‘You’re lucky though, you have a good family around you. I wish I had that,’ I tell her, hoping she’ll open up a bit more about all that. ‘Do you have any siblings in the area?’
‘Well, I do.’ She makes an eye-rolling face that doesn’t strike me as a good sign. ‘My mom is across town, and I do have one step-brother sort of living nearby but—’
The waiter returns and I have never wanted to stab a person in the eye with a fork up until this moment in life, but would gladly do it in the here and now.
‘If you want to order lunch, the kitchen will close in about ten minutes,’ he says. He sounds a bit stern.
‘I think just another one of these,’ Naomi says, waving the wine bottle in front of him. His reaction suggests that he is used to it.
‘Last time I was here, he and I had to havewords,’ Naomi whispers, gesturing to the waiter. It was, I gather, not a good moment for either.
In a move that I will forever see as pure baller, Naomi then picks up my half-full wine glass, offers me a mock-admonishing face as though I should be drinking faster, and helps herself to half of it, sloshing it into her own glass. Impressed at the hubris– this sort of thing is a hanging offence where I come from, after all– I have to laugh.
‘So, one step-brother living nearby,’ I sing-song, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice. I’ve just given you half my wine, girl, you’d better start coughing up some details. Something. Anything.
‘One step-brother, one too many at that. He’s not really in town that often,’ she says, brow furrowed. ‘I think he’s in… Hawaii right now? But he’ll be back soon, as the MuchMusic Awards are happening next week and I think he’s going to those.’
‘Oh, is he a musician?’ I say, all innocent. ‘Maybe I’ll get to meet him while I’m here.’
‘Seriously, let’s stop talking about him,’ she says, her words slurring a little as the waiter arrives with a fresh bottle. A small part of me wants to tell her that I’ve already shared a moment with Ted, on the street in London.
‘Sounds like he might be fam—’
Naomi interrupts with more force than is necessary. ‘What about you? Brothers and sisters?’
‘No, just me and Mum,’ I tell her. There’s a flicker of darkness as soon as I think of the times when it wasn’t just me and Mum.
‘So do you work on the website full-time? Helping people on their grief?’ I ask.
‘Well, I was a teacher until a few years ago,’ she says. I nod ‘huh, right’, as though I don’t already know all of this. ‘It just got too hard to go back in there after everything, you know?’
‘I do know,’ I say. She bats back more tears. This is becoming a very teary afternoon.
‘Anyway, I want to know more about you!’ she says shrilly, blotting her eyes with two fingers. ‘What’s going on in London? Was there a guy? Is Luna’s dad in the picture?’
I haven’t thought this far ahead. Impulsively, I decide on a blank slate.
‘There was, but there isn’t any more,’ I tell her.
‘That’s hard, hey,’ she agrees.
‘I was thinking of trying to find a room for rent in Toronto, to stay in for a few months,’ I explain. ‘Maybe in the Bathurst Street area.’ Naomi doesn’t let on that she has any connection to the street. ‘I’m a writer and I need quiet somewhere to work during the days.’
‘A writer? Wow, that’s cool. What are you working on?’
‘I’m trying to write something about what happened. With… Luna. A grief thing, I think. I just need the space for that.’
I can hear Naomi’s throat as she takes another slug of wine.
‘I’ll just put something up on Facebook, a notice,’ I say.
‘I got rid of my Facebook,’ Naomi replies. ‘I just couldn’t stand to see everyone else’s normal life on there, you know?’
I nod.I already know you’re no longer on Facebook.I squirm a little as I think how I know, to the exact day, when she quit Facebook.
Naomi squeals and smacks the table, having a thunderbolt thought. ‘Oh my God, come stay with me!’
It’s disquieting how easily and readily Naomi has come to this conclusion, with virtually no massaging on my part. We’ve been sitting here for less than forty-five minutes. After all, I could be absolutely anyone. I suspect that letting her drain half my glass of wine without putting up a protest has somehow made me Good People. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ I say. ‘I’m sure you need your privacy.’
