She gives in and agrees to the plan. Stéphanie and Ace take off, and the rest of us finish our drinks before splitting up outside the bar. In a really shocking turn of events, Molly is quiet as she leads the way back to her and Stéphanie’s place near Parc Lafontaine.
“Sorry I don’t have a motorcycle to drive you back on,” I joke.
She laughs as we make our way up the dark street lined with brick houses and trees whose leaves are just starting to show signs of turning orange. I’m a half step behind her, and I do my best to ignore the view of her peach-tastic ass that gives me.
Okay,fuck ?a. I totally check out her ass.
“Aren’t you cold?” she asks, after we’ve made it up another block.
I rub my hands over my ink-covered arms. All I’ve got on is a t-shirt. “Nah. I like to think I’m pretty hot.”
She bites back a smirk and I swear I catch her doing a little eye roll.
“Hey, so, what Kay said at the bar—”
My words get cut off by a buzzing in my pocket. I pull my phone out see I have an incoming call from my oldest sister, Geneviève. It’s just past midnight now. This better be good. I excuse myself to Molly and press ‘Accept.’
“Allô, Gene-vache. Qu’est-ce que tu veux?”
Starting the call off by asking her what she wants isn’t even rude. She only calls me when she wants something, usually involving minor repair work. Giving her the nickname ‘Gene-cow’ is maybe farther up on the rude scale, but she’s not exactly the world’s politest girl either.
“Allô, poisson rouge.”
That’s what all my siblings call me: ‘Goldfish.’
I’m not just the baby of Sherbrooke Station; I’m also the baby of the Bouchard-Guindons. When your dad is a former Member of Parliament for the Parti Québécois, it’s kind of important for your family to maintain the old school French Catholic family values. My parents just kept popping babies out until I came along sixth in line, and they decided not to pop out any more.
With four older sisters and one older brother, it’s no wonder I have the ‘attention span of a goldfish.’ I had to be moving around all the time just to avoid getting stepped on.
“I need you to come fix my hairdryer,” Geneviève continues in French. “Like, now. Or tomorrow morning. Early.”
“Get your fiancé to do it,” I suggest, “or just buy a new hairdryer. You’re fucking rich, Gene-vache, as our parents like to point out every time they open their mouths.”
“You know my fiancé is an idiot,” Geneviève argues, “and thismaudithairdryer was really expensive and took six weeks to arrive. I don’t want to go through the whole refund process if you can just pop some piece back in place and fix it. Most importantly, I have a critical meeting at eight-thirty tomorrow morning, and there’s nowhere to buy a new hair dryer between now and then. Youknowwhat my hair looks like if it doesn’t get blow dried. You still owe me for that time I lied about your weed stash toMaman, so I need you to come over and look at it. I don’t care who you’re screwing around with tonight.”
Such a lovely young lady. A real catch.
“Why don’t you just take an Uber to your meeting and hang your head out the window to let your hair dry?”
She lets out a string of French swear words, and I have to laugh. Québécois profanities are another French Catholic tradition the Bouchard-Guindons take very seriously.
“Okay, I’ll come over, but I’m taking all the bacon in your fridge as payment. All the ham too. Maybe your peanut butter.”
She grunts and hangs up. I go to pocket my phone and notice a new text came through while I was at the bar. It’s from Shayla, replying to the photo of Molly’s Sherbrooke Station poster I sent her a few hours ago:
I’ve never seen that before, and I’ve seen all your merch. If it’s from a concert, maybe someone was selling their own shit outside the show. It’s good. I’d hire whoever did that on the spot.
I’m starting to get suspicious that Shayla might have the chance to do just that, if I’ve got anything to do with it.
“Sorry about that,” I tell Molly, once I finally put the phone away. “My sister is crazy and obsessed with her hair.”
We’re still trudging along beside each other on the sidewalk.
“Obsessed?” Molly repeats.
I nod. “I have to go fix her hair dryer after this, and yes, I know it is now after midnight.”
She gives me a curious look. “You know how to fix hair dryers?”
