no rain, no flowers
things i can’t live without
May 31st:
Things I can’t live without:
Laundry on a Saturday morning. Pink roses. Pink carnations. Flowers in every room. Watercolours. Freshly washed pjs, freshly washed sheets. Melatonin gummies. Not leaving my apartment on the weekend (unless it’s to go to the countryside). Daydreaming.
Friends,
It’s a Saturday evening and I am in bed. It’s not even 8 pm, but can I tell you - there is no other place I’d rather be on a Saturday than my bed, a belly full of Pad Thai, and a glass of ice cold water beside me.
It’s weirdly chilly for May in the city - but let’s be honest - I haven’t been in the city in May for the past three years, so I can’t say that this is the coldest May we’ve had in a while. It’s probably like, 30 degrees in Rome already. And if I’m being completely honest, I do miss it.
I miss the beauty and I miss the sunsets. I miss watching everyone have their cappuccino and cornetto for 3 hours in the morning. The 9 AM cigarette. I miss imagining PN as my boyfriend. Rolling over to see his tattooed frame sleeping. It’d be past 10 AM, and we’d still be sleeping. But we’d have nothing to do, and nowhere to be.
“So. When are you going back to Rome?” MFB’s best friend asks me on Friday night. Him and MFB are both manning the bar downstairs. This is the first time I’ve seen them both behind the bar since January. And I am on my second or third cosmo.
“Honestly? My life here is the same as it is there.”
“Oh come on, Emily.” His friend smiles. “Rome isn’t Toronto.”
“No - aesthetically it’s not. But it’s the same in the sense of - lots of male drama. Just with the Colosseum as the backdrop.”
I really make myself laugh here. But, to my annoyance, neither of them find my joke as funny as I do. The problem (or solution, IMO) - is that I am so unserious.
The MFB and PN storyline have similar crossovers. Their love stories are short and intense. It’s Infatuation At First Sight. And I play dumb at first. I pretend that I don’t notice that they are interested. We then will open up to each other, and we then will always end up in bed together. I still play dumb - but only because I understand their type. And it’s a game, you see. They think they are fooling everyone, with the tough and mysterious act and outer shell.
But they, more than anyone - want to be seen. They want to be understood. They want to feel special. And this, I know I am good at. Making someone feel important, and making someone feel special. It’s the amount of questions I ask. I’m curious about people, their choices, their lives. I like to study them. I like to ask them if they’re happy. I like to ask them what they think happiness actually is. I like to ask them what it is they really want. And it’s usually somewhere along the lines of - I want to be an artist. I want to be free.
I’m wearing my favourite white babydoll Brandy dress from Rome and cowboy boots. A vintage suede bag. “The whole look is giving Chloé.” My friend tells me on a patio earlier on in the evening.
“That’s the best thing you could ever say to me.”
After meeting my friend on Ossington, I make my way over to the bar. One drink, I tell myself. And then I’ll get pasta to go.
I see MFB’s friend first and let out a sigh of relief. He gives me the biggest smile. We’ve come a long way since our tiff about Him Telling Everyone At the Bar About Me and MFB. And surprisingly, MFB seems to be in a good mood, too.
“Did you cut your hair?” I ask MFB as I hang my purse underneath the bar counter. “It looks different.”
“I’m growing it out. I kind of want it to be more of a mullet -
I make a face. “Stop.”
He starts to laugh. “Ok wait - I don’t think I’m describing it properly. I’ll show you.”
He pulls out his phone to a photo where he has longer hair. Unfortunately, he looks great with long hair.
“It’s more like…a flow.” I correct him. “And you suit it.” I try my best to hide my smile. I don’t want him to think that I’m still very much attracted to him.
I’d like to think my approval means something. “Ya. More of a flow.” He echos back. I don’t think men really understand correct hair terms.
I look around at the bar. The two couples beside me are paying. In the corner, is a group of usual girls with an older man. This group of girls usually do have older men on rotation - and I don’t blame them. Have someone else foot the bill.
I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve been out with an older man in public. I won’t count PN, because we never went “out”. But each time I found myself out for drinks or out for dinner with a man who was 10+ years or older, my mood was always an inner eye roll, because I couldn’t stop thinking about how lucky they were to be seen with me.
I pull out a book of poetry my friend bought me as an early birthday present, and show MFB’s best friend.
“No Rain, No Flowers” He reads the title. “When’s your birthday again?”
“The 14th. But I like having different friend groups so I can break up the celebrations for the entire month of June.”
There’s something about MFB and his best friend. There’s a comfort and familiarity to them. I can say whatever I want, without worrying that they’ll think something less of me. I can hang out with them sober, and I can hang out with them after 4 cosmos. And that unfiltered feeling will still be the same.
“I think he’s just…thrown off when you come. Like - he doesn’t know how to act.” My friend tells me a few weeks ago.
“I guess because this isn’t my first rodeo - my M.O. is always - act normal. Kind. Gracious. Just like nothing happened.”
“Ya, but Emily…I think he’s a bit more sensitive.”
After my fourth cosmo, I decide to become a little bit more unfiltered.
“Can I tell you something?” I ask MFB.
“Emily, you can just say it.” He’s laughing. “You always start with “Can I tell you something” - but you can just say what you have to say, without asking.”
I start laughing, too. “Ok. I decided something. I just want to be a writer, and nothing else. I want to write a book this summer.”
MFB’s friend chimes in. “You know I’ll be the first to read it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I believe in you. I really do.” You see? We have come a really long way.
“I appreciate that.” And it’s true, I do.
After me and MFB hooked up, I received a slew of text messages from his best friend. I felt pressure at the bar, I felt pressure from myself. People were talking, making side comments, asking questions. And the outside pressure is really the kiss of death for two emotionally guarded people.
“I want you guys to work out. I really do. I love him, and I love you. But you have to be honest with yourself - on what it is you actually want from him.”
“I don’t know what I want.” I respond back.
This was false. But I was scared. It was like a spotlight was being placed on me, and it wasn’t fair. Gossip is gossip, and hospitality is hospitality - but, looking back - it did awaken something in me.
MFB brings me my pasta in a takeaway box, then disappears. His friend pours me a glass of wine.
“But I didn’t order -
“Who cares. It’s free.”
(4 cosmos and a glass of red. You can just believe the headache I had today.)
“You know what I was thinking about? When you asked me what I wanted, and I told you that I didn’t know…in terms of…”
He knows what I’m talking about, and nods.
“The truth was. I did know. But I also knew that … he wasn’t going to want the same thing. So my - “I don’t know” was my default. My safety. I was protecting myself. But looking back, I wish I had just said how I felt. For myself, you know?”
“Emily, listen - I knew. I know how it feels, to care about someone. And for them to not want the same thing…” He trails off.
We look at each other, knowingly.
“Well. It’s all part of the human experience, isn’t it?” That seems to be my go-to line lately.
He comes over to where I’m sitting and gives me a hug. It’s a long hug. An, “I see you - I understand you” type of hug. It feels good, to be on the receiving end of this type of thing.
I get my purse, my box of pasta, and my early birthday gift. I see the manager (the one who I, also got mad at - lol).
“Hi Emily.” We’re both walking out of the restaurant the same time.
“Oh - are you walking me home?” I’ve really been making myself laugh tonight.
He starts laughing, too. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
I look back at the bar and do a little wave to MFB’s friend and another bartender. They smile and wave back. MFB turns his back towards me - but are any of us really surprised at that?
“I’ll see you soon.” I tell the manager.
“Probably tomorrow.”
“Probably.”
And I laugh. I laugh all the way home.