Last-Minute Love (Year of the Chick series) (15 page)

“Sure.”

“Was I Cleopatra, and you were my Alexandrian slave boy slash lover?”

“Only if I get to wear the linen loin cloth. Because cotton or polyester in that heat would be unbearable.”

I laughed. “Fine, we will get you some linen.”

He sighed into the phone. “Romi, can we meet again?”

Chapter Fourteen

The first snow fell on a mid-November’
s night, which meant boring people finally had something to talk about, and people with cars suddenly forgot how to drive.
I’m guessing thirty collisions tonight in the Greater Toronto Area.

A slushy drive home was not my immediate conce
rn, with Laura and I safe inside our usual restaurant, in the heart of Toronto’s glitzy Yorkville. We still couldn’t afford a proper dinner at this celebrity hot spot, so drinks and greasy appetizers would do. On the bright side I’d cashed my first royalty cheque the day before, and even though it was nowhere near the amount I’d need to start a brand new life in Paris (
as if
), it would at least buy November’s worth of alcohol.

I
inhaled the first spring roll and washed it down my gullet with some vodka and Diet Coke (wine would’ve been preferable, but in washing-food-down-gullet scenarios cocktails were best).

I swallowed hard and looked around the dining room. “One of these days Ryan Gosling’s gonn
a be here. He’ll be all by himself having dinner, just dying for me to come over...”

Laura rolled her eyes. “You better videotape that
when it happens.”

I
held my half-empty glass to the light. “You know, zero-calorie Coke and carb-free vodka totally negate the spring roll factor.”

Laura nodded. “This is still my favourite drink despite your white wine kick. I could have it
for breakfast, lunch and dinner!”

“Whoa, alcoholic much?”

“That’s what Dave’s been doing to me. He’s driving me to alcoholism!” She let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re not letting that engagement s
tuff get to you again, are you?”

She frowned. “Do you know he changes the subject if I even bring it up? He actually told me to ‘live in the moment.’ Who says stuff like that?”

“I don’t know…people who want to appreciate what they have while they have it?” I immediately thought of Erik.

“The only people who live in the moment are children and ho
meless people, dammit!” She tugged at one of her curls in frustration as I shook my head.

“What are you talking about?
” I said. “I think you’ve lost it.”

She swigged the rest of her
drink. “Let’s talk about something else. Like tell me more about this supposed reunion with Erik.” She looked skeptical.

“
Well it’s more like an official reunion,” I said, trying hard to contain my grin. “I booked it last night. Which means…I’ll be seeing him again in three weeks!” I suddenly felt a shiver down my back.

“You got your own hotel room, right?”

“Of course! He’s so sweet he insisted on paying.” I smiled dreamily, but the smile quickly turned into a frown. “Wait, does that mean I’m his prostitute?”

“That’s the part I’m confused about,” said Laura, sounding more
and more pessimistic by the second. “He held your hand for three seconds six months ago. And now you’re hopping on a plane for a weekend hook-up? And let’s not forget he has a girlfriend…”

I suddenly resembled and
also felt like a confused chimpanzee. “Well…well it isn’t like that!”

Laura crossed her arms. “How is it then?”

“We just never talked about it like that. We mostly talk about music and dorky shit like ancient history.”

“So you’re a couple of nerdy friends?”

I suddenly realized that Laura could make a career out of being a devil’s advocate.

“Well we flirt a lot too,” I said, sounding suddenly defensive. “And I’ve writte
n him lyrics. He’s even making a song out of them!”

Laura sighed. “J
ust be smart, okay? He’s not going to break up with his girlfriend because of a weekend tourist. I’m telling you this guy has taken ‘homesick’ to a whole new selfish level.”

I nodded casually, trying to appear
and also feel as nonchalant as ever. I took a long sip of my cocktail and swallowed hard. “Trust me I know this is temporary. And please, I need a long-distance boyfriend who isn’t actually my boyfriend like I need genital warts.”

Laura scrunched her nose in disgust.

I went for another sip, but instead started chewing on my straw, my eyes quickly filling up with worry. “But Laura…what if I go all the way over there, and nothing even happens at all?”

***

With less than two weeks left until my trip to see Erik, the office was getting crazier all the time. Today I’d worked through lunch so I could sneak away by five, and now I sped through the Union Station concourse at the rush-hour pace. As was always the case, bags were flung without care, and naïve slow-movers were pushed around like prisoners in a pinball machine.

I suddenly transitioned from one group
to the other, as my lightning pace slowed to a crawl. I was so overcome with sudden dizziness, that I could barely even remember where I was. My balance remained unsteady for several seconds, as people elbowed past without mercy.

***

A few days later, after doing all the tests and waiting for a diagnosis, I finally received a call to see the doctor.

I sat on
one of those uncomfortable doctor’s office beds, with the sterilized paper sheet making all kinds of noise. My hair was askew, my face had a yellowed hue, and I was wearing my “at home” hooded sweatshirt, the one with the tea stains all down the front (I had yet to learn how to drink tea in bed while reading). I looked like nothing less than a bag of shit, and for days I’d never felt so tired in my entire life.

I leaned against the wall in exhaustion, and in doing so ripped the paper sheet beneath me.
Oops.
As I tried my best to straighten it out, I noticed a poster for a new kind of birth control. The diagram clearly showed how a ring would be inserted in the subject’s vagina, where it would then remain lodged for three weeks solid.
How curious.

A second later the
door opened and the doctor waddled in. She was a short old lady in her sixties, with a poorly-permed wad of hair tied back in a yellow scrunchie. That was barely her greatest offense, when compared to her bright pink lipstick. She also had a thick Middle-Eastern accent, not to mention she was probably senile.
I need to stop picking doctors because they’re five minutes away from my house.

She took a seat on a wheeled leather stool and smiled at me.

“So…what brought you here today, Ms. Narindra?”

I sighed. “You called ME
, remember? The test results?”

“Oh!” It was like a light-bulb had just gone off in her senile head. Fascinating to watch. She spun around in her wheeled leather stool, spun again because she didn’t have enough momentum the first time, and finally grabbed a folder from behind her.

At last she spun back around to me, almost out of breath this final time. Some seconds passed as she read the test results. A moment later the broad brush of bright pink lipstick cracked as she pursed her lips.

“Oh….
” she said. “Mmhmm…”

Wanna let me in on the little secret?

I clasped my hands together tightly, waiting for the deadly diagnosis.

“So why do I have no energy?” I finally asked, worried that the doctor had forgotten
why she was here.

“You, my dear, have a kidney infection!”

I frowned, looked away, and began to blush all at once. I didn’t know what kind of people contracted kidney infections, or what exactly it meant, but to me it sounded just as bad as being told I had crabs.

“Why did I get THAT?”
I said, still unable to look her in the eye.

“Oh, it can be for many reasons. Sometimes just from stress and too much activity,
or not drinking enough liquids. Have you been stressed?”

I thought
about the craziness at work, which had stemmed from doing two jobs at once (
you lazy man-heeled boss
). Then I thought of how I started each morning with that ever-present fear, the feeling that Erik would come to his senses and run away. Which of course was a solemn reminder that I’d soon be thirty and single.

Shit.

“A little stressed,” I finally admitted. “What can I take?”

The doctor closed the folde
r and reached behind her for a prescription pad. “I will give you these antibiotics. Very strong pills. But it will take fourteen days.”

My eyes suddenly darkened. “So I can’t drink
alcohol for fourteen days?”

The doctor clutched her old-lady paunch and laughed. “Can’t drink, can’t go to work, can’t travel, can’t exercise, you have no energy! You are too dizzy. Stay in bed. Drink a lot of water. Very much water.”

Somewhere between “can’t travel” and “stay in bed” my eyes had completely glazed over. The doctor said more which I couldn’t even hear. I left the room in a daze, having no idea what had happened.

***

My laptop rested on my legs as I sat in bed, with the Expedia trip itinerary pulled up on the screen. With the phone to my ear I sobbed freely, as I listened to the voice on the other end.

“Are you aware there’s a fee for cancelling your trip?” said the Expedia agent.

Snot was dripping down my nose, in this rare and unadulterated sob-fest. I wiped it with the sleeve of my now even grosser “at home” sweatshirt.

“Just cancel it.”

***

The sun pee
ked into my room through a gap in the blinds. I squinted at it, then quickly switched sides in bed and pulled the blanket over my head.

The phone on my bedside table started to
vibrate, but I didn’t even turn around to check.

I am currently un
available.

***

That evening, when I awoke from my latest nap, my mother came into my room to serve me dinner. With my sister now married off, my parents had grown a bit needy in these last few months. Now that I was sick it was their perfect excuse to treat me like a baby. And for once I didn’t mind.

She set up a tray
in bed, which had a bowl of daal (an Indian style soup) and some roti bread.

I stared at
it unimpressed. “Why can’t you make me a normal can of soup? Like the tomato kind with the letters in it?”

My mother seemed appalled. “Soup from a can? No way! Cans give you cancer.”

I took a reluctant spoonful and scowled.

***

Later that night, I slowly sipped tea in bed with my blanket rolled down to my knees. My filthy sweatshirt was finally off, but my penguin-printed pyjamas had seen better days.

So had my hair.

And my face.

I placed the cup of tea on my bedside table, using a tattered book about Hieroglyphics as a coaster. I stretched a bit further to grab
a notebook and a pen, since being stuck in bed didn’t mean I couldn’t write. Writing was the only thing I could deal with stress-free, unlike Erik who was probably a lost cause, and unlike my book sales which I’d totally avoided checking.

As soon as I started
scrawling madly my phone began to vibrate.

Dammit!

It was Erik’s sexy face on the screen, the very face I’d been trying to avoid.

I listened for some
noises downstairs, and heard my mom and dad arguing about the level of spice in the daal. It seemed loud enough to hide my conversation, so I reluctantly answered the phone.

“Hello?” I croaked.

“You sound like shit,” said Erik.

I cleared my throat and pulled the blanket up to my chin. “I haven’t used my voice a lot today.”

“You didn’t talk a lot in your e-mail either. It was like you were saying farewell.”

I suddenly appeared sombre
. “Well…

“What do you mean WELL? You think I only stayed in touch because I wanted a hook-up?!”

This was the first time I’d ever heard Erik raise his voice, which really made me want to believe everything he was saying.

“Not exactly…” I started.

“This is New York, Romi, there are beautiful women everywhere---”

“That’s great! Go get ‘em tiger!” I rolled my eyes.

I could hear him laughing now. “I see you haven’t lost your edge. Now would you let me finish?”

I was smiling now. “Sure, I can’t wait for this.”

“My point is if I only wanted a hook-up, I could get it any night of the week. So don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

My smile grew wider. “Fine, whatever.”

“I made you that song in the meantime; do you want to hear it?”