Page 6 of Seale the Deal

You got an American phone plan, right?

Yep.

Perfect, she says. After all the money we spent, we can’t afford international roaming charges.

I smile a little at her use of the word we because despite how insane this entire situation is, I haven’t been navigating it alone.

I burned through most of my savings months ago between immigration paperwork, moving expenses, and surviving unemployment. Since then, I’ve been picking up odd mending jobs for cash while trying to rebuild even the tiniest financial cushion.

Meanwhile, Remi’s career has exploded. She got a six-figure multi-book deal and has even had a couple of production studios reaching out. And because of that success, she quietly absorbed more of the cost of this plan than either of us originally intended. Which I appreciate but also worry about. Friends and money have a way of complicating even the strongest relationships, and every once in a while, I catch myself wondering whether there’s a limit to how long gratitude can exist before it starts curdling into guilt.

We exit the airport, and cold air immediately slaps me across the face. I was expecting cute-chunky-knit-sweater-and-pumpkin-spice cold based on my Google research. But no. This is sharp, aggressive, why-is-there-this-much-wind-in-September cold.

Oh my God! I gasp. Why do my nipples feel like they’re about to fall off?

Wind’s coming down from the north, Remi says. In the fall, it makes everything feel colder.

I make an actual noise as the wind barrels through my thin layers. I’m regretting every fashion-based decision I made before boarding my flight, especially the holes in my jeans.

I also think my lungs are mildly confused by how clean and fresh the air smells. Vancouver has nature too, obviously. Stanley Park alone is bigger than some towns. But city nature just doesn’t smell like this. It’s hard to describe the difference. Nature feels like part of the package here instead of an add-on feature. And until the first time I came here, I didn’t realize how much I’d like that.

We stop at Remi’s large grey truck, and she pushes down the handle on the suitcase she’s wheeling. So, I guess Kay is sending the rest of your stuff? She lifts the suitcase into the truck bed before holding out a hand for the second one.

I collapse the handle. Nope. This is it.

Remi blinks. This is your entire life?

Well, Captain Skinny-Dick took everything in the breakup, I remind her.

True.

Plus, you know me. I don’t own many clothes.

Mostly because I refuse to participate in modern fast fashion beyond the occasional moment of weakness and/or need when I can’t find something thrifted. Remi has already suffered through approximately six hundred lectures on synthetic fabrics, ethical labour practices, and why polyester shouldn’t be anywhere near a human vagina. Unfortunately, none of those lectures stopped her from ordering suspiciously cheap clothing from Shein at two in the morning.

Remi stares at the suitcases again. How did you fit your whole life in there? Including winter gear?

I still have my coat from way back when I first came here, I say.

The Lululemon one we had to keep insulating with seventeen additional layers?

I also thrifted this amazing wool coat before I left, I continue, ignoring her negativity entirely. It’s a mid-length pure wool coat in this deep, gorgeous green.

Remi’s face immediately tightens in a way that tells me she hates this coat too.

It needs a little mending work, I admit. And I have to take it in through the waist, but structurally, it’s in amazing condition. I have some leftover fur from a past project that I can use to really increase the warmth factor. Honestly, people throw away unbelievable pieces.

But where exactly are you wearing this coat?

Around town.

Remi blinks. Okay, so we have a wool coat that can’t reasonably be used for hiking or snowmobiling or doing anything other than being a Dickens character wandering the tundra, and another coat that we spent four days trying to keep you alive in.

Wool is one of the warmest natural fibres, I argue. It’s water-resistant, temperature regulating, breathable, and people survived entire centuries in climates worse than this wearing it.

Cool, Remi says. You know what they also did historically? Died younger.

Morbid.