Eons Until I Reach You

TOO LONG FRIENDSHIP

Casey smiles. “So, you guys have been friends since a really long time.”

I pick up on that pressing for more vibe and hold back a snicker at her concern about possible romantic appeal between Nate and me. “Way too long,” I say shortly.

“But long enough that I could tell you anything about Bree,” Nate tells Casey with a wink, thoroughly confusing her. “Even the stuff she wants to hide.”

“Oh please. I could write a book on his exploits,” I counter.

Casey looks between us, clearly not in the loop.

“My series on why Bree is self-centred and full of s**t could be the next hit soap.” He smirks.

I roll my eyes. “My book would cover why no amount of attention is enough to satisfy his daily dose.”

Nate is unphased. “I guess for that dramatic bit, I would add how she conveniently forgets her surroundings and other people now and then. I’m surprised she has enough presence of mind to have conversations with you, Casey.”

I mask a wince by reaching for sparkling water, starting to grasp how close his jokes have been hitting to the truth lately.

“Um,” Casey says. “Well, she has enough presence of mind to banter with you, doesn’t she?”

I look on at a momentarily speechless Nate who discreetly sends a questioning glance my way, taken aback by Casey’s retort. Thankfully food is served not a second too late and I dig in like I haven’t eaten more than brussel sprouts all day (but that’s Casey).

We switch to discussing work when Nate adeptly introduces the topic of a meeting from earlier today. Which then lands at prepping for an annual inter-department competition set in two weeks. For the most part, if you are anything but a pro at table games, our team lead Flynn does not care if you participate.

“Foosball, poker, pool, chess.” Casey counts off her fingers. “Flynn said he would be open to petitioning for adding any other game one of us is particularly good at. As long as it’s something we have a hundred percent chance at winning. Either of you play bridge?”

“Count me out,” Nate leans back. “He did ask me for table tennis. I declined since the slot is for doubles.” He turns to me with an ominous glance. “Unless you want to help me out.”

I balk at the idea. “Why me?”

“I can’t play,” Casey says up-front throwing up her hands.

“Beth?” I ask.

“Never seen her play physical sports,” Nate explains. “She’d be the one I call for PUBG.”

“Flynn?” I try again. The last hope. Why couldn’t we have had a fifteen member team instead of the current team of five?

“Already signed up for too many. There’s just you.”

“Accept it as your calling,” Casey encourages, barely concealing her amused smile.

I can’t believe they are putting me in the spot like this. “Let me think about it,” I say finally, wincing as the words leave my mouth.

“Knew you’d come through,” Nate grins. “You and me, practice, thrice a week, starting tomorrow.”

“I didn’t say yes,” I jump in.

They pretend to miss hearing that and move on to Casey’s current obsession with chinese dramas. My chin falls on my propped hand. Doubles, it is. After dinner, Nate insists on dropping us home, but I order him to handle Casey while I go back for my bike at the university.

Right after we part ways at the corner of campus, wind starts a barrage. That should have been my red flag. The empty kitchen cabinets and my lone fridge sing a different tune in my ear, and without much contemplating, I take off for the corner shop, a block from my apartment in Fanning Avenue. I spend an extra minute musing, a hand stretching for the last pinot noir from a rack sporting Whiteclaws spilling over from the one next to it, before grabbing a couple of sprites, and making my self-deprived way over to the counter. The last time Nate had dared me into drinking with him, we both had ended up with regret-rendering splitting headaches. No need to assume he wouldn’t try again. And certainly no need to assume I’d win against his customized relentless baits that involve him taking essay assignments off my hand.

When I emerge wrestling grocery bags against my chest, rain pours. I still manage to get sprayed, standing under the tin roof of the shop that makes grinding noises above my head. Like a thousand gun shots going off simultaneously.

The block is empty except for me and a few lone pedestrians, the more populated section of the town yards behind. As I wait, I take in the dreary scene. Pouring rain and purple sky. Street, shabby, with half a street light (that keeps blinking like it might go out any time now) looks incredibly lonely. Definitely ‘horror movie’ than ‘romantic’.

Beauty hypnotizes. It could be this pretty brooch you caught sight of through a Forever 21 store display. Or, this movie actress who sucks at delivering lines but you still watch her, admiring her slender neck. The point is, you can’t help being drawn.

Even as my surroundings look dreary, the Elm leaves sway violently and black clouds move swiftly above, I don’t recall seeing anything like this in my entire life. Before I even realize, I’m stepping into the rain looking up at the sky.

The street light extinguishes, the fluorescent glow from the shop’s interior the only source of light that drapes me as I stand in the rain. Somewhere a block ahead, lightning strikes and in the flash, I see a car coming down the street, headlights piercing the dark and me. It drives up to the shop, parks along the curb and a lone figure gets out, umbrella in hand.

The guy turns to me, making his over. ‘If it’s directions to the nearest restaurant you want, ask me. Else, ask the store’ rises to my tongue tip, ready to be unleashed. I squint to see his face shaded in the dim glare, the silhouetted outline of his suit hinting of a sinewy built. He is close when the streetlight comes on.

And then I can’t quite catch my breath, my tongue tied to the roof of my dry mouth.

It’s him.