Page 17
I turn around quickly, using the need to find the lid as an excuse to hide what I’m sure are two cheeks now fully on fire.
What the hell is wrong with me this morning? It’s as if my brain is functioning at 40 percent.
“Sorry.” I whip back around. “What I meant is, do you want to go for coffee? There’s a good spot at the end of the block. We could get to know each other better…as roommates.”
Mackenzie nods and laughs as if the misunderstanding is entirely on him.
“Yeah, sure. Sounds good,” he says. “Let me just throw on my jeans. Give me two minutes?”
I nod, and he disappears into his room. I follow suit and change into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and grab my U of T hoodie in case it gets cold. I beat him back into the living room but only by a few seconds.
He emerges wearing a pair of loose jeans and a dark gray crew T-shirt. Like yesterday, it clings to his arms. And like yesterday, I don’t know how I feel about it.
We walk toward the front door, our hands bumping awkwardly as we both reach for the handle at the same time.
“After you—”
“Sorry, I—”
He takes a step back. “Actually I’m going to grab a jacket.” He runs back into his bedroom. I stand at the door, my heart hammering so hard that I decide to put my hoodie on because I’m convinced he will be able to see my chest pulsate beneath my shirt.
He pops his head out of his room a few moments later, looking around the living room, a confused ridge forming between his eyebrows.
“Ah, there.” He steps back out as he spots the jacket, hanging off the back of the couch. “Sorry about that,” he says as he pulls it on. “I swear I’m usually pretty neat.”
I watch him and wait.
But nothing happens.
He doesn’t get sucked into an alternate reality.
He doesn’t even flinch.
“Ready to go?” he asks, but I am too preoccupied with trying to figure out what the hell is going on to answer.
Clearly there’s nothing wrong with that jacket. Which means something must be wrong with me.
“Annalise?”
I snap out of my stupor with a shake of my head. “I’m fine,” I tell him. “I think I really just need that coffee.”
7
“So you’re a doctor of neuroscience?” Mackenzie reaches out and presses the button for the crosswalk, waiting patiently for the little white stick figure to light up.
It’s early on a Sunday morning, which means the traffic on Queen is minimal. I glance both ways to make sure I’m not going to get smoked by a Prius, or the more likely culprit, a cyclist, then cross the street while the light is still red.
Mackenzie runs to catch up, a sheepish smile on his lips.
“I don’t have my doctorate yet.” My arms swing as I walk, as do Mackenzie’s. As we pass a garbage can, he steps toward me to avoid it, which once again causes our hands to hit at an awkward angle, prompting both of us to respond with a very Canadian “sorry.”
“I am a research lab tech at CAMH: The Center for Addiction and Mental Health,” I explain. “But yes, a doctorate in neuroscience is the end goal.”
Mackenzie nods. “So that’s what you’re studying in January. In Liverpool, right?”
“Yup.” I am surprised that he remembers my very first email. In it I explained I had been accepted to a two-year PhD program at the University of Liverpool. I was looking for a roommate to live in my second bedroom from September until January, then, when I moved out, look after the apartment while I was away.
Mackenzie claimed to be the perfect fit. He was going to be new to the city. His job paid enough to get by, especially with a roommate. He wasn’t keen on the high-rises of the downtown core or the basement apartments in the Annex. A small walk-up right on a streetcar line was exactly what he was looking for.
