“Not too far from you actually. A block south of Danforth. Right across from Withrow Park.”
“Nice spot.” Withrow Park had a big tobogganing hill, packed with sleds and gaggles of kids most winter weekends. It was the perfect neighborhood to settle and start a family and I tried not to think about him and Margot one day holding hands as they watched their kids sled that hill.
“We love it. We’ve been slowly renovating our place, which is not something I ever thought I would do. But I’m practically a master tile layer now.” He smiled, and I returned it despite how disconcerting I was finding our conversation. It was ridiculous to think I still knewthisDaniel—of course I didn’t. It had been years, and he was married and a whole different person now. For example, the Daniel I knew had plenty of skills, but home improvements would never had made the list (I had been the light bulb changer and toilet fixer and picture hanger in our relationship).
It would have been interesting to consider him like this, if I could have extricated myself from the emotional side of things. Doing his master’s in education, swapping suits for jeans, rolling up his sleeves to lay tile and replace hardwood flooring and mud drywall. I wondered how I would have adapted to these changes, if we had stayed together. And, as quickly, wondered if I seemed different to him, as well.
“What else has been keeping you busy these days? Still writing?” Daniel asked.
“I write a lot of press releases and client memos, if that counts.”
“It does. But I more meant your other stuff. The book stuff.”
“Books, like novels?” I had no recollection of ever writing anything other than essays in university and a few short stories I had tried to get published postgraduation, without success.
Daniel nodded. “You always had this notebook with you, full of first lines for novels you wanted to write one day.”
“Did I?” I shook my head. “I don’t remember.” Where had that notebook gone? I made a mental note to put it on my list of questions needing answers.
“I’m sure your press releases are impossible to put down.” He winked and I laughed.
“Oh, and apparently I’m a runner now,” I said. “I’ve done three half-marathons, if you can believe it.”
He whistled. “Impressive. And I won’t lie, it is a bit hard to believe.” We both laughed, hard, because Daniel-era Lucy hadn’t known the first thing about running. “Remember that time we tried jogging up the Casa Loma steps? I still feel bad about what happened to you.”
“Idoremember actually.” I winced at the recollection of my tumble down those stone stairs, rubbed my fingers absentmindedly into the wrist I’d broken in the fall. I’d had to wear a cast for eight weeks. “It was not my finest moment.”
“Nah, you were a trouper,” he said. “I was impressed you didn’t pass out when they started the ring cutter.”Right.My engagement ring had been cut off my rapidly swelling hand in the emergency room. I looked to my finger, remembering how gorgeous it had been and how much I had loved wearing it. Felt gloomy it was no longer there.
“I guess somewhere along the way I finally figured out how to run without tripping.” I was encouraged our memories lined up, at least on this event. Glad we had this coffee date if for no other reason because it reinforced I hadn’t completely rewritten the past. “But hang on...” I was remembering something about that run and my broken wrist, and the timing of it. “That was only a week before our, um, party.” I tried not to squirm, having brought up our engagement. But there was a question I needed answered right now. Daniel nodded, confirming I had the timeline right. “Did I have a cast for the party? Because of my wrist?”
“You did.”
“Black fiberglass. I remember.” It came out in a whisper, my mind preoccupied by another critical detail: the rose petal bath with Daniel, which had made us late for our engagement party. There was no way I would have been in the bath, doing what we were doing, with a cast.
I was confused, the memory clashing with his confirmation of events. Had that bath happened at a different time? Were we late to another event, and somehow I had mashed the two things together? Or had I made it up entirely? “Um, were we late for the party?” I asked Daniel. “Like, piss-our-mothers-off late?”
He frowned, reaching back in his own memory. “I don’t think so. I met you there, because you were at your parents’ place and came with them.”
“We didn’t go together?”
“Nope. Your mom was helping you with your hair, because of the cast.” Daniel glanced at his phone, some sort of notification appearing on his screen with a gentle buzz. He looked up again and said something else, but it was as though I went underwater—I could see he was talking but couldn’t hear the words.
I tried to listen, especially because he seemed to be repeating himself. But my brain was busy attempting to reconcile my memory with reality, and as I pushed—forcing my mind to bend, to adapt—it felt as though the floor beneath me tilted. I jerked the way you do when you’re nearly asleep and have the sensation of falling and Daniel put a firm hand on my upper arm.
“Lucy!” Daniel looked as worried as I felt. He kept his hand on my arm. “You all right?”
“Yeah. I get these headaches. Sometimes they make me a bit dizzy,” I said. I waved away his concern, though I was fairly certain if I stood up now I would hit the floor. “Concussion leftovers. I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
I nodded. The floor was solid and stationary again under my feet.
“Good.” He let out a breath, relaxed his hand on my arm. “Not about the side effect, but about being okay.” Daniel glanced at his phone again, picked it up. “Hey, I’m sorry to eat and run, but I have to make a call before class,” he said, smiling apologetically.
“Of course.” I followed his lead, put on my toque and coat. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to ask how things are going with you and your master’s. Maybe next time.” I smiled, wrapped my scarf around my neck.
He stood and put on his coat, zipping it right up to his chin. “I would love that.” Then he hugged me, and I leaned into him. Was nearly overcome again, his body so recognizable against mine. I wanted to grab hold and never let go. “Same time next week?” he asked.
