Then there was the time I was grabbing the last custard pineapple bun from the tray at my favorite bakery on Spadina, and my metal tongs hit the tongs of a cute girl wearing cat ear headphones and an anime T-shirt. We smiled at each other and even ended up sharing the bun. We talked about music and our favorite animes, and we exchanged Instagram handles, but other than the odd heart on one of the pics on my grid, I never heard from her again.
“Iliveon Love Street,” I say. “How cool would it be if I met someone here?” I unzip the bag and am met with lush red fabric. “Ooooh, a jacket. Yay!” We tend to get a ton of donated gowns for the prom drive, but very little for those who want to dress in masculine clothes.
Cara’s eyebrows go up. “Wow, that’s a unique one. Is it velvet?”
I nod as I run my hand over the soft lapel. It’s a slim-cut jacket that could be worn by any gender, in a shiny, deep red velvet. “It’sgorgeous. It looks like a red rose. This person hastaste.”
“Yeah, exactlyyourtaste,” Cara says. “I’ll make a time machine so you can ask them to your prom.”
I laugh, but she’s right. The deep red is the same shade as the corduroy skirt I’m wearing right now. I sniff the jacket and inspect it for damage. It’s in great condition—itwon’t need dry cleaning or repairs before we donate it to the youth center. I check the pockets and dump the contents onto the counter.
A tube of generic lip balm, a little tin of hair wax, a wrapped condom, and a tiny slip of white paper.
Cara picks up the condom. “No action on prom night. Sad.” She opens the hair wax. “Oooh, that smells nice.” She holds the tin in front of my nose. It smells clean and a little spicy.
“Preparedness and safe sex are so romantic. As is good grooming.” I pick up the slip of paper. It’s a fortune from a fortune cookie. “Oh my god, it’s a sign,” I say after reading it. “Manifesting worked! I didn’t even have to burn leaves!”
“What’s it say?” Cara asks.
“Love is closer than you think. Its power is going to change you more than you expect.”I beam at Cara.
Someone laughs behind me. “Of courseLoveis close. This isLove Street.” It’s Jenn, our boss, and the owner of Cosmic Vintage. She’s been doing paperwork in the little office behind the counter all night and has clearly been listening to our conversation.
I’ve known Jenn my whole life since she and my mom are old friends from high school. Jenn’s the one who told Mom about the flower shop for sale after my parents’ divorce. She hired me at Cosmic two years ago, saying since I spend so much time in her shop, she may as well pay me.
I wave the tiny white slip of paper in the air, practically dancing in place. “This means that Iwillfind love… and right here! Closer than I think!”
Cara takes an exaggerated step away from me. “Don’t look at me.”
I laugh. Cara is a lesbian, and I’m pansexual, but not once have I thought Cara could be my one true love. She has a definite type—athletes. I’m convinced that’s why she wants to be a physical therapist. My idea of physical exertion is changing the record on Jenn’s old player.
Speaking of, I go to the stereo and flip over the Cure album that’s playing. “C’mon, Cara. This is fate, right? Iliterallyfound a fortune aboutfinding lovewhile I was talking about wanting to find love.”
“Fortunes are supposed to come out of cookies, not velvet sport coats,” Jenn says, finally coming out of her office. She’s dressed how she always dresses—in tight black jeans and a band shirt from the nineties. She runs her hand over the soft velvet of the jacket on the counter. “This is a nice one, though.”
Cara shakes her head. “Fortunes aren’t supposed to come in jacketsorcookies. You’re as gullible as my grandmother. She gets ripped off by the same fortune-teller every year since she moved here from China. That woman couldn’t predict what month will come next.”
Cara may not believe in omens, but I do. I slip the fortune into the pocket of my skirt. It’s a sign. I’m going to be as happy as Priya very soon.
Jenn’s gaze sweeps across the empty store. “Did any customers come in since I started payroll?”
I shake my head.
“Ugh.” Jenn cringes. “Sales are down again this week. We’ve taken a big hit since that boutique on Gerrard opened.”
Love Street isn’t very big, and only a short stretch of it has stores, all with apartments over them. After the shops,there’s a small park, then houses until the street ends. Cosmic Vintage is the biggest shop on the street—and probably the most popular. People come from all over the city specifically for Jenn’s curated vintage collection. Along with Cosmic, there are a couple of small restaurants, an adorable new café, a dog groomer, a European grocer, an empanada shop, a bakery, a used bookstore, and, of course, Mom’s flower shop. Love Street is off Gerrard Street East, which has been gentrifying a lot in the last few years. It kind of sucks for the neighborhood. Toronto’s original Little India is on Gerrard, and a lot of those old Indian businesses are being pushed out. Thankfully, Love Street isn’t really changing. It’s got its own personality—different from any other place in the city.
“It’s felt kind of slow all week,” Cara says.
“It’s been slow on the whole street.” Jenn pulls her dark blond hair into a ponytail. “I was going to start interviewing for a new part-timer this week, but now I don’t think I even need someone. You two are coming to the BOA meeting on Saturday, right? We’re going to brainstorm ideas to increase traffic to the street.” The LSBOA—the Love Street Business Owner’s Association—meets once a month, and Jenn is the president.
“Yeah, I’m coming,” I say. The monthly meetings are in my favorite café, LoveBug, and I like seeing everyone from the street all together.
Cara nods, then wheels the now-empty rolling rack out of the way. “I can come too. What do you think the BOA can do?”
Jenn shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe organize some new flyers or advertise or something. Anyway, let’s not worryabout it now. Hey, maybe we can bring those seventies dresses to the front? Post them on Insta, and people will think we have new stuff.”
“Yes!” I love merchandising. Cara changes the record to an ABBA one to get in the seventies mood, and we spend the rest of our shift redoing the mannequins and front stock with a disco glam vibe.
