That bitch didn’t hand me lemons, but pelted me so I now have to find a way across a finish line that I have no pinpointed location for. I’m sick of my life, and I haven’t even started it yet.
Tears hit the backs of my eyes, and I decide that I’m not going to feel sorry for myself. I’m going to get over this, and I’m going to do the right thing by telling Dean to fuck off and leave me alone and to get the hell off of me.
“Sure,” I say instead, swearing in Italian in my head. “That sounds like a plan.”
***
Mont-Royal is the mountain that Jacques Cartier in 1534 stuck a cross on and claimed the whole entire land in the name of France. Today, there’s a giant metallic cross structure thing that lights up at night and can be seen even from the suburbs if the lighting’s right.
It has several paths to get from the very top to the bottom, and there are always some really cool people and critters coming together to enjoy nature. I haven’t been here since I was a kid, and I forgot how breathtaking the view of Montreal can be from the viewpoint.
Sure, we’re not as recognizable as freaking New York City, but we hold our own, and it’s my town, the place I grew up in, and it has a certain magic for me, even if I have to squint really hard to even catch a glimmer of it.
Dean parks his car in the lot, and fishes in his cup holders where enough change sits to be able to pay for a hundred bucks worth of crap. He holds up a toonie with such pride, holding it to the light and squinting at it like it’s a nugget of gold.
I’m holding my French Vanilla from Tim Horton’s, and slowly sipping it before my hunger takes over and I chug it down, because you know, it’s a freaking French Vanilla.
I don’t know why I told Dean I would come here. I guess I like to torture myself.
“You coming, or what? I mean, I guess you can stay in the car, but I’d rather you come for a walk. The air’s gonna do you good, I promise,” he tells me, after opening my passenger side door.
He drove me home so I could change out of last night’s outfit, and I grabbed a pair of sweats, shoved my hair in a ponytail and scrubbed my face without really seeing my reflection.
My Uggs hit the ground and I lever myself up out of the car, happy that the world has decided to keep on spinning at its regular speed.
I can do this. It’s just a walk, not a marriage proposal. But I bet he’d do something huge and ostentatious because that’s how he is. He’d tell everybody he was getting engaged. Shit, what the hell am I doing here?!
“Come on, short stuff,” Dean says, smiling, with a tilt of his head towards the entrance. Swarms of couples and families, most of them with pets, trudge upwards onto the path, all of them laughing and smiling. “The kids aren’t going to wait all day.”
The amount of howling that came out of the three of them when they saw him going for their leashes, you’d think we cut off all their legs and maimed them.
“Here, grab Potter. He likes you the best, hell if I know why.” Dean flashes me another grin, taking the sting out of the words. I feel the corner of my mouth quirk up, and I do grab the little Yorkie, who looks up at me like I just made the world a better place for him, and him alone.
But shit, did Dean have to name him Potter?
Potter moves hard against his leash, practically cutting off his own air, and I have to stumble to keep up so I don’t kill him by accident. Just like I almost did to his owner. Ah, life, and its not-so-hilarious ways of sticking it to you.
“Do you come here often? With the dogs, I mean?” God, what a stupid way to start a conversation. I sound like every fucking asshole trying to pick up a hotter girl at the bar.
Do you come here often? Really? You need to stop the drinking, K. Seriously.
Dean’s got the other two, one in each hand, and looks down at me with a weird expression.
“I try to come here as often as I can. The boys need the walk, and I like walking, so, it’s all good. Just watch out for the squirrels. I swear those little shits expressly taunt every canine on this thing just to mind-fuck them.”
I snort into my French Vanilla, which doesn’t taste good coming from your nostrils. Potter yips and looks back at me all, come on, come on! There are smells out there I don’t know of yet!
Potter makes me want to get a dog of my own.
“So, what’s happened in the last ten years, Kat?” Dean asks, and something stabs me in the heart. So we’re going to start here.
“Went to Concordia, got my B.Comm with a major in marketing and minor in management. The more I think about it though, Montreal isn’t the place for me if I want to make some serious money. Toronto’s looking like the better idea right now, but I’m too chicken shit to actually do it.”