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First I had to listen to Courtney eat bacon as though she’d never tasted bacon before in her life, and now I have to listen to her shower.
She sings in the shower.
I have no idea what she’s singing, and her voice is nothing special, but I find it cute nonetheless.
We’re in her apartment. I’m sitting in the kitchen, drumming my fingers on the table as I wait for her to get ready and pack up. Then we’re going to send the suitcase back with my driver and set out to do... I have no idea what. She’s in charge and she still hasn’t told me what we’re doing today, which makes me a little uneasy. I don’t like not knowing what the plans are, but I have entrusted Courtney to fill today with fun things and promised to “go with the flow,” even if I nearly gagged as I said those words.
The shower stops, and I picture her pushing aside the shower curtain, wrapping a towel around her wet, naked body...
Damn.
I hear the whir of the hair dryer and wonder how much longer she’s going to be. It’s eleven o’clock and I still haven’t really done anything today. Vince would be proud.
But when Courtney finally emerges, wearing dark jeans and a flowing red tank top, she looks so beautiful that I immediately decide the past thirty-one minutes—yes, I timed her—were worth it.
Her suitcase is white with butterfly silhouettes. I carry it downstairs and give it to my driver, and Courtney takes my hand, pulling me toward Broadview. It’s strange holding hands with her, and just as I’m getting used to it, she lets go.
I start to ask her where we’re headed, then clamp my mouth shut, knowing it’ll be futile.
A few minutes later, I look to my left, expecting to see Courtney, but she’s not there. Nor is she to my right. No, she’s several meters behind me. I sigh and head back to her.
“You don’t need to walk like you’re late for a meeting,” she says, slowing her pace even more. Then she spreads out her arms. “Enjoy the fresh air. Smell the roses.”
“Right,” I say. “This part of Broadview isn’t particularly interesting.”
A mother and two young children, maybe five or six years old, pass us from behind.
Nobody ever passes me when I’m walking. Usually I walk at a fast clip, and I want to punch the people who walk slowly and block my path.
But now I’m the slow walker. I ball up my hands in frustration. “I can’t walk this slowly without wanting to punch myself.”
She chuckles and slows down even more. We’re barely moving forward at all.
I shouldn’t have made that comment.
“Do you always walk like this?” I ask in horror.
In response, Courtney does something even more horrifying. She stops so she can answer my question. My God, she appears to be one of those people who can’t walk and talk at the same time.
“Hmm.” She puts her finger to her mouth. “Well, if you really want to know, I learned to walk when I was thirteen months old and then when I was two—”
“Courtney!”
She smiles. “I was just walking slowly to see how you’d react.”
Damn her. But I can’t help returning her smile.
She starts moving again, at a reasonable pace this time. Not as fast as I would normally walk, but it’s a perfectly acceptable pace that doesn’t make me want to punch things.
I let her walk in front of me so I can stare at her ass. I might actually enjoy walking at a turtle’s pace if I always had this view.
* * *
We’re sitting on the grass in Riverdale Park East, looking at the skyline of downtown Toronto to the southwest. I can see the office building where I would normally be at this time of day, even on a Saturday. I’ve never viewed the city from this angle before, and it’s rather nice. At the bottom of the hill, children are playing soccer and baseball.
Courtney lies back and pats the grass beside her. “Join me. We can find shapes in the clouds.”
I awkwardly lie back and stare at the sky. This doesn’t feel natural.
I wonder how the office is doing without me. Do they know why I’m gone? What has Priya told everyone? Are they slacking off because the boss isn’t there? And most importantly, how can I convince Courtney to give me my phone so I can check my work email? It’s not like I’m going to do actual work. I just want to check my email.
She takes out my phone and snaps a picture of me lying on my back, staring up at the sky and muttering a curse word under my breath.
“I’m sending the picture to Vince,” she says. “And to myself. You know what we should do? Make a scrapbook of your two-week holiday. Yes! We can take a scrapbooking class together.”
“I am not taking a scrapbooking class.”
“Well, since you’re stinking rich, you could hire a private instructor.”
Dear Lord. Courtney better not meet the rest of my family. I’m terrified of the plans they’d come up with.
“Do people even scrapbook anymore?” I ask. “Don’t they just make photo books online?”
She shrugs. “Dunno. I don’t make scrapbooks, but that doesn’t mean nobody else does. We could learn! Together!”
“No scrapbooking.”
What do single men my age usually do for fun? Watch sports and drink beer and play videogames, I assume. But instead, I asked a woman to teach me how to have fun because...
Well, it’s pretty obvious why I asked this particular woman.
Single men in their thirties probably also spend a lot of time figuring out how to have sex. Since Courtney declined my advances last night, I won’t push it, although the idea is definitely appealing. I have a strong urge to roll on top of her and kiss her to prevent further talk about scrapbooking, of all things.
My phone beeps, and Courtney looks at the message and smiles. I bet it’s from Vince.
No, no, no. I do not like the idea of my brother making her smile, even if he’s promised not to touch her. I grab the phone out of her hand.
She giggles and reaches for it, but my arms are longer than hers, and I manage to keep it out of her reach, then put it in my pocket.
She climbs on top of me. I’m still lying on my back, but I’m sure as shit not trying to find shapes in the clouds, not when a woman in straddling me. When she reaches for the phone again, I clamp a hand over my pocket before she can get there. I look up into her dark brown eyes. Even if I couldn’t see her pretty mouth, I’d be able to tell she was smiling from her eyes.
“Gotcha!”
Dammit. She grabbed the phone out of my pocket while I was distracted by her beauty.
I’m afraid this is going to be a recurring problem.
Also, she’s soon going to notice that I’m aroused.
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll let you keep my phone for now.” I pick her up and put her on the ground. “But tell me what Vince said.”
“Just ‘Keep up the good work!’ Don’t worry, he wasn’t flirting with me.”
“Were you flirting with me when you climbed on top of me?” I can’t help myself.
And I can’t help but be pleased when she exhales unsteadily.
“No.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “It was just the most efficient way to get your phone back, that’s all.”
Yeah, sure it was.
* * *
At Broadview and Gerrard, there’s a small collection of Chinese restaurants and stores called Chinatown East, not to be confused with “regular” Chinatown on Spadina, or the Chinese plazas in Markham, Richmond Hill, and Mississauga. I haven’t been here in years.
Courtney heads into a Chinese bakery with cheerful red décor.
“What do you want?” she asks.
I’m about to shrug and say I don’t need anything, but then something catches my eye.
“A pineapple bun.” I can’t remember the last time I had one.
She smiles at me and takes two out of the bin with a pair of tongs.
“I’ll pay for them,” I say, heading to the counter. I’m going to pay for everything this weekend and spoil her with things she might otherwise be unable to afford.
Pineapple buns, however, are something she could afford. It’s only a dollar fifty for two.
We sit down at one of the few tables in the bakery, and I bite into my bun and savor the crunchy, sweet topping. I loved these things when I was a child, and it tastes just as good as I remember.
“You know when I learned that pineapple buns don’t contain pineapple?” she says. “Just last year.”
“Really? They don’t taste like pineapple at all.” The topping just looks like pineapple, hence the name.
“But I figured there had to be pineapple. I thought I could detect a hint of it.” She shakes her head. “My mind was blown when I discovered the truth. I felt misled.”
I laugh and take another bite. “When my mother’s parents came over from China, they opened a bakery on Elizabeth Street, and then when most of Chinatown was bulldozed—”
“Huh?”
“Chinatown used to be centered on Elizabeth Street, but when it was destroyed to make way for City Hall, some of the businesses moved west to Spadina.”
“I didn’t know that. I thought it was always on Spadina.”
I shake my head. “Later, my grandparents had a bakery on Spadina, but they sold it when I was young.” I have vague memories of going there as a child. Memories of my mother arguing with my grandmother in Toisanese because my grandmother had fed me too many barbecue pork buns, and I wasn’t going to be hungry for dinner. I smile.
Courtney starts licking the crumbs off her fingers. I stare at her mouth, pineapple bun forgotten, imagining her licking the crumbs off my fingers instead, or better yet...
“Oh my God,” she says. “Julian Fong, you have a dreamy look on your face. What are you thinking about?”
Uh, sex?
But I don’t say that. I just take another bite of my pineapple bun.
And Courtney, goddammit, takes a photo of me while I’m shoving the bun into my mouth and trying to forget about the image of her licking things.
“Another picture for your scrapbook!” she says.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, we’re standing in a store that specializes in cacti and succulents. Courtney finds it fascinating, and I’m trying my best to see it through her eyes.
And failing.
“Isn’t it cool how these plants adapted to live in such harsh environments?” she says. I suppose this is the scientist in her. “You should get a cactus.”
“I do not need a cactus.”
“You don’t have a single plant in that ginormous penthouse of yours. You should have something to brighten it up.”
“A cactus is going to brighten it up?”
“You need a living thing in your sterile home, and a cactus is perfect because it doesn’t require much attention. Just very occasional watering. You can manage that much, can’t you?”
“I’ll tell my housekeeper to take care of it.”
She rolls her eyes before stepping away from me and walking around a table of cacti, presumably trying to decide which one would suit me the best.
“I always wanted a terrarium,” she says, “but I think we’ll just get you a single cactus.” She bursts into laughter as she picks up a pot with a cactus that’s about six inches tall.
“What’s so funny?”
“Doesn’t it make you think of...”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
But as soon as I say it, I realize what she means. The cactus has two small protrusions—I don’t know what else to call them—near its base, and it’s approximately the length and diameter of, well, an erect penis.
An erect penis with spikes.
“Really?” she says. “You have no idea—”
“I figured it out.”
“I’m buying it for you. I shall call it Joey.”
“Why Joey?”
“Dunno. Just looks like a Joey to me.”
That makes no sense. “I will not let you buy me a phallic cactus named Joey.”
Well, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say in my life.
“Come on,” she says. “I’m supposed to be teaching you how to have fun.”
“Owning a cactus is fun?”
“I think so. Especially a cactus that looks like this. It’ll be a great conversation starter, don’t you think?”
“First of all,” I say, “if I get a cactus, I’m putting it in my home office or bedroom, where I do not have any guests.”
“Really? You don’t have any guests in your bedroom?”
Not in a while, no. It would be a different story if Courtney had decided she wanted to have fun with me in the only way I know how to have fun.
Her face is turning a delightful shade of pink now, and oh, I want her to look like that because she’s underneath me and my fingers are slipping inside her.
The air in the store is suddenly very hot—the sort of environment a cactus would like.
I swallow. “Second of all, I won’t let you pay for anything this weekend. If anyone’s buying a phallic cactus, it’s me.”
She brightens. “So you’ll get the cactus?”
“If you insist.”
Dear God, I don’t know how I’m going to survive the next two weeks.
I walk to the cash register and the woman behind the counter tilts her head and studies me. “You look familiar. Wait... I know. You’re Julian Fong, aren’t you?”
Yeah, somebody recognized me while I was buying Joey the Phallic Cactus.
* * *
We’re in Leslieville now, walking down Queen Street, and I’m carrying a cactus.
“Let’s go to my favorite gelato place,” Courtney says.
“We can’t have gelato. We already had pineapple buns. That’s enough dessert for today.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having two treats a day every now and then. Do you always live by such rigid rules?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” I shake my head. “Which is why I need your help. So, sure, we can have gelato.” Even though it feels wrong, but then again, buying a phallic cactus also felt wrong, and I’ve already done that and the world hasn’t ended. Not quite.
“You’ll love this place. It’s the best.”
The sidewalk is suddenly crowded with people waiting in line for something. To my distress, Courtney leads us to the end of the long line.
“This is the gelateria?” I ask.
“Yep. The line-up’s a little better than I thought it would be.”
Is she serious?
“I’m not waiting in line for half an hour for gelato.” The idea makes my skin crawl. I hate line-ups. They’re such a waste of time.
“It’ll be less than half an hour, I promise. They’re quite efficient.”
“They better be,” I mutter.
“Are your arms tired from carrying Joey?”
“Mommy,” says the little boy standing in front of us, “why did that woman say my name? Should I talk to her? But you told me never to talk to strangers.”
Courtney doubles over with laughter, and I can’t help but be glad she’s laughing.
“I’m fine,” I say. “The cactus isn’t heavy.”
“I’m going to scope out the flavors. They rotate. I hope they have lemon cherry sour cream today.” She heads down the line and into the store.
When she disappears from view, I turn my attention to my new cactus and compare his dimensions to my own before realizing how pathetic this is.
Courtney returns. “You’re in luck! They have it. It’s the best thing in the whole world.”
Admittedly, I’m rather curious about the gelato, though it’s a pity I’ll have to wait in line with a bunch of kids before I can get some.
She pulls my phone out of her pocket.
“I’ll give it back to you in a moment,” she says, “after I take a picture of you and Joey.”
“Mommy, who’s taking a picture of me?” Joey the Kid asks.
“The lady’s talking about another person named Joey,” the mom says. “Don’t worry.”
I’m about to open my mouth to explain that Joey is actually a cactus, not a person, then quickly think better of it. I force a smile for Courtney as she holds up my phone and snaps a couple photos.
“Perfect.” She clicks a few things before finally returning my phone. A close-up of Joey is now the background picture, and she’s sent a picture of me and the cactus to Vince.
Vince replies a few minutes later. I love your new girlfriend. I’m sorry I questioned your judgment earlier.
She’s not my girlfriend, I reply, though when I type the words, it gives me a twinge of something I can’t quite put my finger on.
It’s not like I want Courtney to be my girlfriend. Dealing with her all the time would be more than I could handle, plus I don’t think she could handle me, not in my regular CEO life.
Though I still want to go to bed with her. She’s passionate. I bet she’d be great in bed.
Okay, I’ll admit it. Even though Courtney spends a lot of time trying to push my buttons, I’m enjoying myself. I’ve missed the companionship of being in a relationship. I always liked that part, but I decided I was finished with relationships after Olivia said she didn’t like dating someone who was married to his job and wasn’t “emotionally present.”
Some men might consider that to be touchy-feely mumbo jumbo, but I didn’t. I got what she was saying. It was similar to what many women had told me before. As I didn’t see my lifestyle changing, what was the point in trying to have a girlfriend? Any relationship was doomed.
“When was the last time you went out for gelato or ice cream on a hot summer’s day?” Courtney asks.
“Twenty years ago? Maybe more?”
She looks at me like I just kicked a puppy. “But you like it, don’t you?”
“Sure. I don’t see how you could hate ice cream. I’m not saying I haven’t eaten it in twenty years, though I don’t think I’ve had a cone in that long.”
“Well, that’ll change in ten minutes. I hope we aren’t waiting any longer than that.”
“Mommy,” says Joey the Kid, “you won’t make me go twenty years without an ice cream cone, will you? Even if I leave Lego all over the floor and you step on it in the middle of the night?”
* * *
The gelato is fantastic.
All the seats in the gelateria are full, but we snag a bench in the parkette at the corner. I’m enjoying my lemon cherry sour cream and pistachio, and I’m trying not to look at Courtney because watching her lick her gelato is more than I can bear. The cactus sits between us, a calculated move on my part so I wouldn’t be able to shift closer to her without getting poked.
“I can’t believe you ordered pistachio,” she says. “That’s such a boring flavor.” Courtney got quince white wine, in addition to the lemon cherry sour cream.
“I hadn’t had it in ages, and this one is very good.”
“Can I try?”
I hand over my waffle cone, and she takes a nibble of my gelato.
Courtney’s mouth. Phallic object. Yeah.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.
“Like what?”
“Never mind.”
“I’m looking at you with fear because I’m afraid you’re not going to give that back once you discover the awesomeness of pistachio gelato.”
“Did you just saw ‘awesomeness’? That’s so unlike you.”
“You’ve known me less than twenty-four hours,” I point out, though she’s correct.
“True.” Thankfully, she hands back my gelato cone. “You’re right. It’s pretty great.”
She takes a photo of me with my gelato, and then we eat in silence. When I’m finished, I start to stand up, but she pulls me back down.
“We’re going to stay here for a while and people-watch.” She points to a man on the other side of the street, hurrying down the sidewalk. “What do you think his story is?”
“He’s hurrying because he has a very important meeting.”
“Come on. You can do better than that.”
“Fine.” I can be creative if that’s what she wants. “He’s divorced and has custody of his five-year-old daughter. He just dropped her off at his ex-wife’s for the weekend, then realized he forgot to pack Joey—who is not a phallic cactus, but a cute stuffed koala—in his daughter’s overnight bag, and she won’t go to sleep without him. He’s hurrying home to pick up Joey and bring him to his ex-wife’s before his daughter notices Joey isn’t there.”
Courtney cracks a smile. “That’s better.” She points at a young couple, maybe in their mid-twenties, who have just walked past the parkette. “What about them?”
Like the man on the other side of the street, they’re hurrying, not slowing down to eat gelato and enjoy the sunny day. Normally that would be me, too, and admittedly, it seems rather sad to spend your whole life like that.
“They’re rushing home,” I say, “because they just said ‘I love you’ for the first time, and he wants to fuck her brains out.”
Courtney’s eyes widen.
“Pardon my language. He wants to make sweet, sweet love to her.”
I need to stop saying such things around Courtney Kwan.
“Oh?” She looks rather intrigued, or is that just my imagination?
Perhaps she’ll change her mind about the casual fling I proposed. I picture her kneeling between my legs, her tongue on my cock, moaning the way she does when she eats ice cream and pineapple buns.
I need another train of thought. I look down and my gaze lands on Joey the Cactus, which doesn’t help matters, because Joey really does look like an erect penis. He even has balls.
I choke on my gelato.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Something went down funny, that’s all.”
“I didn’t know it was possible to choke on gelato, since it melts in your mouth.”
“Uh. There was a whole pistachio. Yes, that’s it. A whole pistachio.”
Real smooth, Julian.
I swear, I’m normally well-spoken and good at expressing myself, which I can do in several languages, but a part of me feels like an inexperienced teenager when I’m with Courtney. I’m so out of my depth, spending two weeks without work and eating gelato with a woman in the park.
We look at each other for a moment, a moment both awkward and wonderfully full of promise. I pick up the cactus and move it to the other side of me. I’m about to slide my hand onto her knee and see where that leads, but then her phone beeps.
She jumps up, and the moment is ruined.