“I’d like that.”
Dominique disconnected, and I instantly missed him. In a few short weeks, he had burrowed into my heart. I impulsively wanted to cling and spend every spare second in his presence, but that was one of my greatest flaws, and I’d been trying hard not to come across as needy or overbearing. It had cost me boyfriends in the past, and I wasn’t ready to give up the handsome pathologist.
Every day, I learned more about Dominique. He opened up, shared about himself, smiled more easily, and laughed freely. Our nightly phone calls had gotten deeper. I shared about living with a narcissistic mother I couldn’t please, a stepfather who loathed my mere existence, and a half sister who could do no wrong. Confessing to years of attention-seeking behavior didn’t paint me in a positive light, but I told him anyhow. Unveiling my troubled youth and rebellious teenage years wasn’t easy, but I wanted Dominique to know the real me. I wanted his trust.
In turn, Dominique spoke tentatively about Angelique, recounting stories of her disastrous attempts at cooking simple meals like scrambled eggs, how she taught herself to play the piano after finding an upright grand for twenty bucks at a yard sale, and about the times she cheered him on when he competed in bike races across Quebec. She loved art and music and black-and-white movies. She picked flowers in the summer and loved to stargaze on crisp winter nights.
He spoke of Cosette often, and his love for her shone.
Raw emotion tainted his voice on occasion when a particular memory surfaced, but overall, his reservations lessened. I still had a world to uncover, but it was a start.
The more I learned about Dominique, the harder I fell.
24
Kobe
Émeric had been obsessedwithThe Simpsons Gamesince the first time we ventured to House of Targ. I dropped enough money on the damn thing that he should have held the high score. Sadly, Émeric’s skills at video gaming were not on par with other kids his age. He didn’t have a home system, and the laptop I’d bought him the previous year to help with school was functional at best and didn’t have the graphic capability to run even the most basic online game.
He wrenched the knobs and pounded the colored buttons, chanting, “Come on, come on, come on,” but even Marge and her bullet-powered vacuum cleaner were no match for the horde of mobs chasing him down the street, and he quickly died a pixelated death.
“Dammit.” He slapped the machine as theGame Oversign flashed. “That was bullshit. I totally had that guy.”
“Language. Here.” I handed him back his half-empty fountain drink. “Joustis free. Wanna try a few rounds?”
Émeric sucked hard from the disintegrating paper straw, visibly perturbed. “No. I hate that one. You say bullshit all the time, by the way. Why can’t I?”
“I’m thirty-two years old. When you’re my age, you can say whatever you’d like.”
“Mom lets me say swear words.”
“I’m not your mother.” I checked the time. It was getting on five o’clock. Encroaching holiday notwithstanding, the crowd had thickened with the later hour.
“Can we playPolice Trainer?” Émeric asked.
“Go for it. Are you hungry? I should order food before it gets too busy.”
“Yes, yes, yes. I’m starving. Can I have the pizza perogiesandcheesecake ones for dessert?”
“Kid size or adult size?”
Émeric guffawed and stood taller. “Do I look like a kid?”
I laughed and ruffled his hair. “Not at all. Where did I get that idea? Here.” I handed him some tokens. “Go play a few rounds. Meet me at a table when you’re done.”
I ordered food and responded to a text from Elifet, who had invited me over for a beer later. We hadn’t seen each other in a couple of weeks. Between the case and my new infatuation with a certain pathologist, I barely had time for my best friend. As much as I would have loved to spend the night in Dominique’s bed, he’d put me off until the following day, and I was trying hard not to be disappointed. Beer with a buddy would help. Otherwise, I was at risk of moping around the house, and that wasn’t attractive.
While Émeric playedPolice Trainer, I secured a table and sat, waiting for our order to be called. Part of me wanted to shoot a text to Dominique, but I didn’t want to smother the guy, so I didn’t.
A teen working behind the food counter shouted my order number just as Émeric slipped into the seat across from me. “Good timing.”
As I grabbed our dinner, a boy of about eleven slyly grabbed someone’s fry order from the countertop and bolted to the front doors. I’d been watching him for the past ten minutes and could tell he had no money and was lingering, hoping for a handout. I’d seen him ask a few people if they had extra change.
The kid was fast and out of reach before I realized what was happening. In truth, I didn’t make much effort to stop him.
The guy working noticed the thievery and shouted after the kid. He looked ready to strip off his apron and chase the boy down.
“Hey,” I said, grabbing the guy’s attention. “Chill. I got it.” I slipped an extra ten bucks across the counter. It was more than enough to cover the small plate of fries.
