“Hey,” Tucker said, knocking. Nick called him in, and Tucker leaned against the frame.
“Did I wake you?”
“No, I was already reading in bed. But that sounded heavy,” Tucker commented. “Everything okay?”
“Just my stupid fucking car. Hey . . .” Nick’s voice softened. “Can I ask you a huge favour?”
Tucker’s face remained blank, even as he nodded. Nick explained the complex way in which he was shuffling around his cash several times before Tucker understood.
“Oh.” Tucker pushed his glasses up his nose as he nodded. “So you will eventually pay me back, but not on the first of the month?”
“Yes. Exactly. I will have the cash, but I can’t delay the car anymore.”
“Then that’s fine. Totally.” Tucker’s smile made Nick feel slightly better, but he still insisted on making some type of formal promise in writing that he’d pay Tucker back.
“For your sake, you know. I’m literally going to write you an IOU on a Post-it note.” Nick scribbled a few lines on a florescent-pink Post-it and handed it over to him. Tucker folded it in half and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
“Thank you,” Nick said.
“No problem. Is that all you’re really thinking about, though? You seemed way more upset than normal.”
“Maybe. Part of me is wondering if it’s more worthwhile to sell my car for parts at this point. At least that way I could pay for the repairs by myself, and I wouldn’t have to keep up with the insurance.”
As Nick imagined the extra two hundred in his account each month from forgoing insurance, he practically melted. He never wanted to be this guy—a person constantly obsessed with money—but it was so, so hard to make it right now. He wasn’t broke or utterly destitute; he had a lot of loans for school, but they also paid him to be here. He had a job he liked (grading bad essays aside), and he was getting a good education about something he loved. He was on speaking terms with his upper-middle-class family. If he was completely desperate, he could call. He knew that and always kept it in the back of his mind like a get-out-of-jail-free card. But Nick didn’t want to coast like that, either. It was what Barry had done, and that attitude had driven them apart. Nick was twenty-nine, and though he still felt like he was in his early twenties with the way he lived on ramen noodles, he wanted to at least be financially independent. Even if that meant he’d have to keep eating shitty food for the next couple of weeks while Tucker, his always-cleaning roommate, became the breadwinner until he was caught up.
“Why do you have a car, anyway?” Tucker asked. “Not a lot of grad students do, especially when they factor a bus pass right into our tuition. You actually seem to hate your car most of the time.”
Nick sighed. “I got it when I was with Barry. We were moving out here from Toronto—where you never need a car—and we decided to invest in it together. But of course, it was just me investing. I didn’t mind at first, because I thought it would be the first step towards us getting a house, getting married, and having two point five kids. I was silly.”
“I get that. It’s silly to want half a kid.”
Nick laughed. “I think that statistic is supposed to represent a baby. But you know what I mean.”
“More or less. It sucks what happened with Barry. I actually don’t know for sure, but I assume it sucked.”
Nick realized he’d never told anyone—not even Tucker, who he’d met right after the whole Barry thing had happened—what had actually occurred. It was too hard and too simple at the same time. “I thought we were going to get married. But we never did.”
“Did he cheat on you? A lot of relationships seem to end that way.”
“No.”
“Did he spend all your money?”
“No. Well, kind of, but I gave him permission to do so. Because, like the car, I thought it meant something more.”
Tucker nodded slowly. “So now, because of Barry, all signs of domesticity like the car deserve to be sold for scrap parts?”
“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds petty. I don’t want to be petty.”
“You’re not. Just . . . moody? Can I say that?” When Nick didn’t respond, Tucker went on. “All I’m saying is that you should keep the car because you love it, or get rid of it if it’s a burden. Don’t stay in relationships you hate—even if it’s with an inanimate object. I’m . . . I could tell you a philosophical theory about phenomenology of objects, but I’m going to stop.”
“Thank you. Not that I don’t love all the babble, but it may not be useful right now.”
“Sure, makes sense. So how’s Katie?” Tucker asked, surprising Nick.
“Um. She’s good. We’re good.” Nick glanced back at his computer and the small zine he kept under his notes for class. He had been reading it a couple of nights a week while exchanging texts with Katie. The zine made Nick even more excited to be with her—and hadn’t turned him away or made him worried, like he had first been concerned about. Having language with which to express his desires for someone like Katie made him feel more in control. And for Katie, who had been responding to the texts rapidly, he suspected it was good to feel desired in the language that made it possible.
“What’s that?” Tucker asked, apparently noticing Nick’s gaze lingering.
“Something she gave me.” He was about to shove the zine in his desk drawer, but decided to pass it to Tucker anyway. He glanced it with a stone-face expression, occasionally pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Neat. We need to teach this more.”
“Yeah?”
“I know this is going to sound weird, but how else do we learn? Animals do it out in the open. We try to teach kids sex ed. in schools, but it’s dreadful. So we use TV instead. But TV is wretched for people like her. And for me, for that matter. So there needs to be zines or books or something else that teaches sex for other people.”
Nick nodded vigorously.
“You know if she has any zines about asexuality?” Tucker asked.
“Probably. Or her friend Ilana does. I’ll ask.”
“Thanks.” Tucker handed the zine back. “So clearly things are going well if she’s giving you something like this.”
“Yeah.” Nick blushed. “I like her. I want all the cheesy stuff to do with romance again. I thought I never would after Barry.”
“That’s good. Right?”
“It is. I know I should seem more enthused than I am. I’m just . . . finding it hard to be romantic or spontaneous with her when I have no money. I want to take her out again like I did before, but I can’t.”
“You ever ask her to help?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know your last date was supposed to be the great romantic trope, but you do know that she can pay for things too, right?”
“Yeah. Obviously. She got us pizza at her friend’s place.”
“Right, but she can also take the initiative with those types of grand romantic gestures. It doesn’t always have to be you. I have a feeling you always thought this way—even before her. Before you were the only guy in the relationship.”
Nick felt the way he did when he realized he had taught a class with his fly down: transparent and on display. “Maybe,” he mumbled.
“It strikes me that Barry, whatever else he did or didn’t do, maybe soured you on romance? Or at least, made you think it had to be a grand romantic thing from one person—because he never contributed back?”
“Well, yeah, but . . .” Nick thought of Greg and the few other relationships he’d had since Barry, and the few before Barry. They’d been one-sided: Nick wanting more and appealing to the more romantic side of life, and having them pull back. It was always his boyfriends that had never wanted to hold hands in public, either because they didn’t want to be labeled so publicly as gay or because they hadn’t come out yet. Nick had never questioned it, though, because their reasons made sense. Now, he saw the flaws in their logic, the holes where their apprehension tow
ards romance filtered through, and how that had left Nick feeling as if he were always Lloyd Dobler with the boom box, but with no one to listen.
“I’m not good at advice,” Tucker said. “So I should probably stop, right?”
“No, Tucker, you’re a hell of a lot better than you think. Even your advice referencing Hegel is making sense.”
Tucker beamed. “That’s good, then. You should talk to Katie. I think that’s where I was going with my point.”
“Right. Okay. That makes sense. Thank you.”
“No problem. But I did come here to ask you something, beyond your angry phone call. Do you want some takeout if I order it? I know it’ll be more like breakfast than lunch, but hey, you’ve been eating my leftovers so much that I figured I’d get you something. And the place is open twenty-four hours to cater to the student crowd, so we may as well take advantage.”
“Yeah . . . but . . .” Nick made a face. “I can’t.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Tucker insisted. “I don’t mind, but you have to eat it with me. Number four?”
“Easy bargain,” Nick said, smiling. “Thank you again, Tucker. I enjoy our platonic bond.”
Tucker laughed as he withdrew his phone from his pocket. “Oh, me too, Nick. Me too.”
Nick stared at his phone. How exactly did you ask someone to be romantic for you? How did you shift the romantic burden? He wanted to tell Katie that he wanted to see her again, in more serious terms, like I want you to be my girlfriend. He was pretty sure he was the only person she was seeing, but he didn’t know. There were some nights where she didn’t text him back for a couple of hours. She was also still guarded. Nothing like when they first talked; each layer of her defenses was coming down piece by piece, but Nick still had no idea where it ended and Katie truly began. Nick wanted her—more than he thought possible—but he also wanted her to take more initiative. And he wasn’t sure how to phrase that without sounding like a jerk. He was about to throw his phone across the room in frustration, when it rang in his hand. His phone displayed the old home number with the label Mom and Dad. Nick scrambled to answer it.
“Oh, hey! What’s going on?”
“Hi, dear,” his mother answered. “We’re fine. Wanted to check in. How are you doing? Classes good? You’re teaching in the summer, right?”
Nick glanced at his pile of marking he had now become distracted from at least four times already. “Yeah, but it’s not like summer school for high school kids. It’s a regular class during a spring semester. It’s all online too. I always have a lot of grading, but it’s a low-key gig.”
“Uh-huh, okay.” His mother grew quiet for a moment, as if she was still trying to parse out the difference between Nick’s teaching and Alex’s. “So you’re not going outside much.”
“Hey. I’m pale but it suits me.”
“Well, in that case, I think your father and I have the perfect opportunity for you.”
Nick leaned on the edge of his seat, his eyebrows already furrowed. He got along very well with his parents, but he could tell that when he’d failed to reach some of the more distinct life markers for someone his age, they were disappointed. Not to mention that Shannon, Nick’s younger sister, was already in a high-paying and impressive position at her PR job in downtown Toronto and definitely on the way to marrying her five-year boyfriend. So when his parents had a suggestion, Nick’s stomach often sank with shame.
“Okay,” Nick said slowly. “What’s up? What do you need me to do?”
“Your father and I are going to visit your aunt Sheila this weekend and stay over until next week. Can you come here and watch the dog?”
“Oh, I think that should be fine. But why can’t Shannon do it? I don’t mind—I love Felix—but she’s usually the obvious choice, right?”
“You’re both the obvious choice, because we love you both,” his mother said, as if she sensed his nerves. “But we talked to her, and she really thinks Jared is proposing to her this weekend. They have a hotel booked somewhere, and it’s looking like all the signs are there.”
Nick sighed. Now an engagement before him too. “Well, that’s good for her. About time.”
“We thought so too!” His mother’s voice was light, completely over the moon with what was about to happen. Nick knew he’d never quite get his mom’s approval like that even if he got married tomorrow; there was a bond between mothers and daughters surrounding their weddings he’d never comprehend. He would have to work with his dad for his eventual marriage, if that ever happened. And to win his father’s approval seemed a bit more of a stretch.
“Anyway, if you could come, that would be fantastic. We don’t want to put him in a kennel since he’s a sensitive dog. But if you could come by, we’d pay you.”
Nick sat up straighter, paying attention. “Really?”
“Yes, of course. I’d be taking you away from your work, so it’s only fair to treat this like work too. How does a couple hundred sound?”
“That sounds . . . fair,” Nick said, trying to control his excitement. “Thank you. It’ll be easy enough to take my grading there, so this is the perfect fit. I also really miss Felix.”
“Oh, honey, you’re wonderful. Help yourself to any food. There’s also the pool too. Your father just opened it last weekend. Don’t have a party, but bring a friend if you want. Does your roommate, Tucker, want to come?”
Nick craned his head out the door to see Tucker reading in the living room. He was tempted to bring Tucker along, especially since he could literally hand off whatever money his parents gave him right to paying Tucker back.
Then Nick remembered: next week was Katie’s birthday. A big house to share. A pool. And a dog? Well, they could pretty much pretend to be as domestic—and romantic—as they wanted.
“Actually, yeah, I do have someone I’d like to bring. Thank you!”
“Great. I’ll email you some details, and we’ll get this together. Thank you so much, Nick.”
Nick and his mother exchanged a few more pleasantries before getting off the phone. Nick scrolled back over his text messages and picked up on a draft he’d started to write to Katie.
So, it’s not the most ideal vacation spot, he began. But what do you say to a week-long getaway?
“So there’s one thing you have to know if we’re gonna do a birthday mini-celebration,” Katie said. She was sitting next to him on the second storey of the Waterloo GO Bus. The afternoon had just started, but it felt like early morning to Nick. Not because he’d slept in (which he had), but because this felt as if it was the beginning of a long adventure. As the bus merged onto Highway 401, all of Waterloo became visible through the large windows. The expansive scenery, along with Katie’s hand in his own, made Nick shiver.
“Okay. What am I supposed to know?” Nick grinned wickedly. “Is it how old you are? Because I know I’m not really supposed to ask, but I need to know just how many candles to get for a cake.”
Katie sighed, but her smile poked through. “While that’s a nice thought about the cake, you remember the egg allergy, right? That’s what I wanted to warn you about—or at least remind you again.”
“Right,” Nick said, remembering this fact. It had come up when they were picking a restaurant for their fancy date, and a couple of times when she’d warned Nick not to handle or eat eggs before going to see her (especially if they’d be getting close). All of those instances, her allergy had been a non-issue. But having a birthday cake without eggs would definitely be trickier and perhaps out of his current skill set. But that only made it more of a challenge he wanted to take.
“All right,” Nick said. “I’ve made a note in my phone that I’ll have to make your cake. Nothing from premade for us. But I still need to know how many candles.”
“Age is different when you’re trans, though. I mean, I’m really turning something like twelve because I’ve only been out so long.”
Nick made a face. “Please don’t tell me that.”
Katie nud
ged his side. “Fine, fine. I’m thirty-one. Soon enough.”
“So you’re turning thirty-one on the thirty-first? That means this is your champagne year!” Nick stared at her with wide, hopeful eyes. “This is too perfect. It’s the exact birthday you’re supposed to celebrate with a bang.”
Katie’s tight-lipped smiled turned into a large grin at Nick’s accidental double entendre. “Yes, yes, all of that can be fun. But you don’t have to worry about getting champagne, okay? I know we’re on a budget right now, so don’t go overboard with anything. Including the cake. For real.”
“Fine. You’re right about the tight budget, but that doesn’t mean handmade gifts aren’t cool. So I’ll find a way to make you a cake using flour from my mother’s kitchen and then we’ll find some nice wine in my parents’ pantry instead of champagne. Not a lot, but enough.”
“Hey, you’re taking me on a trip. That’s a huge present. So please don’t worry about the champagne or any kind of alcohol. I know it’s my special birthday and all, but really, I’m a sad drunk and I don’t want to be sad on my birthday.”
“We could get sparkling wine—the nonalcoholic kind?” Nick suggested. Over late-night texts, Katie had discussed a past rocky history with drinking, mostly from her touring days with bands. Drugs and alcohol had always been easy to find then, and when she was dealing with some pretty heavy gender feelings, she’d drunk to forget. She had stopped that, though, long before her transition; she’d fallen into the vegan straight-edge scene for a while, before she’d transitioned, when she’d found bands like the Hellcats and Dunja’s art. Katie didn’t like to talk about that part of her life much, considering it more like “black-and-white photographs” when now she wanted full colour. Nick could understand that, and never pried, but he did tease her about working as a bartender now. She always retorted by reminding him that it was also a café, and that she had to put her knowledge about drinking to some kind of good. She’d taken off this week from the Grad House so she could spend it with Nick, and he wanted to make that time worthwhile. Beyond the birthday rituals—whatever they ended up being—he wanted it to be the exact romantic getaway he’d promised.
Hopeless Romantic Page 14
