Traffic finally shows an opening after a painful chug of stop and go. We crawl around the pylons and past a guy in yellow coveralls who directs us through the detour. When the light flips to yellow and the guy in front halts, Cliff taps the steering wheel. “Come on, you could’ve made it.” His gaze drifts toward the little clock under the dashboard.
“Maybe they shouldn’t have broken the water main today,” I joke, grabbing his phone off the console to find a new song.
“Yes.” Cliff nods stiffly. A heavy sigh follows.
His phone lights up in my hands as he’s taking a turn. A text notification flashes onto the screen.
Grace: Are you coming?
Holy shit. Cliff has a date.
Of course he does.
“Sorry, it’s just . . . I said I’d be somewhere and it’s halfway toward our neighborhood, but because we’re so late . . .” He locks eyes with me. “Would you mind if we picked someone up on the way?”
“No, of course not,” I pleasantly agree as my insides crumble.
A carpool buddy should have no problem letting him pick up his girlfriend.
“Thanks,” he says. “That’ll be much easier than heading home and then picking her up to go to the bowling alley.”
Oh god, he’s taking her bowling. Why does his choice of date venue have to be so Cliff? Something catches in my throat, and I blink far more than necessary.
When we pull up to a beautiful little century-old apartment building with a perfect red door, I blink and blink as an attractive brunette in a trendy, oversized wool jacket with clunky boots and heavy makeup trots toward the car. She walks with such a sure-footed stride that I’m half convinced she owns the sidewalk.
“I can give her my seat,” I offer, my smile as delicate as a porcelain doll.
“No, don’t worry, Grace’s cool. Just stay put.”
I don’t know why I feel the urge to clarify that I’m just as cool.
This Grace opens the back door and says, “We’re never going to make it unless you book it now. What, did you need them to pave the roads before you could drive here?” Grace’s spicy perfume wafts toward me as she settles into the back.
“Water main. You’re free to check the traffic app.” Cliff rolls his eyes and tilts his head toward me, rubbing their casual bicker in. “Grace, this is my colleague Jolene.”
I turn, forcing my smile to brighten—forcing my exterior to at least not crack.
Grace sizes me up, her eyes shifting across my face, before her lip curls up. “Oh, you’re the Jolene he works with.”
She sort of chuckles. And I sort of die. What the hell is he telling her about me? There are so many possibilities: the HR problem child, the violently horny music girl, the girl with the stain on her chair. Every possibility makes me need to crawl inside a giant hole and live like a bear during winter.
Cliff’s knuckles whiten and he winces just so. Via the rearview mirror, I catch Cliff and her exchanging a nervous grin.
I stare forward through the windshield. Okay, so they laugh about me.
I push all my thoughts down—below the tightness in my chest, below the lead in my stomach. He just gives me rides, that’s all. And maybe he shouldn’t if I’m just making him late to gossip about me with his girlfriend.
I’m mentally preparing an email to let him know that three buses marinated in urine are preferable to his boorish company when Cliff says, “This is my sister, Grace.”
Grace throws her hand into the front of the car for me to shake. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”
A rush of heat flushes through my cheeks as I take her hand. Cliff looks between his sister and me again. Why am I smiling so hard? “Nice to meet you.” My voice is small. What wonderful things has she heard? And how can there be so many?
Grace brightens as she settles back into her seat. “It’s great you’re bowling with us tonight. We need a fourth since Deirdre can’t make it.”
And a panic rises in me. “Oh, I’m not—”
Cliff looks at me thoughtfully as he cuts in. “We’ll be dropping Jolene off first.”
Grace’s pink-tinted lips smack together. “Nope. There’s no way we’ll make it if we don’t go straight there, and we’re down one. Have you even asked Jolene?”
Cliff looks at her in the mirror and sets his jaw. “No, that’s not something—”
“So, would you like to come?” she declares, bending around the passenger seat so her cheek is practically touching mine. “There’s a nutritious dinner of hot dogs and nachos in it for you,” she adds, raising her brows suggestively.
“You don’t have to,” Cliff says, wide-eyed. But he doesn’t look repulsed by the idea. Just a little concerned.
“Yeah, let’s do it,” I blurt out before I can think it through.
Grace squeals and claps her hands with delight, while Cliff bends his chin to look at me. “You sure about this?” he says, softer.
I haven’t bowled in years, probably since I was a preteen. There’ll be people I don’t know and weird machines I don’t know, and I won’t know what is what.
But it’s Cliff’s hesitant little grin that tugs me—I want to go.
“I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.”
Grace laughs, because it sounds like I’m joking. Not the rantings of a woman who still hasn’t nailed existing in public as a skill set. Am I really going to do this?
Cliff twists the steering wheel, taking a hard left. “All right then, to the bowling alley.”
My stomach tightens. I can roll some balls around for an hour. It’s not impossible. I can do this.
Balls whoosh and crash into pins with violent clangs while random sirens and bells chime. Disco lights throw rainbow dots all across the walls and scuffed wooden floors. Stereos are blasting a song that probably came out when Supershops still offered one-hour photo development, and the scent of fake cheese holds the room hostage. In the corner, a rowdy group of men, all in Canadian tuxedos, pepper the corner; their head-to-toe denim is oddly comforting at this hour.
Cliff keeps eyeing me like I’m going to catch fire. To be fair, I might.
He and Grace check in, and I realize they’ve brought their own shoes and balls. Shit, I’ve volunteered to do the thing where I have to wear shoes that about a thousand other people have worn. As feared, when the bored gentleman working the rental stall proudly slides a previously white-and-green pair across the counter, I am certain the first person to have rented them died from natural causes some years ago.
While lacing up on the plasticky cup seats, Cliff shifts toward me, his leg almost touching mine. I flinch, then try to hide it by saying, “I’m fine with all of this. It’s actually delightful to wear shoes that might be haunted.”
He laughs, and the motion brings him even closer, whipping my chest into a swirl. “If you were dead, would you haunt some bowling shoes?”
I stare down at them in all their stained, stinky glory. “If I had nothing better to do.”
His expression shifts to be more serious. “So, fair warning: my grandma is a little much. I mean, I love her to death, she raised me on hardly anything, but you know how it is with families?” He says it like it’s a question rather than a universal truth. “I didn’t mean to rope you into all this.”
His fingers twitch nervously next to my thigh. This isn’t about me.
As if on cue, a short lady with curly white hair pouring through a visor approaches in limping steps. She’s got Cliff’s same cheery eyes paired with a windbreaker suit so bright that the wind knows not to approach from a mile away. She shoves into Cliff and scoops him into her chest, then tilts my way while he suffocates against her bosom. “I’m Lisa, Clifford’s granny. Thanks for saving us a forfeit. Do you know how to bowl?” Her eyes narrow at me, calculating.
I nod. I’ve bowled, like, twice in my life—as in tossed a few balls, then played on a Hulk Hogan pinball machine. I’m sure it’s fine.
Cliff’s granny releases him from her death grip. He takes a dramatic gulp of air like he’s just been saved from drowning as his granny pinches his cheek. He looks toward me, temples red. “I’ll get you a ball.”
Lisa and I watch as he precariously balances three balls while walking to the seating at the end of our lane. We follow behind him more slowly since she has a slight limp.
At the lane, the opposing team—five middle-aged men with shirts that all read Disco Dads—sits casually. Grace is already standing over them, front and center of the group, hand gesturing to the scoreboards as she speaks. I’m the only person in this chaotic room who doesn’t know what to do. I don’t know where the bathroom is or if someone has a favorite seat. I stand awkwardly to the side as Lisa slowly makes her way to the lane. Cliff pulls out a curved ramp device from against the wall next to the lane and meets his grandma to set it up.
Grace motions toward me and then pats the scratched-up seat next to her. As I sit down, she says, “Grandma is so proud of him. She thinks he walks on water.” Grace’s smile crinkles in her eyes as she looks at them fondly.
I grin. “Cliff says she raised you?”
“Yeah . . . technically, she did.” The corners of her smile waver. “Our parents weren’t in the picture, so to Grandma’s house we went. But Cliff was the one who kept watch.” She keeps her voice light, but her words are heavy; they linger in the air between us. “Wasn’t all bad, though. Cliff liked to pretend we were Luke and Leia. I’m pretty sure he still believes he carries the force.”
Grace and I both turn in unison to look at Cliff. He’s finished setting up the ramp contraption and is now picking up Lisa’s frosty green ball and placing it at the top for her. Essentially, his grandma isn’t bowling so much as simply letting go of a ball so it can fly down a slope.
Grace continues: “She’s almost made a full recovery. Only eighteen months since her surgery.”
I’m not sure what she’s talking about, but I say, “That’s great.”
“Yeah . . .” There’s an uncertain edge to her voice. “Hey, I don’t suppose he’s mentioned anything about moving back to Vancouver to you?”
My eyes flash toward her. “What?”
Her brows rise. “That’s a no then?”
I shake my head, but my insides shatter with the sound of the crashing pins. “Sorry, I just—I didn’t know. I thought Cliff said he grew up here?”
“Ah.” She inhales deeply before pressing her lips thin. “He’s not an open book, is he? I assumed he would have at least mentioned his last job—the life he had before he moved back to Calgary—at some point.”
I suddenly feel embarrassed. I barely know him, not like his family and friends here. “Oh yeah, he sort of has . . . I just didn’t realize it was in Vancouver.” My voice tightens against my will. “What was his job?”
“So this is a huge shocker, but he used to help people—usually housing displaced or, with a less-than-stellar track record, find employment.”
My jaw goes slack. “No! That’s, like, perfect for him!”
“Right?” She smacks me on the thigh, like we’re old friends. I stare at her waxy blue nails, still pressing into my pants, as she continues. “Yeah, he got that job straight out of college, left for Vancouver and never looked back.” Her gaze shifts toward Cliff, who is whispering in his grandma’s ear. “But when he heard about Grandma’s surgery, we couldn’t stop him. He flew back to help even though we all yelled about it.” We both stare at Cliff, who’s setting up the next ball for his grandma. The electronic screens above them are playing an absurd animation of bowling pins wearing cowboy hats breaking each other out of a jail cell. “He’s had no luck finding anything like that here. We figured he’d go back, now that she’s better, but of course he’s still here helping.” She chuckles, but it’s hollow.
By the lanes, Lisa releases the ball and it glides straight in between the remaining pins. Cliff makes a show of wildly clapping his hands while his grandma hobbles over to swat him.
My chest caves in as the thought intrudes. He’s not meant to be at Supershops Incorporated. He’s not meant to stay here.
Grace nudges me. “Hey, don’t worry, he’s not that tragic. Sounds like Supershops is way better than his insurance HR gig last year. He complains so much less.” Then her eyes run over my face quizzically. “Cliff mentioned you’re becoming friends too, so things are good. He seems happier.”
Hope bubbles in my chest. He said that to his sister? That has to mean something. But just as quickly the bubble deflates. I didn’t even know about Vancouver, about his better life.
“Make sure you at least hit some pins.” Cliff’s granny’s voice comes out of nowhere, followed by an elbow nudging my side.
“Sure thing.” I smile at her and stand up.
I make my way to the floor arrows and try my best to look calm. Beside me, a ball flies back up the return machine and crashes into the row, making me jolt.
I pick up a ball that feels too big and too heavy. I toss it onto the lane in what I’m sure is abysmal form, but I do manage to get one pin down. Cliff steps toward me, a black-and-white marbled ball in hand. “Try mine, it’s lucky,” he says.
I put my hand to my chest. “Cliff, I’m honored you’d share your ball with me.”
His lips tease out a smirk. “This is a great honor, thank you for recognizing that.”
Our hands graze during the handover, sending a rush through my abdomen.
On my second turn, three more pins fall. Not as terrible as can be.
When I get back to the seats, Cliff is rallying the group together. “Right, what’s everyone eating for intermission?” They all shout out their orders, and once he’s taken them, he turns to me. “Jolene? This place boasts a lovely à la carte menu of the finest haute dogs. Would you like tapas to start? They’ve got nachos and cheese sauce.”
“It’s okay, I can get a snack myself.” The last thing I need right now is for Cliff to buy me dinner—even bowling alley caliber—in front of his family.
Grace leans in and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You know you can’t stop Cliff from buying shit.”
She’s right, of course. I do at least know that about him. I resign myself to my fate and say, “A hot dog sounds lovely.” As he heads over to the food counter, I turn to Grace and say, “That’s really kind of him to always treat people.”
She nods and smiles, a bit wistful as she watches her brother’s back. The rainbow disco lights dance across her face. “He’s always been like that. Even when we were kids, he’d save me his cookies from the government lunch program. Can you imagine that? I like to tell him he’s being a bitchy martyr, for balance.”
My smile is wobbly. I like her, and—another rush piles through my abdomen, heavier than the last—I like Cliff.
Cliff returns with a giant tray piled high with steaming food that’s been through every kind of processing invented. “There’s three more trays, so hold tight,” he says as he heads back to the counter.
He leaves me alone with a giant pile of French fries. I start to dig in as I look around at the other groups of bowlers. There’s a teen birthday party at the far lane, with everyone singing a different part of “Happy Birthday.” In the corner by the jukebox, there’s a young couple looking at songs and laughing and finding little ways to touch each other. This place is so wholesome and lively.
A piercing dinging noise suddenly rips through me, sending my skin shivering with goose bumps like an ice cube landed on the back of my neck. I whip around and realize it’s coming from a pinball machine, where a dad is playing with his toddler.
Reality washes over me, sharp and unbidden.
The last time I went bowling was with Ellie.
The memory pushes in, as crystalline as if it happened yesterday instead of over a decade ago. We didn’t get invited to some party, so we decided to go bowling instead. We spent more time making different dirty names for ourselves in the decades-old computer system than actually playing. We were painfully uncool together, but in the best way. Eventually we gave up on the lanes altogether and ended up challenging each other to several rounds of pinball. That was only a few months before she died.
Now this will be the last time I bowled. A tumbling feeling hits, like sand sifting away inside me. It’s like I’m writing over that memory, erasing it. I wrap my arms around my chest, looking for something to distract myself, but everyone here is moving far too fast. They’re all talking, and it’s so loud. Everyone in the world is thinking right now, and there’s far too much thought floating in the air.
I spot Cliff turning back from the food counter, another tray full of hot dogs in hand. He grins at me from across the room. He has no idea what’s in my brain, and I’ll never know his. Today has proven that much, at least. These people, his family, they’re all kind people. They’ve been through hard times, yet they manage to be calm and normal about basic things. They don’t spy or send emails out of pettiness.
How would it be to lead a nice, small life with someone? To be okay?
Cliff holds a hot dog in front of my face, jolting me out of my trance. “I brought you ketchup, mustard, and, just in case, relish.” He tilts his head, assessing my face. “Is everything okay? I know the hot dogs aren’t—”
“I love hot dogs. Thanks.” I take the silver-foiled package from him. It’s warm in my hand. “Was just remembering a time I bowled with an old friend . . . one I haven’t spoken to in a while.”
Cliff shifts closer to me. “Ah, it’s tough being away from people you care about, eh? I wish we could just force everyone we love to live in the same city as us. Like, actually force.”
I let out a chuckle, one that’s real. My mind drifts to Vancouver as I reply, “Same.”
It feels like I’m on solid ground again. I open my mustard packet, and Cliff says, “I knew you’d go for mustard. I had a feeling you had taste.”
I look directly at him. “Of course I have taste.”
We eat our hot dogs as Cliff tells me about the Disco Dads and his granny’s theories on their cheating ways. And the whole time, I’m too aware of the distance between us. When we’re done, I inch a little closer to grab a napkin.