“O—”
I don’t even finish the word. I start screaming as soon as he pushes forward and begins pedalling down the street. I don’t stop until we’ve gone almost a block and I realize he’s laughing behind me.
“What is so funny, you asshole? I’m gonna die!”
“DeeDee, we’re going like point two miles an hour on a perfectly flat street. You’re also screaming loud enough to wake the dead.”
“I’m gonnabethe dead!”
He keeps laughing as we start going faster. I try not to scream again, just so he won’t have another reason to make fun of me, but I can’t help it every time we make a turn or hit a stop. We’ve been biking for about fifteen minutes by the time I realize where we are.
“Are we going across the bridge?”
I forget all about being scared as the lights of the Jacques Cartier Bridge come into view. The sky is already starting to turn pink from the sunset, with a streak of purple along the horizon where the light has faded most. The city is waking up for the night, twinkling and shining like a million bright eyes opening, waiting to see what the evening will bring.
“Yes, we are,” Zach answers. “Is that okay?”
“Oh, now you ask me if it’s okay.” I’m getting more used to the bike. It’s actually kind of fun, but I’m not going to tell Zach that. “I guess we can go across the bridge.”
The truth is that I’ve always wanted to walk across the Jacques Cartier Bridge at night.
There’s a special caged-in walking and biking lane along one side of the bridge. A few people pass us by, heading back towards the city. Some of them laugh at me on the handlebars. Some of them glare like we’re annoying teenagers, but I smile at all of them.
We’re about halfway across when Zach slows down. There’s a little lookout alcove off to the side for people to stop and take pictures. Zach turns the bike into it and stops.
“You have to get off first, or else you’ll fall over,” he explains.
I hop down and run to the edge of the lookout, leaning up against the barrier to stare out at the shape of downtown Montreal and its reflection on rushing waves of theFleuveSaint-Laurent. The sky is almost completely purple now, and it’s turning the water the same colour.
I hear Zach putting down the bike’s kickstand, and then he’s standing beside me. I reach for his hand without thinking, feeling the sparks travel up my arm.
“I always wanted to live in Montreal,” he says after a moment of us watching the city together. “We came on a family vacation when I was nine, and we didn’t ever visit again, but I always knew I’d come back.”
“Why?”
I don’t take my eyes off the lights, but I move close enough that our arms are touching.
“I always felt a little stuck at home, and I felt guilty about that. I mean, what did I have to complain about? My childhood was pretty damn perfect, as far as childhoods go, but it was like...everyone already knew exactly who I was going to grow up to be. Everyone knew how all our lives would play out. Sure, there’d be some surprises, but everything is sosmallin a small town. I felt like I was suffocating, and I didn’t even know why. I wanted to be there for everyone I loved, to be what they needed, but I just...I had to get out.”
“I’m glad you did.”
His hand grips mine a little tighter, and my breath catches again. “I’m glad I did too.”
“Not just forme,” I continue. “I’m glad you did that for you. It’s hard to go somewhere new. I’m sure it was hard to leave school and focus on your business too, and I’m...I’m so proud of you.”
I squeeze his hand back as a group of teenagers walk by, heading to the city. They laugh and swear in French, stopping to take a few selfies before moving on. Zach and I stay quiet, still holding hands.
“You know what?” I joke once they’re gone. “I think you came to Montreal because of all the sexy ladies.”
His thumb runs over my knuckles. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I think nine-year-old Zachy Zach was like, ‘Wow. They don’t make them like this in Ontario. I’m coming back to get me some ass.’”
He throws his head back and laughs for a long time.
“Oh really?” he finally chokes out. “That’s what nine-year-old me was thinking?”
“Mhmm.”
