her. After a minute, she looked up. “Um, I’m reading here,” she said.
“Right,” Lucas said. He went back to the counter, picked up the labels and started sticking them, one by one, on the backs of the books.
––
“God, Lucas, for someone who works with superheroes all day, you have no imagination.” That was Laure, during a game of Pictionary against Dave and Julie one Saturday night the previous winter. The subject was SpongeBob SquarePants. Lucas had spent the whole time drawing an exact, detailed replica of SpongeBob, who apparently Laure had never even heard of and thought that Lucas
should have known
that she wouldn’t have heard of him, and because of this he should have taken the drawing in a more abstract direction. Later, in their bedroom, the fight ballooned, and suddenly it wasn’t just his approach to Pictionary that lacked vision, but his entire life.
“Why are we at home on a Saturday night playing Pictionary with Dumb and Dumber, anyway?” Lucas asked. “It’s like we’re fucking retired.” Even before Laure said anything, Lucas knew he had made a mistake. A tub of moisturizer flew past his face.
“Because you didn’t want to go anywhere!” she screamed. “You
never
want to go anywhere!”
“Laure,” Lucas said. He tried to wrap his arms around her while she pummelled him against his chest. “Where do you want to go?”
She wrenched herself away and stared at him, wet-faced and angry. “Spain,” she said. “I want to go to Spain.”
Lucas, who had been expecting a “somewhere fun” or “away from here” or something like that, was thrown off by her specificity. “Uh, okay,” he said. “Why … what’s in Spain?”
Laure sat on the bed with her back turned to him, wiping at her face with the palms of her hands. “Nothing,” she said. “Forget it. Just go get ready for bed.” She lay down and curled herself into a ball. She still wouldn’t look at him.
While he was brushing his teeth, Lucas tried to imagine himself surprising Laure with two plane tickets. She would probably think it was romantic. He tried to think of what airline would fly to Spain. Would there be direct flights from Toronto? Or would they have to switch planes in London? What if they had a long stopover there? Would they have to change their money to pounds, and then to whatever kind of money they used in Spain? What kind of money
did
they use in Spain? The whole thing just seemed so complicated. Later, when he had crawled into bed next to Laure, he decided maybe he’d just take her to a Spanish restaurant. Or Mexican, even. Yes. Mexican would probably be the best idea.
A few weeks after Casey and her mom had moved in, Lucas opened the apartment door to find Pearl scrubbing vomit out of the carpet in the hall. He got down on his knees to help her, the stench curdling his earlier cup of coffee in his stomach.
“She’s going through a rough time right now,” Pearl said. “The divorce was bad enough, but when Dylan chose to live with her father …” Pearl stopped. “I’m sorry, dear. You don’t want to hear this.”
“It’s fine,” Lucas said, breathing in through his mouth.
Pearl looked at him. “I know Casey’s been hanging around the store all the time, Lucas. I’m sorry if it’s been a burden.”
Lucas dropped a paper towel into the Loblaws bag Pearl had brought out for garbage. “Pearl, don’t even worry about it. I barely notice her.”
“I just – I don’t know what to do with her.” Pearl stopped scrubbing and Lucas saw that she was crying. He started picking up the rest of the paper towels and stuffing them in thebag, slowly moving away from her. Pearl took a piece of paper towel and blew her nose. “She’s just so much like … Nate …” She sat back on her knees and looked at Lucas. “You’re a good boy, Lucas,” she said. “That girl of yours is a fool for leaving.”
Lucas stood up. “I’m going to, I mean, I’m on my way to Falucci’s
“Right,” Lucas said. He went back to the counter, picked up the labels and started sticking them, one by one, on the backs of the books.
––
“God, Lucas, for someone who works with superheroes all day, you have no imagination.” That was Laure, during a game of Pictionary against Dave and Julie one Saturday night the previous winter. The subject was SpongeBob SquarePants. Lucas had spent the whole time drawing an exact, detailed replica of SpongeBob, who apparently Laure had never even heard of and thought that Lucas
should have known
that she wouldn’t have heard of him, and because of this he should have taken the drawing in a more abstract direction. Later, in their bedroom, the fight ballooned, and suddenly it wasn’t just his approach to Pictionary that lacked vision, but his entire life.
“Why are we at home on a Saturday night playing Pictionary with Dumb and Dumber, anyway?” Lucas asked. “It’s like we’re fucking retired.” Even before Laure said anything, Lucas knew he had made a mistake. A tub of moisturizer flew past his face.
“Because you didn’t want to go anywhere!” she screamed. “You
never
want to go anywhere!”
“Laure,” Lucas said. He tried to wrap his arms around her while she pummelled him against his chest. “Where do you want to go?”
She wrenched herself away and stared at him, wet-faced and angry. “Spain,” she said. “I want to go to Spain.”
Lucas, who had been expecting a “somewhere fun” or “away from here” or something like that, was thrown off by her specificity. “Uh, okay,” he said. “Why … what’s in Spain?”
Laure sat on the bed with her back turned to him, wiping at her face with the palms of her hands. “Nothing,” she said. “Forget it. Just go get ready for bed.” She lay down and curled herself into a ball. She still wouldn’t look at him.
While he was brushing his teeth, Lucas tried to imagine himself surprising Laure with two plane tickets. She would probably think it was romantic. He tried to think of what airline would fly to Spain. Would there be direct flights from Toronto? Or would they have to switch planes in London? What if they had a long stopover there? Would they have to change their money to pounds, and then to whatever kind of money they used in Spain? What kind of money
did
they use in Spain? The whole thing just seemed so complicated. Later, when he had crawled into bed next to Laure, he decided maybe he’d just take her to a Spanish restaurant. Or Mexican, even. Yes. Mexican would probably be the best idea.
A few weeks after Casey and her mom had moved in, Lucas opened the apartment door to find Pearl scrubbing vomit out of the carpet in the hall. He got down on his knees to help her, the stench curdling his earlier cup of coffee in his stomach.
“She’s going through a rough time right now,” Pearl said. “The divorce was bad enough, but when Dylan chose to live with her father …” Pearl stopped. “I’m sorry, dear. You don’t want to hear this.”
“It’s fine,” Lucas said, breathing in through his mouth.
Pearl looked at him. “I know Casey’s been hanging around the store all the time, Lucas. I’m sorry if it’s been a burden.”
Lucas dropped a paper towel into the Loblaws bag Pearl had brought out for garbage. “Pearl, don’t even worry about it. I barely notice her.”
“I just – I don’t know what to do with her.” Pearl stopped scrubbing and Lucas saw that she was crying. He started picking up the rest of the paper towels and stuffing them in thebag, slowly moving away from her. Pearl took a piece of paper towel and blew her nose. “She’s just so much like … Nate …” She sat back on her knees and looked at Lucas. “You’re a good boy, Lucas,” she said. “That girl of yours is a fool for leaving.”
Lucas stood up. “I’m going to, I mean, I’m on my way to Falucci’s
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