“Just telling it like it is.” She shrugs as she hands me the sandwich. “You’re too smart to sit around waiting for things to change or fix themselves.”
“You sound like a very wise fortune cookie.”
“Hey!” She glowers at me. “Just because I’m half Asian!”
“Oh, shit. Right. Uh, I didn’t mean—”
She starts chuckling. “Got you.”
“Oh, whew.” I pretend to wipe some sweat off my forehead. “I actually am leaving the house tonight. I’m hanging out with Dylan and Renee from the bar. One of Renee’s friends is coming, and it is not a double date.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Uh, okay.”
I feel my face flush. “I just, uh, I don’t want anyone to think that I’m...”
“Moving on?” She doesn’t let me answer. “I like DeeDee as much as the next person, but…it’s like I said: you can’t sit around waiting for things to fix themselves.”
And with that, she disappears as quickly as she arrived, fading away into the black hole of shadow and mystery and EDM that is her room.
I keep her words in mind the whole way over to the bar in the Quartier des Spectacles Dylan gave me the name of. The streets are crawling with people enjoying the warm evening, wandering the sidewalks and sipping drinks on patios. I find Dylan, Renee, and the third wheeling friend seated on one of said patios, string lights draped over the table and a big pitcher of what seems to be sangria sitting between all three of them.
“Zach!” Renee calls out.
Greetings and introductions get made all around. Even in my apparently evident state of moping, I can admit that Renee’s friend, Salma, is pretty—stunning, even, with billboard model cheekbones and jet black hair so straight and shiny that the light from the bulbs overhead makes her look like she’s shimmering every time she moves. The only empty seat is right next to her. I settle myself in the chair as Dylan pours me a glass from the pitcher.
“I thought you requested beer for tonight,” I remind him.
“Change of plans. The girls wanted to be festive.”
“We have to make the most of this warmth,” Renee defends herself. “I refuse to drink sangria in the winter.”
That’s Montrealers for you: already thinking of the winter ahead when it’s only the beginning of June.
During the first few minutes of conversation, I learn the movie we’re going to is a tiny independent screening put on by a club Salma’s in at school.
“It’s about Persian heritage in North America,” she explains, “which I know probably sounds like it’s going to be some stuffy documentary, but it’s actually really funny and unique. It was up for best foreign film at the Oscars this year. I’ve seen it four times already.”
“It sounds very cool,” I assure her, and she gives me a grateful smile. “Do you study film?”
She shakes her head. “I thought about it, but I’m in anthropology at McGill.”
The two of us get into a conversation about movies while Renee and Dylan have a passionate debate about the appropriate seasons in which to drink sangria.
“That reminds me of this one meme,” Salma says after I bring up something that happened at the Oscars last year.
“Oh, no way.” I set my drink down on the table. “Tell me you’re thinking of this one.”
It’s only after I’ve pulled my phone out and we’re both laughing at the screen that Dylan and Renee call it quits on their argument.
“Zach, are you showing her a meme?” Dylan asks. “You’ve only known the poor girl for five minutes.”
“She brought it up!” I accuse.
Salma raises her hand. “Guilty.”
“Let’s see it then,” Renee orders.
She and Dylan peer at the image and then at each other.
“Do you get it?” he asks her. Renee shakes her head. “Me neither. You two are weirdos.”
Salma nudges me with her elbow. “Looks like we’re freaks.”
I laugh along with her, but this time it’s forced.
Here I am, a single twenty-two year-old guy having drinks with a beautiful, smart, and funny girl on what is, for all intents and purposes, a double date. I should be thrilled to have her flirtily bumping me with her elbow. I should be nudging her back, showing her I’m as interested as she is—but I’m not.
I don’t want a girlfriend. I don’t want someone to lay on the couch and watch movies with. I don’t want to share lazy Sundays and busy weekdays and all the joy and stress and laughs and sobs and the millions of moments that make up what it is to have a life together with just anyone.
I want it with DeeDee, and I don’t know how to stop wanting it with her.
I excuse myself to the washroom, and on the way back to the table, I get a text from Hope, confirming the time we’re calling tonight.
“Shit,” I mutter.
I forgot about that. She’d understand if I moved the call to another night—she’s already cancelled once this week herself—but neither the prospect of courteously flirting with Salma or somehow turning her down in a way that won’t be awkward for everyone sounds appealing enough to keep me here.
“Guys, I’m really sorry,” I announce after taking my seat again, “I’m going to have to leave in about twenty minutes. I have a video call with my sister scheduled that I forgot about, and I really can’t miss it.”
Renee and Salma both sigh.
“That is so sweet,” Renee declares, and Salma agrees.
“Here.” She digs out some kind of pamphlet from her purse. “We do regular screenings all through the summer. That’s the schedule for the next few months.”
“Thanks.”
I fold it up and tuck it into my pocket. I don’t know if this is the part where I’m supposed to ask for her number or something, but I let the three of them carry the conversation for the next few minutes. It’s only when I’m getting up to leave that Dylan remembers why I asked to meet for drinks in the first place.
“I forgot to tell you all Zach is a rich bitch! He made six grand this month!”
I accept everyone’s congratulations and settle back into my chair as they insist on getting the whole story. I explain the basics of ecommerce before leaving enough cash on the table to cover the pitcher, but I don’t stay for another round, no matter how much they beg and tell me it will be a quick one.
“Not even one for the road?” Salma prods.
I fight to keep my face under control, even as the words hit me like a punch to the gut.
DeeDee’s signature phrase.
“Alas, no,” I manage to choke out. “Have fun at the movie, guys.”
I can’t tell if I want to punch something or just sit down on the sidewalk with my head in my hands as I make my way home.
“As our mother would say, you look like a sad sack of potatoes.”
“Well thanks, Hope.” I shake my head, but I can’t help grinning at her face on my laptop screen. “I don’t know why she says that. It doesn’t even make sense.”
Hope runs a hand through her hair, and I try not to let the sight of the teal strands DeeDee dyed make me an even sadder sack of potatoes.