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It’s eight thirty on a Saturday night, and I’m at the office.
I know, I know, I’m pathetic.
Not only is it a Saturday night, but it’s the Saturday before Christmas, which is on Tuesday. I don’t have anything planned for Christmas, though. My parents are spending the holidays in Hong Kong, and I have no siblings, no other family in Canada. Mom wanted me to go with them, but the idea of spending two weeks away from my company gave me heart palpitations.
Sometimes it’s still hard to believe that this is my life: I’m the CEO of Match Me, one of the most popular dating apps in the world. I worry that one day, I will open my eyes at five in the morning, and it’ll all be gone, everything that I’ve worked so hard for.
I continue to work as hard as I can. Hence, I’m at the office on a Saturday night before Christmas, but I’m finally ready to head back to my house in Cabbagetown, and no, I will not do any more work tonight. I will heat up some food, make some hot chocolate, and maybe even watch a movie.
See? I can have fun. It might not involve any socializing, but it’s fun.
I peek out the window to see what the weather is like and jolt back in surprise.
There must be twenty centimeters of snow on the ground. There was only a sprinkling when I was out at lunch, and now there’s been a ton of accumulation. The snow is still falling, the wind blowing it sideways.
I check my phone, and sure enough, everyone is talking about the snowstorm in Toronto, which is supposed to continue through to tomorrow afternoon. Somehow I was so caught up in my work that I missed the news.
No big deal. I’ll hop on the subway, take it to Wellesley, and walk from the station. It’ll be a bit slow-going, but I’ll manage. Then I’ll curl up with my dinner and hot chocolate, safe from the storm.
My phone beeps. It’s a message from Cynthia, my neighbor. She’s a retired paleontology professor who enjoys baking cookies and talking about the Cambrian explosion.
The power’s been out on our street for an hour. I don’t expect it’ll be back on anytime soon. Just letting you know, in case you’re still at the office.
I go to the Toronto Hydro website and look at the outage map. There are power outages everywhere, and I suspect Cynthia is right—it’ll be out for a while. In the 2013 ice storm, I was without power for days.
The thought of braving the weather, only to return to a lonely home with no heat and power, makes me shiver. That sounds horrible.
What else can I do? I could try to get a hotel room, but that’s equally unappealing. On the Saturday before Christmas, it seems beyond pathetic.
I’ve been alone all day, and suddenly, I really don’t want to be alone anymore. I guess I could go over to Cynthia’s, and we’d talk about Mary Anning and Christmas cookie recipes (not that I bake) in the dark.
Or is there someone I could stay with nearby? Who do I know who lives downtown and doesn’t work at my company?
I tap my fingers on my executive desk as I think.
Wes Cheng! I haven’t seen him in a few months—my social life is rather limited—but I think he still has an apartment near Baldwin Village. Less than a ten-minute walk from my office on Dundas, or maybe fifteen with all the snow on the sidewalk.
I send him a text, and a few minutes later, I receive a response. No problem. I’m at Prince & Pauper Pub right now. Meet me there?
Of course Wes is at a pub. It’s a Saturday night. We’re in the midst of a snowstorm, but still. Wes isn’t the sort of guy to stay at home on a Saturday.
I slip off my shoes and put on my big winter boots, down jacket, scarf, and toque, ready to brave the cold.
It is indeed cold outside. Well below freezing and the wind stings my bare cheeks. I push my scarf up to my nose and wrap my arms around myself. Thankfully Prince & Pauper is only a few minutes away.
I’m about to open the door to the pub when I’m knocked to the ground. When I look up, there’s a T-Rex standing above me.
I scream. This is, I believe, the natural reaction when one finds oneself on the ground, staring up at an enormous T-Rex.
Although...aren’t T-Rexes supposed to be even bigger than this? Plus, they’ve been extinct for sixty-five million years.
Right. It’s not a real T-Rex, just someone wearing a ridiculous inflatable T-Rex costume.
But then the T-Rex speaks. “Caitlin.”
Oh my God, how does it know my name?
There’s only one likely explanation: the T-Rex is Wes.
“Sorry for scaring you,” he says, his voice muffled by the costume. I can see part of his face through the clear panel in the T-Rex’s neck. “Guess I finally paid you back for knocking me out in calculus class.”
My cheeks heat at the memory, even though I’m half-lying on a snow-covered sidewalk.
The first time I met Wes was back in university when, in a hurry to get to a calculus lecture because somehow I’d lost track of time while studying at the library (yes, really), I opened the door and smacked him in the face. I hadn’t seen him, as I was so focused on getting to class on time. I was never late, and I prided myself on that fact.
Instead, I ended up knocking out a guy, and the entire lecture hall turned to look at us as I frantically tried to get him to speak and reassure me that I hadn’t done any real damage. He didn’t say anything when I asked if he was okay, just stared at me. Finally, I got him to tell me his name.
That’s how I met Wes Cheng. He forgave me, and we became friends. Stayed friends after university.
And now, it’s the first time I’ve seen him in months, and he’s dressed as a T-Rex. Something that would be terribly out of character for me, but not so much for him.
Although it’s still pretty weird.
Wes tries to bend down to help me up, but he can’t quite manage it in his costume.
I start laughing. I can’t help it. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”
“Sometimes I forget how big this costume is.”
I’m about to ask why he’s dressed as a dinosaur—Santa Claus would be more appropriate, given the time of year—when an elderly white man pokes his head out from behind the door. “Wes, we’re back on in five.”
I get to my feet. “Wait a second. You’re performing in a T-Rex costume?”
“Yep,” Wes says. “I’m a dancer.”
“A stripper?”
“Why are you assuming that I’m going to strip off this lovely inflatable T-Rex suit, Caitlin? Something in particular you’d like to see?”
Oh my God. My cheeks heat again. I’m not used to Wes talking to me like this. Nor am I used to talking to a person wearing an inflatable T-Rex costume.
“Come on,” he says, struggling to open the door. “You can see the show.”
I head inside, no idea what to expect, and get a Coke. Unfortunately, the pub is packed so I have to stand, and since I’m pretty short, I don’t have a great view. Wes in his T-Rex suit should still be easy to spot, though, but he’s nowhere in sight.
Instead, four elderly men walk onto the make-shift stage and start singing “Silent Night” acappella.
Okay, I’m confused. What does Wes have to do with a barbershop quartet?
Laughter ripples through the room. The T-Rex is making his way onto the stage, wearing a poinsettia garland around his neck. He turns around, his back to the audience, and shakes his tail, and there’s even more laughter, but all the singers keep a straight face.
None of this makes any sense whatsoever.
I haven’t laughed so much in a long time.
One of the older men hands a drum and a drumstick to Wes. They sing “The Little Drummer Boy,” Wes beating along on the drum and dancing energetically.
Next, another of the singers puts a swaddled doll into Wes’s T-Rex hands, with a big sign that says “BABY JESUS.” A few seconds later, they start singing “Away in a Manger,” and Wes rocks the doll throughout the entire song.
When the song is over, one of the singers places a set of angel wings on Wes’s back. They sing “Angels We Have Heard on High” while Wes dances, completely out of time with the music, and occasionally roars. This is followed by “Jingle Bells” and “O Holy Night,” after which the lead singer announces that there will be only one more song.
The audience lets out a collective “Aww” and the quartet begins singing “Winter Wonderland.” Wes dances along, and halfway through, someone in a snowman suit does two shots and joins him on stage. As they hold hands and start dancing together, I experience an unexpected moment of jealousy, wishing I was the snowman.
Not that I’ve ever wanted to dance in front of an audience in a snowman costume before, but knowing Wes, I bet he’s having a lot of fun right now.
Fun is not something I’ve been very familiar with lately, but despite the snowstorm and power outage at my house, tonight has turned out okay.