I don’t understand it, and it doesn’t make much sense, but it’s the only thing I haven’t doubted in months.
Since we’re just a few blocks from Station Mont-Royal, I decide to take the metro downtown. It’s almost ten, and the streets are quiet for a Saturday night. I show up just in time to catch my train and take a plastic seat near the doors.
I moved into a downtown one bedroom condo just a couple months ago, and it’s the nicest place I’ve ever lived. There’s a pool and gym and everything. Mohammad and Nabil kept telling me I was crazy not to leave my dilapidated bachelor apartment as soon as I could afford better, but something about the money I pulled in from bigger gigs felt fake, like somebody was going to come along and pluck it out of my account after telling me it was all a mistake. It took me a while to believe I wasn’t going to end up bankrupt after signing the lease on this place.
I get off at Station Peel and walk a few streets over to the high rise. The guy at the desk and I wave to each other as I cross the tile floor of the lobby and head for the elevators. Sufjan meows and runs straight for my legs as soon as I reach my unit and open the door.
“Hey, little dude.” I pull the door closed behind me and squat down to scratch his orange fur. “Sorry you didn’t get breakfast.”
He purrs and rubs himself against my jeans. After a few pats, I stand up and flip some lights on before heading to the open concept kitchen.
The whole building caters to the ‘young professional’ market, with exposed concrete ceilings and sleek, minimalist fixtures. I actually really like the look, but it comes off harsh and cold with half my stuff still in cardboard boxes piled against one of the living room walls.
“We should get a bigger carpet, shouldn’t we?” I ask Sufjan as I evaluate the kind of pathetic-looking woven rug under the coffee table.
Sufjan does not have opinions about the carpeting. He just wants food. He starts going crazy when I take a fresh can out of the cupboard and practically shoves his whole face in his bowl once I set it down on the floor. I collapse onto my leather couch while he eats and pull out my phone. I’ve ignored a few messages and calls today and figure it’s time to rejoin the world.
There’s a text from Nabil letting me know my manager checked in with him to see if he knows where I am, followed by a few increasingly concerned messages throughout the day. I don’t want to deal with Mohammad right away, so I distract myself by giving Nabil a call. He answers after the third ring.
“Yo, you’re alive!”
“Still breathing, yeah.”
“What’s up, man? I could tell Mohammad either had really good news or really bad news.”
“I, uh, haven’t called him yet,” I admit. “Been kind of a crazy day. I just got my first chance to check my phone.”
“Crazy?” He pauses and then drops a few Arabic curses. “Wait, wait, wait. You were hanging out with Paige last night. By crazy do you mean—”
He starts doing some really bad ‘bow-chicka-wow-wow’ type beat-boxing thing.
“I definitely do not mean that, whatever that was.”
“Thatwas beautiful.” I can picture him dusting off his shoulders. “So what happened, then?”
“Uh, well...”
I launch into a brief recap of everything that’s happened up until me feeding Sufjan.
“Oh shit,” he says once I’m done.
“Oh shit is right.”
“Youssef, this is the perfect opportunity.”
I sigh. “Nabil.”
“What? It is! I mean, I hope she’s okay and stuff. That’s really crazy. I hope you’re okay and stuff too, but you have to admit this is in some ways a very fortunate situation, man.”
“What exactly is fortunate about Paige getting hit by a car?”
He sighs too. “Youssef. Look, I don’t know her very well, but something tells me it would take that girl getting hit by a car before she gave anyone a shot at getting close to her. This is your chance! The stars have aligned!”
He sounds way too excited and poetic for regular Nabil.
“You got laid, didn’t you?”
“I mean, I’m not gonna confirm but...” He starts doing the beat-boxing thing again.
