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Dax: Hey. Sorry about earlier. Things are a little up in the air for me right now, but I’m really excited to hear how tomorrow goes. I’m sure you’ll kill it.xo
Chapter 21
By nine thenext morning, the excited fluttering butterflies have morphed into a swarm of pissed-off bees. I’ve gone from being cautiously optimistic about my meeting to pacing my apartment chanting,“What the hell am I doing?”
It’s too early in the morning for a shot of tequila to steady my nerves. Three cups of coffee have not exactly helped the situation. My hands are jittery, my heart is palpitating, and my meeting isn’t until eleven-thirty.
I’ve reviewed the train schedule three times. The nine-thirty GO train will get me downtown with plenty of extra time, even if there are train delays. The Hamilton GO station is a quick three-minute walk from my place. There isn’t a whole lot that can go wrong in a few short blocks, but as soon as I think that thought, I worry that I’ve now jinxed myself and decide to be safe rather than sorry and leave extra early.
I’m putting on my non-pinchy, comfortable shoes when there is a knock on my front door.
My first thought is Dax.
He came after all.
Our psychic bond must have strengthened with all the sexwe’ve been having. Dax always knows when I’m freaking the fuck out and is here to back me up.
However, when I fling open my door, it’s not my tight-panted, sexy friend-turned-lover, but my middle-aged aunt in a floral-patterned jumpsuit, holding a hot-pink lunch sack and a tray of coffees from Brewski’s.
“Aunt Livi, what are you doing here?”
She holds up the bag and turns the tray so the large steaming cup with my name on it is facing me. “This one is chamomile. I figured you’d be hopped up on caffeine already. And I packed you a lunch. If anything, it will give you something to do on the train other than fret.”
I take both items from her hands and then pull her tiny body into a hug. “Thank you. I needed this.” I squeeze her tighter. “And this as well.” I release her and take a sip of the hot tea.
She nods curtly and smooths the hug wrinkles out of my blouse with her hands. “I talked to your sister last night. We’re both very proud of you. Why don’t you grab your purse? I’ll walk you to the train.”
The walk to the station takes five minutes instead of three at Aunt Livi’s flower-smelling pace. Still, by ten after nine, I have my ticket in hand with the train platform a mere step away. I settle onto a wrought-iron bench next to my aunt to wait.
It feels like I’m back in elementary school, waiting for the school bus to arrive on my first day. Uncertain what will unfold. Unsure if I want to smile or throw up.
I slip my phone from my purse and discreetly check it for messages.
“Are you checking the time or something else?” Aunt Livi’s eyes stay on the train platform as she asks.
“I was hoping for a message from Dax,” I answer honestly. “We left things a little weird yesterday. I asked him to come withme today, but he couldn’t. I think we’re good now, but I’m not exactly sure.”
Aunt Livi doesn’t say a word, but I watch her eyes follow the green-and-white GO train slowly chugging its way into the station.
Finally, she turns to me. “I know you think you know everything about Daxon. But you have to remember that in this life, he has spent four years on a slightly different path. There’s a lot of life that can happen in four years.” She leans over and places a kiss on my cheek, then stands and holds out her arms, completely ignoring the fact that she just dropped a weirdly cryptic message. “Knock ’em dead today, kid.”
I hug her again, trying to absorb some of her confidence in me. I point to the waiting train. “I’m going to go get a seat.”
I grab my purse, and when I stand, Aunt Livi is holding out another coffee cup.
“If I drink that one too, I’m going to pee my pants.”
She presses it into my hand anyway. “Then sit near the bathroom, poodle.”
I take the cup because I learned long ago not to disobey my aunt. However, I can tell by the smell and the slosh of the black liquid onto the lid as I walk that it’s coffee. A bit counterintuitive to the chamomile.
I find my track and walk to the very back of the platform. I’ve never lost the childhood thrill of riding in the caboose. GO trains have two levels, and I choose a compartment on the lower one. I find a seat by the window and settle in. A female voice comes over the PA system announcing that the train will depart in two minutes and arrive in Toronto on time. I check my phone one last time for a message. There’s nothing.
The PA system repeats the message in French, and the doorsdingand then close. The train pulls slowly away from the station,and my heart sinks in my chest at roughly the same speed. Maybe I’ve watched too many romantic movies in my life, or, as Aunt Livi said, maybe I’m clinging to a different Dax who doesn’t exist in this world. Still, a part of me hoped to see him running down the platform. A last-minute change of heart.
My phone vibrates. My heart slingshots upward toward my throat until I pull it out and see the 1-800 number. Just a scam call. Not Dax. I need to calm down and focus on my meeting. Aunt Livi’s right. Dax and I are different here. We’re not yet morally obligated to support each other in the big moments.
I lean my head back against the seat. The one upside of this trip is that I have the whole train car to myself. No annoying house music blasting from someone’s earbuds. Or weird smells from an on-the-go breakfast. Or worst of all, a non-commuter who has yet to learn the first rule of the GO train: Don’t make unsolicited conversation with strangers.
