Roadside Attractions

Thirty-One

TORONTO, ON

The Toronto Pearson airport is packed, as per usual. I’ve been in crowds several times over the past couple of weeks, but it feels different here somehow, more disorienting.

As I retrieve my bag from baggage claim, I blink, trying to make my surroundings come into focus while also attempting to wrap my head around the fact that this morning, I was in Tofino with Wyatt, then Vancouver. And now I’m here. Without him.

Even though I knew what flying home meant, I still feel out of sorts, like there’s an empty space beside me where Wyatt should be. I keep having the urge to turn to him, to joke about how the old man who sat diagonally across from me on my flight looked strikingly like George, or ask him where we should get dinner, or lean my head on his shoulder for the sole purpose of being engulfed by the smell of his cologne. But I’m home.

This knowledge sits oddly in my chest. On the one hand, I feel a sweeping sense of relief, knowing it won’t be much longer before I step foot through the familiar doors of my apartment and all of this Roman stuff is laid to rest. But on the other hand, I don’t want to walk into my place and think of my ex-boyfriend. And I can’t help but feel like I have unfinished business, knowing that Wyatt is still on the opposite side of the country.

Our last communication was a quick text I fired off the second my plane landed, and his response was a simple, glad you made it. I’m the one who asked for space, but God, I already hate it. I feel like I’ve inadvertently built up a wall between us after he spent so long trying to knock it down.

Heaving a sigh, I grab my suitcase from the baggage carousel, then wheel it behind me as I head toward the exit. I scan the faces around me, looking for one in particular.

I barely have a chance to meet her eyes before she’s crashing into me, pulling me into a bear hug that has me gasping for breath. After I’ve steadied myself in her arms, I will myself not to fall into a puddle of tears at her feet.

“There’s my baby,” Noor says, nearly sending my resolve over the edge.

I squeeze her tighter, breathing in the familiar scent of roses. “You have no idea how much I missed you.” Getting to throw my arms around my best friend makes me feel better about being back here.

“Um, I think I have an idea,” she argues, pulling back enough to look me in the eyes. “I feel like you’ve been gone my entire life.”

My laugh comes out more like a tearful hiccup. “We’ve spent most of this summer missing each other—let’s break that pattern.”

“Consider me attached to your hip from this point forward,” Noor says, falling into step beside me and flinging her arm around my shoulder.

We meander through the airport before boarding the train to Union Station. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve used public transit, but there’s no navy blue Toyota for me to jump into.

Noor and I sit side by side, and I let her have the window seat because I know she loves it. I can feel that she has a plethora of questions for me on the tip of her tongue, but to her credit, she holds them back. All she knows is I saw Roman, got the money, and left Wyatt behind. I don’t feel ready to talk about it all yet .

“By the way, I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d be glued to your side,” she remarks. “As a reward for dutifully caring for all your plants while you were away, I’ve decided I should live on your couch for the foreseeable future.”

“You don’t have to babysit me, Noor,” I say amicably. “As much as I love having you around.”

She blinks. “Did I mention anything about babysitting? I need a break from my roommates. Plus, staying at your place makes my commute, like, fifteen minutes shorter.”

“In that case, stay as long as you like,” I tell her, heart warming. I always feel so understood when I’m with Noor. She knew without asking that I wouldn’t want to be alone, but I’d never make her stay with me if she didn’t want to. So I’ll play along, pretend she’s being selfish, when really, she’s the most selfless person I know.

After arriving at Union Station, we call an Uber to take us to my apartment, and I watch the city in the late afternoon light from my window. I know it won’t take long before I settle into my old life, and the memories of the trip will begin to fade, blurring around the edges, but right now, I feel out of place. Like I’m walking down a staircase, but I keep missing a step, then catching myself.

Noor does her best to keep me distracted, filling me in on everything I missed while I was away and demanding that I pack her in my suitcase the next time I go on vacation. When we get to my apartment, I’m so exhausted I could weep.

In the elevator, I close my eyes on an exhale, leaning against the wall.

“By the way,” Noor says casually. “Is it in poor taste if I tell you how fucking hot you look?”

The words catch me off guard, and I snort, batting my eyelashes at her. “Why would that be in poor taste? I enjoy compliments.”

Her lips twitch. “Well, you are wallowing in the dredges of heartbreak right now,” she elaborates. “But I gotta say, it’s working for you. You’re practically glowing.”

I bark out a laugh. “I think I’m just sunburned.”

“Either way, keep it up.”

I give her a mock salute, and she bumps her hip into mine as the elevator door slides open on my floor. The smell of a variety of different cuisines permeates the air. It used to be one of the things I liked the least about this place, but now it smells like home.

Noor follows me as I unlock the door to my place, step over the threshold, and flick on the light switch. I stop short.

For a second, I seriously question whether or not I waltzed into the wrong apartment.

My living room has been rearranged and newly decorated—throw pillows and blankets in warm, earthy tones are strewn over the couches, matching abstract artwork has replaced the black-and-white portraits of Parisian streets, and string lights have been hung around the perimeter of the ceiling.

Frowning, I turn on my heel, facing Noor, who looks like she’s holding her breath. I lift an eyebrow, gesturing to the room. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Did you move in while I was away?”

“Not exactly,” she says, exhaling and stepping deeper into the apartment. For a moment, she looks insecure. “I moved some things around, changed it up in here a bit. I just. . . I didn’t want you to walk in and feel like it was still his apartment. This is all yours now.”

The sentiment smacks me in the chest. I abandon my suitcase by the door, wandering the apartment with new eyes, cataloguing every change Noor made. All the things I love about this place remain intact, and yet, it feels different. Better.

Every inch of Roman Prescott has been scrubbed from the apartment.

“Well?” Noor asks, hovering behind me. “What do you think?”

I whirl around in her direction, and her face falls when she sees the tears streaming down mine until I say, “I love it.”

“You do?”

“This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me,” I manage, wrapping my arms around her neck in a chokehold-slash-hug. “You’re amazing. I love you so much.”

She squeezes back tightly, melting in relief. “I love you too, bitch. You’re my person. I’d do anything for you.” Her voice breaks a little on the last word, and the sound chokes me up all over again.

From this vantage point, I have a view into the kitchen—and the fridge, more specifically, where she’s stuck on Post-it notes of encouraging words and photos of us together over the years.

I’m hit with an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude for my best friend, for the way we’ve been there for each other through our darkest times, the way we draw strength from each other, how safe and comfortable I feel in her presence. No matter what we do, whether it’s going out for a night of drag performances, sharing our work drama over coffee outside on a patio, or sitting at home doing nothing, life makes a lot more sense when we’re together.

An idea comes to me, so perfect and wonderful, I don’t know how I didn’t think of it sooner. I pull back, gripping her shoulders. “Move in with me,” I say.

She looks at me as if I’ve grown another head. “Huh?”

“You should move in with me, for real,” I push. “How perfect would it be to live together?”

“Stells,” she says, removing my hands from her shoulders. “I was kidding about staying on your couch for the foreseeable future. I meant, like, a few days, tops.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not talking about you living on my couch. I can clear out the office for you, make it your bedroom.”

She laughs shortly. “You’re so sweet,” she remarks. “But you just got this place all to yourself. You have the chance to make it your home. I don’t want to take that away from you.”

“Noor, please. You’d be doing me a favour,” I insist. “You’ve already made it feel like so much more of a home than before. Besides, it would be perfect . Roman already paid me for his share of the rent, we could just split what’s left in half.”

Noor fidgets with her fingers, looking torn. “You’ve always wanted to live alone, I don’t know. . . plus, I already have a place I’m paying rent for.”

“Sublet your room,” I say simply, then grab her face between my hands, levelling her with a serious look. “Move in with me.”

“Jesus, you’re pushy,” she teases.

“Do I have to get on my knees and beg you to be my roommate?”

Noor raises her eyebrows. “Hot.”

Laughter bursts from my lips, and I let her go. “Fuck off. And then move in with me.” There’s a flicker of excitement in her eyes now, clearly beginning to understand that I’m one hundred percent serious about this. “You love this place as much as I do. You hate your roommates. You’ll be closer to work. You get to live with me. Rent will be so cheap if we split it. There are literally no downsides to this offer.”

Her dark eyes scan the apartment fondly. “I do love this place. . .” she trails off wistfully.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just act like the part where you get to live with me isn’t the best incentive of all those things I just listed.”

“Of course I’d love to live with you, Stella,” she chides. “That would help with the whole ‘glued to your side’ thing. It just seems too good to be true.”

“Let’s just lean into it,” I say. “The universe owes us one.”

“You’re so right,” she agrees. “The universe should be the one on its knees, begging our forgiveness.”

“I vote we take the olive branch the universe is extending. How about it, roomie?” I hold my hand out for her to shake. “Do we have a deal?”

A smile blooms on Noor’s face. “Hell yeah, we do.”

And just like that, the apartment stops belonging to Roman, and it feels as though we’ve purged the place, gotten rid of all the bad. Like the villain in the storybook has been chased away, back into its hole, and we’ve closed the book, put a padlock around it, and thrown away the key.

Roman was the one who wanted to close this chapter, and now I’ve officially written him out of the story.