One Fine Day
Dina
of reading an entire novel, taking Nacho for multiple walks, texting back and forth with Angel and Hollis, and most recently, they’ve included a trip to the library. I’m not a creature of habit, but I am one who gets hyper-focused and struggles to take on anything else. Whether Holden will fit into my narrow field of vision is to be determined. He has broad shoulders.
I choose a pair of dark skinny jeans, a cognac crochet sweater with a white tank underneath, and brown ankle boots. I toss my phone and wallet in the pockets of Nacho’s carrier bag and walk toward the library, where I agreed to meet Holden. I might have agreed to go on a date, but that doesn’t mean I want him to know my address yet.
He’s waiting out front when I arrive, and I almost laugh at his outfit. Not because he looks anything less than handsome, but because his outfit mirrors mine. He’s wearing a blazer the same colour as my sweater, dark jeans, and shoes that match mine. I’m not sure what that says about us, but if he’s wearing Mickey Mouse underwear, I might pass out. Not that I’m going to ask.
Holden smiles at me, holding his arms out to his sides. “Great minds think alike, I guess.”
“One major distinction. You lack the most fabulous accessory of all.” I glance down at Nacho, who is quiet in his bag.
“Are you ready?”
I consider asking to stop in the library to grab a book in case I get bored, but that would be rude. “Yeah, sure.”
Our walk is awkward for the first fifty metres, which doesn’t inspire a lot of hope. Our conversations until now have flowed well—even when painfully awkward—but as soon as “date” is attached to an interaction, there’s a level of anticipation that impacts every exchange.
Mercifully, Holden sparks a conversation. “So, tell me a little more about the mystery of Dina Blake. Where did you grow up?”
Check that off on the list of ‘last things I want to talk about’. I’d be more inclined to talk about my tampon preference or when thirteen-year-old me practiced kissing in the mirror. But again, it would be rude if I don’t answer and I don’t have a logical reason to deflect his question, so I try to be vague. “I’ve lived in the city my entire life. Grew up in Bloor West Village.”
“Wow. How crazy is that? We grew up, what? Less than ten kilometres apart and never ran into each other before.”
“It’s a big city.”
“Yeah. But I definitely would have remembered if I had seen you before.” He smiles, which looks sincere. “So, do your parents still live there? In the village?”
Ah, snap. I stutter and stop a few times before I can produce a fluid sentence. “No, they’re buried there.” I cringe at how heartless my own words sound. I really do love my parents. It’s just uncomfortable whenever the topic of them comes up. Dynamics change. People’s behaviour toward me changes.
Holden trips over a crack in the sidewalk, then tries to play it off. “Dina, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine. Can we move on from that conversation? I’m just not…”
“Right. Okay.” He exhales a long breath as we reach the dog park. “I’m sorry. Have I ruined our day now?”
“No, it’s fine. It happened a long time ago. It’s just… people always treat me differently when they find out, and I hate being the poor orphan girl everyone pities. So please don’t treat me that way.”
He studies me for a moment, and I’d love to be able to hear his thoughts.
“I get what you’re saying, but is it really a bad thing if people feel sad that you lost your parents?”
Instead of observing the sheer joy of other dogs in the park, I freeze, staring at Holden. Several beats pass before I work up the nerve to reply. “Yes, Dickens. It is a bad thing when people only spend time with you because they feel guilty. Or they think you’re a broken, fragile, little girl who needs handouts and shortcuts to make up for the crappy hand life dealt. But I’m not broken, and you know what? I’m tough as hell because of it. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”
Every alarm system in my body is telling me to leave right now. Warning me against engaging in this conversation when I’m upset and frustrated. But I talk myself down. I understand where he’s coming from and what he’s saying, and I hope I’ve made my thoughts on the matter clear.
“Look, Dina. I’m sorry.”
“Please stop being sorry. Tell me about your childhood.” I take a few deep breaths, trying to curb the nausea flooding my system.
Holden nods as he leans against the chain-link fence. “Are you going to let Nacho out?”
“Oh, no. I don’t need a lawsuit. He just comes to observe.”
“That’s smart.” He chuckles and rubs a hand over his face. “Why did you suggest coming here? Just to watch the dogs?”
“Yeah, why not? Can a person ever have too much dog joy in their lives? I don’t think so. Plus, I like to see if I can match the dogs to the owners. You know how they say dogs and owners look alike?”
Holden bursts with his uninhibited laugh that attracts attention in the silent library, but here, no one can be bothered. “I have heard that. Okay, let’s guess.” He watches a doberman patrolling the perimeter, sniffing along the fence. “I bet he belongs to that guy.”
“Why him?”
“Because if I ran into either of them after hours in a wrecking yard, I’d run the other way.”
Oddly enough, seconds later, the brawny bald man shouts “Cooper,” throws a frisbee, and the doberman takes off after it.
“Good guess. Okay, my turn.” I scan the crowd of about fifteen dogs and almost as many owners. “That guy belongs to that husky.”
“Mm-hmm. I can see it. What makes you think so?”
“He looks like he lives in the drama department, and huskies are notoriously dramatic. Plus, I can see the dog hair on his black shirt from here.”
“Cheater.” Holden laughs again; the earlier tension disappears from us both. “Oh, that lady with the brown curly hair has to own that poodle.”
“That’s discrimination.” I feign offense at his characterization of the woman’s hair, placing one hand on my hip. “Curly-haired people don’t have to have curly-haired dogs. Nacho doesn’t have curly hair.”
“No, but he definitely gets his spitfire attitude from you. You’re kindred spirits.”
I could be genuinely offended by that, but he’s not wrong. “True. It’s funny, because my sister has an American bully who gets along with everyone, and Angel is very friendly too. They look nothing alike, though. Unless we’re counting that Genie is half brown, half white.”
Holden stares at me again, as if he’s processing something. “Half brown, half white?”
It didn’t occur to me that comment would have us circling back around to family history. “My mom was Guyanese. Dad was Scottish.”
He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, staring off into the distance. His silence is uncomfortable, but then he snickers. “I thought you just had a tan.”
“Well, my tan doesn’t disappear in the winter.” I glance around at the other humans at the park, admiring the diversity of the downtown area. “Assuming I spent any time in the sun, I would be several shades darker. Angel and I aren’t even in the same category. I have lighter eyes and skin. She’s darker, but her hair is coloured lighter at the moment. She’s stunning.”
Holden steps closer to me, but keeps his distance when Nacho growls. “You’re stunning, Dina Blake. In any shade.”
Including bright red? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what shade I am now. My face feels hot without needing to touch it for confirmation. This is not the first time someone has complimented my looks, but it’s the first time I’ve cared. The first time I felt like those words were more than an empty comment made with ulterior motives.
When I snap out of the stupor Holden’s words have landed me in, I blurt, “Should we go to the pet store?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Holden ambles toward the double gate that prevents dogs from escaping the enclosed area, and unlatches the first one for me to slip through. Once we confirm no covert canines have snuck out behind us, we exit onto the walkway and stroll side by side toward the sidewalk.
“Are you going to tell me about your childhood, Dickens? Or just leave a girl in suspense.”
“The good ol’ suspense novel, Girl Who Knew Not of His Childhood. What do you think?”
I giggle at the pride in his smiling eyes. “Instant bestseller.”
“I think you’re right. Okay… Childhood. Where do I start? I’m the baby of the family with one older brother, Boyd, and sister, Phoebe. My parents moved to Canada from the UK about thirty years ago. They planted roots and bought a triplex on Whitaker Avenue, where we still live.”
“You still live with your parents? And your siblings?”
“Yes and no.” He opens the door for the pet store, which rings as we enter. “The triplex they bought has three separate houses, obviously. Each has a one-bedroom basement apartment and three bedrooms upstairs. They were smart and rented the other units to pay down their mortgage. Now Boyd and I live in one, Phoebe and her husband are in the middle, and my parents live in the house we grew up in.”
I imagine what that situation must be like and come to one conclusion. “Wow. You all must be close.”