The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) (5 page)

“I’m sorry I’m late. I’m all kinds of fail this morning.” She grimaced apologetically as she squeezed between the tables to reach me.

“No worries. You can buy me a second coffee to redeem yourself.” I grabbed my coat and backpack and waved my empty mug. “Do you want to grab one to go and we can head upstairs to sit in the library or something? It’ll be more comfy.”

Truthfully, staying in the coffee shop would have been fine under normal circumstances, but knowing Daniel was four tables away made me self-conscious. I wanted to get caught up with Julie without being distracted by soulful blue eyes and dimpled smiles. Julie agreed, leading the way back to the coffee bar.

As we approached the doors that led to the main floor hallway of Hart House, I allowed myself one final glance across the café. Daniel was typing away, completely engrossed in his work and oblivious to everything around him. I secretly wished he’d notice me leaving—my yoga pants did fabulous things for my ass and legs—but I sure as hell wasn’t going to continue staring over my shoulder to see if my wish was granted.

Julie and I made our way to the second floor library—more appropriately termed a reading room—one of my favorite spots on campus. Red leather couches and wing-back chairs allowed plenty of people to sit in comfort around the room, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered every wall.

Students frequented the library between classes to study, do homework, chat with friends, and sometimes nap on the couch in front of the fireplace. Since the first time I’d stepped inside the reading room, it had fed into my romantic sensibilities, transporting me to another era and conjuring thoughts of Jane Austen novels. Today, however, the rows of bookshelves elicited much naughtier images than Jane Austen would have dared put to paper.

I banished thoughts of Dream Daniel whispering provocatively in my ear and flopped down on a couch by one of the large bay windows.

“I was so happy when I heard your voice in class yesterday,” Julie said, squeezing my hand warmly. “I’ve missed hanging out with you.”

“I know! It’s been a busy year, and I’ve been hard core with the school work, but that’s no excuse. I’m glad we reconnected,” I said. “Why didn’t I know you were taking this course? I remember comparing classes with you in September.”

“I switched out of a classics half-course at the last minute. My course load is brutal. I needed something a little more familiar. Although, when I heard Cara’s annoying valley-twang yesterday, I seriously considered running to the English Department office to switch back to classics. I can’t stand that girl
or
her giant boobs.”

“That wouldn’t be sour grapes, would it? No pun intended,” I added, gesturing to Julie’s rather flat chest. She was a dancer and one of those extremely athletic girls who exercises so much she loses her curves. All the more reason to be a couch potato, in my opinion. I wouldn’t characterize myself as overweight by any stretch of the imagination, but fitness wasn’t exactly my forte.

“Yeah, now that you mention it, I guess I wouldn’t mind a little extra in the boobage department.” She pouted playfully before changing the subject. “So what’s your take on the class? You know Professor Brown, right? Is he decent? Fair?”

“Oh yeah, a bit old-fashioned. Not a fan of posting notes online, still stuck in the chalk-and-talk era, that sort of thing, but he’s a good teacher and he’s very kind. He genuinely wants people to do well.”

“No online notes. That means no skipping lectures. Thanks for the heads up,” she said, sipping her coffee. “Not that I think attending class will be a chore with Daniel sitting at the front of the room. Did you get a load of him? Fuck me sideways, he is one good-looking man!”

“Yeah, he’s a long, hot drink of Saturday night sexin’. This morning he looked like he rolled a bum on Yonge Street and stole his clothes, though,” I said, making light of my attraction to Daniel. “Weird thing is, I know his father.”

“Really? Do they live in Oakville?”

“No, I don’t know him from home. David Grant is the Dean of Students at Victoria College. I work for him.”

“Right. I’d forgotten about your job. It stinks that you have to work. Fourth year is stressful enough as it is.”

“I know, but what else can I do? Taking a year off to work full-time after high school helped, but that money couldn’t last forever. My parents do what they can, but it’s not nearly enough.”

“I guess. So what’s he like? Daniel’s father? Is it a decent job?”

“It’s perfect. I only work three mornings a week. Dean Grant is a great boss. He’s a damn fine specimen of a man, too. The Grant DNA is
definitely
solid,” I said.

“Is it too late to transfer from Trinity College to Vic? For some reason I feel inspired to make the dean’s list.” Julie laughed and then leaned forward, switching subjects again without missing a beat. “So, tell me about your family! What’s going on with your mom? She and Rick are good?”

My mother had met her new husband Rick while the two of us were in Las Vegas the February before. They fell madly in lust, he paid for her to go down for the May long weekend, then again for two weeks in June, and the next thing I knew she was packing up the apartment and moving to Nevada.

“They’re doing great, I guess. Mom loves Vegas, and they’re having a blast together.”

“That’s kinda nuts,” Julie said. “Do you like him?”

I shrugged. “Rick’s fine. My mom’s happy. She’s kind of getting a second chance. It’s nice for her.”

“Nice for her, but shitty for you. With your dad in Calgary and now your mom gone too? I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t escape to Windsor once in a while to have my mom feed me and do all my laundry.”

It was odd hearing Julie’s take on my life. She was right—my situation was weird. I’d recently started stewing over the fact that soon Reading Week would be upon us, and everyone would go home or leave for a southern getaway. I didn’t have a home anymore in the sense that everyone else did. Between flying to Vegas for Christmas and being a broke university student, I’d be staying in residence alone for Reading Week. Then, of course, there was the fact that after my summer residence lease was up, I’d have to move out and find something comparably priced in the real world. My lack of safety net was a constant worry.

The conversation turned to Julie, and she updated me on her family and the new dance company she’d hooked up with in Toronto. I listened as she moaned about her sketchy social life and nodded sympathetically at her even sketchier love life.

“I can relate,” I said. “I’ve been holed up like a groundhog all winter. It sucks.”

“Well, that’s decided, then,” she said. “I grabbed two tickets to an indie music revue next Thursday and was going to invite my roommate, but I think you should come with me instead.”

“Seriously? It’s been ages since I’ve been to a show. Remember all those concerts we used to go to in first year?”

“Those were so fun. It’s been way too long. So what do you think?”

“Hell, yes! I’d love to.”

“Perfect. It’s a date.”

I peeked at my watch. My first lecture of the day was looming. I drained the dregs of my coffee and stretched languidly. “Sorry, Jul, but I should get going. I have to head back across Queen’s Park for my children’s lit class.”

“Yeah, I should get back too. I have so much homework. This has been nice, though. I love how we can always pick up where we left off,” she said.

I smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow in class, okay? Grab me a seat if you get there before me.”

“Same goes for you. And not too far back. I’d like to have a clear view of the, um,
proceedings
, shall we say?”

“Done.”

As if I needed any extra motivation.

My lecture dragged, my fuzzy understanding of
Haroun and the Sea of Stories
making most of the content of the lesson incomprehensible. I’d tried to read the book the night before, but I’d had trouble focusing.

Daniel was already single-handedly threatening my academic success, and I’d only known him for a day and a half! I tried to banish him from my thoughts, but I caught myself checking the time at noon and doing a little jig in my seat to celebrate the fact that I’d be seeing him again in exactly twenty-four hours.

The lecture wrapped at ten to one, leaving me barely enough time to trek back to Victoria College for my two-hour French lecture. Snacks in hand, I dashed across St. Mike’s quad, following the pathways joining the two colleges.

When I reached the top of the steps bringing me into Vic’s quad, I spotted Dean Grant rushing through Victoria’s Gatehouse, returning from what must have been an extended lunch break. Then, two paces behind him, Daniel emerged from under the archway. I’d just congratulated myself for going a full forty-five minutes without thinking of him, and there he was, rubbing salt in my wounded grade point average.

Their expressions were stormy—mirror images of anger. I wondered if Dean Grant and his son ever got along. Daniel turned and caught sight of me coming up the pathway, and although it didn’t seem possible, his expression visibly darkened. He shook his head with what seemed like disgust before lightly jogging to catch up with his dad.

What the hell? Bipolar much?

I wished my arrival in the quad hadn’t coincided with Daniel’s. His pissy expression had ruined my memories of dimpled smiles and sparkling eyes. I stomped the rest of the way to my French class where I sulked through my lecture
,
making tons of notes I knew would make no sense when I tried to read them over later.

I was still fuming at three o’clock when I returned to residence, hoping like hell I’d find the apartment empty so I could mope in peace. No such luck. I was greeted by a blaring television and found Matt flaked out on the couch in sweats and a T-shirt, drinking a beer. Four empty bottles were lined up on the coffee table, and an almost empty bag of Doritos spilled out a few stray chips on the sofa cushion beside him. He glanced up as I walked in.

“Hey,” he said, the very picture of world-weariness.

I kicked off my shoes, turned the volume of the TV down a little, and plopped on the couch beside him, collecting a few Dorito crumbs in my hand and dumping them on the coffee table.

“I see you’ve moved on to stage two of the program we unattached folk like to call
Being Single Sucks Ass
.”

He offered me a wry smile. I took that as an encouraging sign.

“It’s the stage where you say, ‘Screw the snotty Kleenex,’ and skip your afternoon classes to watch
Maury Povich
while swilling beer and working on your Dorito mustache.” I laughed and leaned over to wipe the tiny orange smudges off his upper lip with my thumb.

He grabbed my hand in mid-air.

“I don’t think you want to do that, Aub.” His words were slurred, and his voice was thick.

My smile froze. “Jesus, Matt, it’s three in the afternoon! How drunk are you?” I asked, gently prying his fingers from my wrist.

“Enough to think I’m ready for stage three,” he said, a dark undertone in his voice.

“And what might that be?”

“The stage where you see if your gorgeous, green-eyed roommate wants to try again. To see if there’s any chance—”

I saw no other option than to interrupt him before he said too much.

“Okay, cowboy, you’ve had one too many wobbly pops. You’re not thinking straight.” I stood up to put some distance between us and continued to make light of the situation, even though the expression on his face suggested he wasn’t joking in the slightest.

“Have you consumed every beer on the premises, or might I actually be able to join you?” I called out as I made my way to the kitchen.

“There’s plenty left. Be my guest.”

I grabbed one of the dozen and a half or so bottles remaining in the fridge and noticed two additional empty bottles on the counter. Talk about drinking with intent.

“Wowza,” I said, heading back to the couch. “Beer at three in the afternoon. It’s like being in first year all over again.”

“Drink up,” he encouraged. “You’ve got a lot of catching up to do to get to stage three.”

I tilted my head to the side and frowned. “
Matt
,” I said, trying my best to tell him I didn’t want to go down this road again.