“And so convincing. Look, do you like her? Like her enough to have sex again, and maybe dinner and a movie? Or something that involves being out of bed.”
“We didn’t even get to the bed,” I admit. “Living room floor.”
Bexley lifts her feet off the floor. “Ick. But listen to me, little brother; you trot on over to her place and fix this. I can tell you like her, and you haven’t liked anyone for a while. Set this straight. I can almost guarantee there was no pity sex happening last night.”
“But you can’t be sure.”
“Of course not. I wasn’t in the room with you, thank the Lord. But Boen, no one needs an excuse like that to kiss you. Or do anything else with you.”
Part of me really wants to do what Bexley says, to go over and ask Rachel. I actually want to kiss her more than talk to her, but conversation would be a start. But because I can’t be sure what she’s going to say, I don’t.
12
Rachel
As I saygoodbye to Biba and Demi, I notice a woman walking up to Boen’s door. I don’t notice a food bag, so I can only assume Boen has company.
“Well, I’m not going over there now,” I tell Rusty. “Let’s go to the park.”
I need to get out of here, and a walk might help me clear my head.
Sunnybrook Park always teems with people on a weekend, even more when it’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Rusty and I try the shaded path in the hopes it’s less busy. My dog is more extroverted than even I am, bounding up to unsuspecting people, tongue hanging out in his version of a smile, stubby tail wagging so fast his whole body shakes.
I used to come here with Bartlett. We would bring Bandy, our shared dog—now Bartlett’s dog. It’s still one of my favourite places in the city, so maybe that’s why the memories of Bartlett aren’t coming fast and furious right now.
In fact, I’m barely thinking of him at all.
The whole time I was with Liv, Bartlett stayed in the far reaches of my mind, like specks of mould on the ceiling of a shower. I brought him out late at night when Liv was fast asleep, or whenever we had a fight. Even though Liv and I had been far from perfect, we had been so much better than me and Bartlett.Ihad been better when I was with Liv. And I know now that has nothing to do with my sexuality; I didn’t like myself when I was with Bartlett.
I like myself now.
I liked myself last night with Boen.
Boen. There’s no sense thinking of him, or what might have been, because that equals out to a big, fat nothing.
I try to lose myself in nature as Rusty pulls me along, looking at the shades of green in the leaves, the browns of the path, at the different breeds of dogs—
It takes time for me to notice the wagging tail ahead of us on the path; white, with the slash of brown on the side, the tail itself crooked like it had been broken once. It dodges between other walkers, other dogs.
It takes even longer to realize who that tail belongs to.
No. It can’t be.
Not today.
It is. It’s Bandy. It’s my dog up ahead, stopping to lift a leg on a sapling. I slow to a crawl, Rusty looking back like he’s telling me to hurry up. But I can’t. I can’t see Bandy. I can’t face Bartlett, especially after getting rejected last night.
Especially with Bartlett holding hands with a tall redhead.
“We’ve got to go,” I hiss, tugging Rusty’s leash so hard I give him whiplash. I stumble off the path, through the tall growth of shrubs and young trees towards something with a trunk I can hide behind. The public path leads to a steep hill that Bartlett hates to walk down. And if he stops at the top like he always does, and turns around to start back the way he came, Rusty and I are going to be the first people he sees.
That’s not going to happen.
I don’t think of poison ivy or snakes or coyote dens, or why else the park wants to keep people out of the woods. I just need to get away.
And just in time. Bartlett stops even before his usual spot because I hear his voice just after I duck behind a tree. I pick up Rusty, holding him close. He licks my face as I peek around the trunk.
There is Bartlett, wearing the green shirt that I bought him, Bandy’s leash looped around his wrist. I told him countless times holding it that way would snap his wrist if Bandy decided to make a run for it.
