I sit on the patio of Future Bakery waiting for him. Chilly, still. No leaves. But everybody, the bikes, a skirt flapping back off a thigh, the army boot touching down, a full stop. Red light, the bicycle. He’ll come around the corner. The cars are splats, blue, red, blooming and contracting in the big wall of glass beside me. Zoom. The girl on the bike, flicking through, gone. There he is, take him in. Take his measure. A shirt, some snazzy thing he’s got on. We never hug; I hug him. Because I decided to. I’m starting to feel my age. A nostalgia for things that haven’t happened yet. Or they’ve happened at such a velocity that I’m left behind, still waiting for them. Anticipation so heightened it makes my funny bone ring. I’m going to hug Jeremy from now on, every time I see him. I’m never going to not hug. Not just him, everybody. A new me, a hugging me. I came to Toronto because I hadn’t seen Lily and Marco for so long, because I had some money, to get away from the baby, drink coffee at Lily’s kitchen table, eat things.
