“Cousin Angela quit and joined that cult in Alberta, didn’t she?” Matteo asked. Gia and Matteo had about twelve more cousins together.
Gia didn’t answer. Her eyes were twinkling. “You said your aunt had more than one job vacancy?”
“Yeah, apparently. Goes to show that no onewantsto work there.”
“Maybe I should apply ... how big is that pool house?” Gia asked, a devilish grin on her face.
Holy crap. That was aninterestingidea. Not something I’d considered, but ... maybe living in that nothing town would be tolerable if I had my best friend with me? “But what about Old Navy?” I asked.
She smiled wide. “You think I actuallywantto be at Old Navy? C’mon, this could be fun! Meet some country boys, take some pictures. A summer away from our parents.”
Matteo wrapped his arms around my waist. “Country boys?”
I shook my head. “None for me, thank you very much.” I kissed his cheek. “I prefer city boys.”
He shook his head. “Youbothcan’t leave Toronto all summer, though.”
I didn’t like the idea of leaving my first serious boyfriend. He’d graduated high school (he was a year older than me) and had just started the full-time job at H&M. We couldn’t see each other much because he lived on literally the other side of Toronto—Etobicoke to my Scarborough—and neither of us had a car. But we were both supposed to be working downtown this summer—his job wasn’t far from Nilusha Bhatt’s design studio. That stupid French bird took that from me, too.
Gia laughed, patting his arm. “It’s cool. We’ll come home to see you weekends.”
“It’s retail, G,” I said. “I’m assuming I’ll be working weekends.”
Matteo’s gaze locked onto mine. “We had things we were going to do this summer. A photo shoot at Brick Works, Toronto Islands, and ... other stuff, too. Isn’t there a way you can stay?”
His lips were smiling, but those dark eyes told another story. I knew exactly what kind ofstuffhe wanted to get up to, and yeah, I didn’t like missing out on that, either.
But I wasn’t worried about losing Matteo, no matter where I worked this summer. All I had to see was that look in his eyes, and I knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was I. We weresolid.
“I can’t think of another way. Ineedthe experience.” I tightened my arms around him.
Gia clasped her hands together, pleading. “So, will you ask if I can come, too?”
I sighed. Maybe, having Gia with me in our own “apartment,” the summer would be tolerable. Heck, it could be fun. “I’m not guaranteeing anything, but drop me your résumé, G. I’ll call my aunt tonight.”
Gia clapped and hopped up and down. “Yay, Tahira! We’re going to have so much fun! Should I get, like, farm clothes or something?” She tilted her head. “Would I look cute in a cowboy hat?”
I wanted to laugh, but I could see the look in Matteo’s eyes. He was upset about this. I leaned into him. “The summer will go fast,” I promised, “and I’ll come back whenever I can.” I tilted up to kiss him. I loved Matteo’s soft lips. The way he let out a tiny gasp every time I made the first move. I loved that he always tasted faintly like Hi-Chews, the chewy Japanese candy that only I knew he was mildly addicted to.
“Get a room,” Gia groaned, but she was laughing. She was pretty proud that she was responsible for our epic happiness.
I giggled, resting my face in Matteo’s neck. Soaking in the sun and letting the deep comfort of being wrapped aroundhimenvelop me.
“Just for eight weeks,” I said. “I’m going to miss you.”
He leaned close. “I’ll miss you more,” he murmured, and he kissed me above my ear.
“Mmm,” was all I could say.
2
THAT’S NO SOIL
Are you still pouting, Tahira?” Mom asked as she lifted one of my bags into the trunk of her SUV. It was the last Sunday in June, five days after my photo shoot downtown, and Mom was getting ready to drive me to Bakewell, Ontario, for the summer. Sharmin Aunty was thrilled I was coming, and after a quick phone interview, she’d agreed to hire Gia, too. Gia’s dad would drive her up tomorrow, since she had some cousin’s baby’s baptism today.
“I’m not pouting, Mom.” Really, I wasn’t. I didn’t pout. I didn’t do duck face. I wasn’t that kind of influencer. “I’m inmourning.”
I’d once seen an interview with a fashion editor on YouTube lamenting that interns were so whiny these days that she dreaded spending her summers with students. There was no chance that editor would ever hire me anyway—from looking at her miserable interns, it was clear I had way too much melanin for her tastes. But still. I’d trained myself off pouting that day.
