Come Out Swinging

Holden

My niece made me late for the one thing I didn’t want to be late to this week. She’s lucky she’s adorable, because otherwise, I may hold a grudge. I thought Angel was a little frosty because I arrived thirteen minutes after our scheduled meeting time, but when she inquires about my niece, I realize she’s just being a protective big sister.

“Grace is my sister’s four-month-old baby girl. I live next door, so sometimes when my sister needs a hand, I go over to help. Her husband is a cop; she’s on her own a lot.” I won’t mention that I was eager to go over when Phoebe texted because I was desperate to get her input on this little meeting. She wasn’t helpful.

Angel’s scowl relaxes and morphs into a small smile. I feel the tension release from Dina as she watches it happen in real time.

“I’m sorry. Here I thought Dina had found one of the many guys in the city who have sowed their wild oats and have more baby-mama drama than anyone needs in their life.” Angel’s smile grows a little wider. “That’s nice of you to help your sister. Brownie points.”

Helping with my niece has never been something I’ve done for credit. I do it because I love her and my sister. Still, I’m pleased to earn a little favour with Angel.

“How’s your PhD coming along?” Hollis asks around a mouthful of bagel. Her long blonde hair is tucked under a knit toque, and her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold.

I finish chewing the small bit of my sandwich, then respond, “I’m on hiatus at the moment. Still doing research, but until I get my advisor in order and submit my proposal, I don’t want to get too deep.”

She nods toward my laptop bag standing upright on the bench seat. “Not long now until you’ll be Dr. Dickens.”

Knowing Dina has mentioned me enough to share my nickname makes me smile. It’s as if each aspect of her life is coming together. Family, friends, school, dog, me. Not existing as separate entities with one common denominator. Rather, all integral parts of Dina Blake’s life.

We fall into comfortable conversation, and by the time we’re finished our food, the dynamic between the four of us feels familiar. Both Angel and Hollis ask questions about my studies, family, and friends. Dina lights up, telling them about Sam’s rendition of Pretty Fly for a White Guy and how she twisted her ankle. She can barely breathe as she explains the pizza box fiasco that is clearly a memory she cherishes as much as I do.

I get up to order us each a coffee, and glance back to see them leaning over the table, discussing something and laughing. One can only hope that means I’ve met Angel’s standard for approval.

I return with drinks moments later, and we all discuss how much we’ve come to rely on caffeine in our twenties. Angel from long working hours, the rest of us from long hours of study.

When everyone slides on their thick jackets and gloves to leave, Angel pulls me in for a hug; there’s no mistaking the strength she surrounds me with. Small but mighty, indeed.

“Thank you for making her happy.” She releases me and pats me on my arm. “And good for you for winning over Nacho, because that is not an easy task.”

We laugh about Nacho’s “misunderstood” personality quirks as we walk out the door, say our goodbyes, then Hollis and Angel travel north on foot. Dina and I are left standing outside of the bagel shop, so for the first time in over a week, I pull her in to give her a proper kiss.

Kissing her feels like coming home. She wraps her arms around my neck to hold herself up on her tippy toes. Her eagerness to kiss me is the hottest thing about it. She wants it as much as I do, and being able to communicate our love for each other without needing to say it makes me happier than I’ve ever been. 

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” she asks, not releasing her arms from my neck.

“I was going to go to the university library to search through a few things, but it’s nothing that can’t wait.”

She looks a little disappointed in my answer, which is confusing.

I redirect the conversation, hoping to replace the happy expression she wore seconds ago. “Do you have plans? I’m down for something else. Want to go to the aquarium?”

“During every school board in the country’s winter break? I don’t think so. I don’t want you changing your plans, either. If you’ve got stuff to get done, go do it.” She gives me a sad smile that I desperately want to kiss away.

Instead, I ask, “Do you want to come with me?”

“You sure know how to romance a girl, Dickens.” Her lips turn into a genuine grin, confirming the love she has for libraries. “I’d love to.” She hesitates for a second before continuing, “How do you normally get there? It’s kind of cold to walk.”

I run through different scenarios. “Normally I grab a ride-share, but we can take the bus. I’m not in a big hurry.”

Dina stays silent as her eyes flick from one spot behind me to another. Her breathing accelerates, creating an endless cloud of condensation to form in front of her. “We can grab a ride… If you want.”

To say I’m surprised is an understatement. Beyond that, I’m proud. Grateful that she’s willing to face her fear. “Are you sure?”

“Not really. But if you’re with me, it doesn’t feel as scary.”

That sentiment causes the love I have for her to explode in my chest even more. To know she trusts me to help her through hard things—to tackle her fears—makes me feel ten feet tall.

Dina handled the car ride like a seasoned veteran. She was breathing heavily and kept her eyes closed the entire four kilometre journey. She squeezed my hand with an intensity likened to Phoebe when her contractions first started and I was the stand-in until Aaron arrived, but we made it. Unscathed—minus my tender fingers.

The library is bright and warm as we enter, but there’s virtually no one here. They were closed for a week over the holidays, but opened up a few days before the next semester starts. I’d bet most of the people here are master’s or PhD students whose semesters aren’t as clear cut as they are for undergrads.

We have no trouble finding a table to get settled at, so I set out my laptop, tie into the Wi-Fi, and Dina drops into the chair beside me.

“This is really none of my business, but I’m curious about something.”

I pause, expecting her to ask about ex-girlfriends or an outlandish topic we haven’t discussed yet. “Okay…”

“It’s no secret I’m broke. Not that I’m broke, but if the money I got from my parents’ life insurance is going to last, I have to stretch every dollar. So I’m just wondering how you always manage to have spending money when you haven’t worked—at least, you’ve never mentioned working. I didn’t think PhD students earned much.”

Some people may find finances an awkward thing to discuss, but I don’t want any secrets with Dina. “My parents had their triplex paid off fifteen years ago. Until my siblings and I moved into the extra units, they had renters who were paying downtown rates for over twenty-five years. With two three-bedrooms and three one-bedrooms, they made quite a bit.”

She nods without turning to look at me.

“They saved that money for our education. At least until Dad got sick, then they had to use some of it to survive. Whatever they had left over, they divided up between us.”

She nods again, this time turning to face me. “That’s incredible they were able to do that. That must have taken a lot of dedication on their part.”

“It did. It was a lot of sacrifice.” I run through many of the concessions my parents made while my siblings and I were small, and continue to make to this day. “I was a scholarship student too, so most of what my parents gave me, I put into savings. Boyd and I split the rental income we get from the basement apartment, plus the bit I get for my PhD. It’s enough to get by.”

“Wow.” She stares off into the distance. “So they gave you a house and a bundle of money, no strings attached?”

I almost laugh at that assumption. “Not exactly. The house comes with stipulations and they own everything. We’re really just squatters they allow. And the money had to be put toward our future. Either education, savings, or investments. In my mother’s words, ‘If I so much as catch a whiff of marijuana on any of you, I’ll make you wish you were never born.’”

Dina shares a smile that looks more sad than happy. “They just want what’s best for you.”

I place my hand over hers, understanding that talk of my parents must make her miss hers. After the events of the day, I try my luck and ask, “You’re what’s best for me. They’d really love to meet you.”