Lakeshore was busy as usual, but thanks to it being Saturday it wasn’t long before we were turning into High Park, Toronto’s giant green space smack in the middle of the city. Matt easily found a parking spot—it was only eight in the morning, and most people were still waking up—and then he turned off the car but didn’t make a move to get out. So I waited, shored up my emotions in preparation for whatever came next.
Matt stared out the front windshield and I watched him. When it appeared he still wasn’t ready to speak, I shifted my gaze, saw a woman jog by pushing a running stroller. Another couple with two tiny dogs and one big one, all in matching plaid coats, walked the path toward the off-leash park. The snow was entirely gone now, the grass a muted green-brown color that soon would be lush and vibrant with a little more rain and sunshine. I wondered if Matt could hear my rapid heartbeat, which was thunderous in my own ears.
“I know you don’t remember this, but we used to come here a lot on the weekends,” Matt said, and I jumped because I had been lulled into the silence. “We’d go for a run and then have breakfast at the café.”
“I run?” That didn’t sound like me.
He nodded. “You run. You’ve done three half-marathons. But you’re a bit of a fair-weather runner, so you usually don’t train through the winter.” I glanced at my legs, encased in jeans, and tried to imagine them propelling me for that many kilometers. “We were going to do the full in May actually, so you were putting in a lot of mileage before your accident.”
A full marathon?That was, like, more than forty kilometers. “Are you sure I’m a runner?”
Matt laughed then and I relaxed somewhat. He didn’t seem angry anymore. “I’m sure.” He undid his seat belt and opened the car door. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, getting out of the car. “Not a run, I hope.”
“We’re not going for a run.” He locked the car, then took my hand and I let him. Curled my fingers around his, liking the way it felt. “Not today, anyway.”
He led me across the road that encircled the center of the park, and we walked through a small parking lot and into the Grenadier Café. I took a deep breath of the smells of breakfast cooking in grease, and my stomach grumbled.
“I may not remember eating here, but I think my stomach certainly does.”
Matt smiled, and a sensation of happiness spread through me. We sat at a table and took off our coats, then grabbed trays and lined up at the food counter.
“What do I usually get?” I asked, looking over the menu.
Matt paused for a moment. “Why don’t you order what you’re in the mood for?”
“I would like to get what I always get.” I tried to keep the small burst of irritation out of my voice. He had brought me here for a reason, which I guessed was to help me make inroads to understanding our past. And right now, standing at the breakfast counter with Matt, all I wanted was to be that Lucy again.
“Pancakes. Side of tomatoes and potatoes. Double order of bacon,” Matt said. “Oh, and coffee and grapefruit juice.”
“Wow. Okay. That’s a lot of food. Tomatoes and potatoes, eh?” He shrugged and we placed our orders (three scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon, hash browns, coffee for Matt), then took our number and drinks back to our table.
Over breakfast I grilled Matt about other things. What else did we used to do on weekends, aside from jog ridiculous distances? Where had we traveled together, and where did we want to go? Did I like to cook? What was our favorite take-out spot? How did I get into running? I wished I had my notebook with me, but I tried to hold on to all his answers so I could transcribe them later into my list. And if it was hard for Matt to have to tell me answers to questions I should have remembered easily, he didn’t show it.
“I was training for a marathon and you said you were tired of being a ‘running widow’ on the weekends.” Matt stacked some eggs and bacon onto a piece of buttered toast. “So you told me you wanted to give it a try, see if it could be something we did together.”
“Huh,” I said, sprinkling salt and pepper on the fried tomatoes. “And just like that, I was a runner?”
“Not quite,” Matt said, laughing. “But you were a natural actually. It wasn’t long until you were keeping pace and we were covering a lot of distance. It was nice. Training together.”
“I’m sure it was,” I murmured.I’m so sorry I don’t remember, Matt.
He smiled and then pointed to my plate, which I felt like I hadn’t made much of a dent in. “How’s your breakfast?”
“Great,” I replied, stretching back against my chair to try to find more space in my stomach. “But I’m full. I can’t believe I used to eat all of this in one sitting.”
“You did, but it was after a twenty-kilometer run, so you were on empty.” He crushed his napkin and placed it on top of his nearly empty plate. “Ready for part two? I promise no running or food involved.”
I groaned and rubbed my stomach. “It would not be pretty if you made me run right now.” He laughed and took our trays back to the counter.
This time as we walked I took his hand, and our clasped fingers played lazily as we headed down a steep hill, enjoying the sunshine as it warmed us up enough to force us to zip open our coats. It was that strange time of year in Toronto where you needed to change clothes three times in a day, as the temperature could drop or rise easily by ten degrees from morning to afternoon. We walked in a comfortable silence, smiling and exchanging hellos and “Good morning” with other walkers and joggers.
“Warm enough?” he asked as we got to the bottom of the hill, veering to the right and following the path. Even though Matt said we had come here often, my only memories of High Park were from my university days. Jenny and I had joined an Ultimate Frisbee team that practiced at the park—but my participation in the sport didn’t last long, despite the fun social side where we’d drink pints postgames, as I hated the running and was a terrible thrower.
“Yep.” Though my body was heating up from the walk and sun, the tips of my ears were still a bit chilly, but not cold enough for the toque I had stuffed in my coat pocket.
Matt stopped in front of a path entrance that continued into the belly of the park, and I read the sign: Welcome to the Zoo.
