonic. Dried-up limes. Crappy gin.”
Will laughed. “I’m very excited we’ve arrived at the portion of the evening where your preppy side has decided to make an appearance.”
“Taste it. It’s so good.” I pushed the glass across the table.
He took a sip. And then another, longer one. “That’s refreshing,” he said. “But it’s strange.”
“What is?”
“For some reason, I have a very strong urge to play squash and learn how to sail.”
“Ha. Ha.”
He smiled. “But it is good. Way better than my beer, actually.” Will had ordered some kind of craft ale. “I’ll be right back.”
I watched him head into the bar, then took out my phone. There was a text from Whitney.
Thanks for having me! Cam and I want to take you and Jamie out to celebrate as soon as you’re back. COUNTDOWN IS ON!!!
There was also one from Jamie, saying he was throwing a bonfire at the staff cabins later that night.
Don’t overdo it, I texted back. He would definitely overdo it.
There would be too much beer and too many joints. No-name chips and hot dogs cooked on sticks over the coals—more lost to the fire than to hungry mouths. Someone would inevitably bring out an acoustic guitar, which was usually my cue to leave, but I’d hang around if Jamie played. He had a three-song repertoire (strictly Neil Young), and if he wasn’t hamming it up, he had a beautiful voice. The night I first kissed him, in front of a dozen other staffers by the campfire, he’d sung “Heart of Gold.” When he wrapped his fingers around mine, they were sticky with marshmallow. Still, I held on tightly for the rest of the night.
Will returned with two gin and tonics and origami’d himself into his chair. “Since I drank half of yours,” he said.
“Much appreciated.” I reached for the tumbler, my foot bumping his under the table. “Sorry. I have massive feet.”
Will’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Yeah, I’m a very short person with disproportionately large feet.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is so.” I kicked up one of my size nine Converse high-tops. “See.”
“I don’t know. They seem okay.” He tilted his head. “Maybe stand up so I can see everything all together.”
I jumped out of my seat, hands on my hips.
He eyed me up and down and then started laughing. “Actually, you’re right. They’re gigantic. It’s a wonder you don’t trip over them more.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sure you have very normal-sized feet.” I glanced down at his boots, which were gargantuan. When I looked back up, Will was smirking.
I slunk into my chair, red-faced.
“You were saying?” Will said.
I threw my lime at his chest. “Don’t be cocky.”
My eyes popped at the same time Will’s did, then we both exploded with laughter. I’d just caught my breath when Will gave my foot a kick under the table, and we cracked up all over again.
The sky was darkening by the time we finished our second round. I ran my finger around the rim of my glass. I didn’t want to say goodbye, but I could almost see the credits rolling on our day.
“I had fun.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“So did I,” Will said. “Which reminds me.” He dug around in his jeans pocket and set two miniature plastic baggies down on the table. Inside each was a shiny red streetcar pin. “One for you and one for me,” he said. “In commemoration.”
I fastened mine to the corner of my tote bag as Will fixed his to his backpack. I met his eyes when he was finished. “I love it. Thank you.”
As we took our final sips, I had the sudden, terrifying notion that Will was quite possibly the best person I’d ever met. He was more than met the eye—more than a beautiful face.
Peter once made a flourless chocolate torte. It looked perfect—dark and glossy, its surface sprinkled with crystallized sugar. But when I’d taken a bite, I realized it wasn’t sugar on top, it was flaked salt, and Peter had added chili to the cocoa. It was the most incredible thing I’d ever tasted, as decadent as it was unexpected. Will was like that.
“A friend of mine has a show tonight,” he said. I looked up at him from my drink. “At Sneaky Dee’s,” he continued. “I’ve never ordered a gin and tonic there—I’m sure they’re shit. But would you want to come?”
“I’ve been to Sneaky Dee’s before,” I said slowly. It was a Toronto institution—bar downstairs, small concert venue upstairs, graffiti on all available surfaces, the most famous nachos in the city.
Will played with his ring. “I don’t think there’s an undergrad in this entire city who hasn’t.”
“This wouldn’t be part of the official Will Baxter tour?” I sat perfectly still, but blood bubbled under the surface of my skin.
“Tour’s over. I’m off duty. I wouldn’t drink on the job.”
“Of course not. I didn’t mean to insult your professionalism.”
“They’re on at nine. We could grab a bite there first?”
I rested my chin in my hand, observing him longer than I should have. “You’re really leaving tomorrow, huh?”
“Yeah. I really am.”
“And then you’re never coming back?”
He tipped his head to the side, not sure where I was going with this. “I’ll come back, but maybe not until the holidays.” And I’d be long gone.
“So what you’re saying is that this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?”
Will’s lips curved. “Precisely,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”
* * *
—
“I feel kind of gross,” I said when we’d almost reached the bar. We’d been spelunking our way through the city all day, and I was covered in a distinct layer of urban grime. I needed a shower. “My place is nearby. I was thinking I’d go wash up, get changed, and meet you there in a little bit?” I could make it to my apartment and back before the band’s set.
“What? Come on. I thought we were going to have nachos first. Plus, once you get home, there’s no way you’re going to want to come out again.”