Maybe that’s fine too.
And maybe I should tell him.
Twenty-Six
Zach
LAST CALL: a phrase used to announce that a bar will be closing shortly and final orders must be made immediately
The Old Portis the last place I would expect Monroe to want to do a business meeting. Sometimes we shake things up and have our weekly face to face at a cafe instead of her office, but when she texted and asked if we could meet this Saturday afternoon in front of the giant Ferris wheel, I sent her the meme of that woman being confused while doing difficult mental calculations.
All she said was that she wanted some fresh air. I figure maybe Julien’s out of town for a few days and this is her Monroe-esque way of admitting she needs some socializing outside of the bar. She’s such a workaholic that I wouldn’t put it past her to be incapable of a Saturday hangout unless it’s under the guise of a meeting.
Whatever the reason, I head down to the Old Port to meet her. On a late July weekend, the place is crawling with tourists and locals alike. Even the metro is packed with people heading down to enjoy the cobblestones and old world charm. I weave through the crowds until I get to the riverside and then walk along the boardwalk to the spot Monroe picked out.
This is really not the place for a meeting.
There’s no sight of her even after I’ve paced up and down the whole front of the Ferris wheel area, scanning the packed railing and any nearby benches for my boss. The fact that she’s five-foot-nothing doesn’t help.
Giving up, I take the free end of a bench where a guy in a baseball cap with a Canadian flag on it is eating a food truck hamburger. I shoot Monroe a text describing my location and wait for a reply.
A loud whirring sound rings out, and I snap my head up in the direction it’s coming from. Farther along the path, I see someone zooming down the zip line that stretches over the boardwalk and out onto one of the piers. I watch them whiz by, kicking their legs a little and staying calm enough that this can’t be their first zip line rodeo. The next person screams like a banshee the whole time.
Not for the first time today, I find myself thinking of DeeDee. She still slips into my thoughts anytime I let my mind wander. She’s still the first person I want to run to when I have exciting news. It’s still her skin and her mouth and the way she tastes that keeps me up at night.
I remember how terrified she looked when I asked if she wanted to go down that zip line, all wide eyes and worried lines in her face, shaking her head before I could even finish the question.
I’ve thought a lot about that moment, and how sometimes she looked just as scared about being with me.
Seeing that look on her face broke my heart every damn time. I meant it when I said I’d be there for her through all the fear and pain, for every day it took until she was ready, but it felt like walking on broken glass to see that wince on her face each time I took a step forward and she took two steps back.
Hope’s speech about boundaries and limits got me thinking about my own limits. I wanted to give DeeDee everything, and I thought I didn’t need anything back—anything other than her. I’ve played out every scenario in my mind, walked through every option like a choose your own adventure story, and I’ve realized that in the version that worked, I needed DeeDee to be sure we were worth it. I didn’t need everything to be easy, but I needed to know she was as in this as I was.
The more I think about it, the more I realize we weren’t living that version of the story.
My phone lights up with a text, and I open the message from Monroe.
I’m over by that zip line thing. Come here and I’ll find you.
Apparently today my life is going to involve a wild goose chase around Old Montreal as I search for my boss. Never a dull moment with the Taverne Toulouse crew.
I head over to the base of the zip line, and she’s still nowhere in sight. I send her another message:
Am I being punked?
A couple minutes tick by with no response. I’m about to search Maps for the nearest cafe and just tell her to meet me there when someone calls my name from behind me.
“Zach!”
I’d know that throaty, accented voice anywhere. Hearing that voice say my name might just be my favourite sound in the world, and for a few seconds, all the weeks since we said goodbye disappear, fade like they never even happened. There’s nothing but this moment, and in this moment, she’s here.
I turn around and find her standing there with a blue helmet on, a harness hanging around her hips. I soak in every detail like I haven’t seen her in years: the spray of freckles over her nose and cheeks that’s darkened from the summer sun, the wisps of pink hair escaping from under the helmet to frame her face, the white t-shirt and tiny denim shorts that could knock a guy flat on his back. She’s like the first day of summer after a winter that’s lasted way, way too long.
I meet her gaze and see the uncertainty in her eyes, the hope holding itself back as she chews on her lip, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
“DeeDee—”
“Attends!” She holds up a finger, ordering me to wait. “Watch this, okay?”
