Long Story Short

Mastermind

People always say firsts should always be celebrated, but I think that’s stupid. And a lie. I’m on the verge of completing one of my firsts and I have never hated it more.

In fact, I want to throw up from the nerves.

I straighten up and close my eyes. Breathe, I tell myself. Allie, get it together. You’ll get through this.

When the announcer calls my name and beckons me forward, I gingerly step out into the applause and blinding lights.

I try to search for a familiar face in the crowd amidst the applause, but the lights are too bright to see anything beyond the edge of the stage.

I take a deep breath and adjust the microphone hooked around my ear. “Hi,” I say, my voice echoing around the auditorium. “My name is Allison Taylor. I’m a second-year PhD student at the University of British Columbia, and I’m here to talk to you about second language acquisition.”

~♡~

I take back what I said about first conferences being terrifying. This is much, much worse.

I stand behind a table as wave after wave of people approach me, asking me questions about my presentation and my research. An endless wave of people shouting my name and all I want is for it to stop.

The next person to approach me looks vaguely familiar. “Allison, right?” he asks, extending his hand.

I take it. “Allie, actually. No one really calls me Allison.”

He smiles, his dimples showing. “Allie,” he repeats thoughtfully. “I’m Henry. I think we were in the same class at one point.”

His accent is interesting—some kind of British mixed with something else. I really want to ask him about it. “Actually?” I say instead. “Are you studying linguistics, too?”

He grins adorably. “Yes! First language acquisition, actually, so not quite what you’re doing.”

“But similar enough.”

“But similar enough,” he agrees with a smile.

He’s cute. I chase that thought away, scolding myself for thinking this during a conference, of all places.

“I found a few of your points really interesting,” he continues. I know you’re still gathering data and researching, but I would love to hear more about what you have so far.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he says with a nod. “As much as I love my speciality, yours feels like the flip side of mine, only not quite. It’s like a glimpse of the other side, if you will.

"So please, tell me more about your work,” he says eagerly. “Tell me more about you, what made you choose this area of study in the first place. I’ll take you around the city. I can show you all the cool places, take you to dinner, dessert, anything, while you tell me more about your research.”

“I’m from here,” I protest. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it all.”

He shrugs. “There are a lot of hidden gems around the city I’d bet you’ve never seen before.” He pauses and cheekily adds, “But I didn’t hear you say no to the rest of my proposition.” He grins down at me. “So what do you say? 6 o’clock tomorrow, Queen Elizabeth Park?”

And I find myself saying, “Yes.”

London Boy

He sees me in the crowd first. He holds his hand up and waves at me, a bouquet in his other hand.

“You look lovely,” he says as I reach him.

“Thanks,” I say awkwardly. “You look great, too.”

It’s true. The pale blue sweater complements his eyes really well.

He feigns surprise. “Oh this old thing? Found it in the back of the closet and threw it on last-minute.”

I laugh, the tension gone. “You think your outfit was last-minute? I just bought this dress two minutes ago,” I joke.

“Did you remember to cut off the tag?”

I slap a hand to my forehead. “I knew I was forgetting something!”

He laughs and hands me the bundle of flowers. “Don’t worry, with you holding this bouquet, everyone will be looking at you and not the tag dangling off, uh, your shoulder.”

The bouquet is simple but beautiful. I tell him as such.

“Thanks. I’m not much of a flowers kind of guy but the florist said these are a nice first date kind of thing. Do you like it?”

I nod. “Absolutely.” I take a deep whiff of the flowers. “It was very thoughtful of you.”

His cheeks redden. “Thanks,” he says again.

“So, what grand plan do you have in mind for this evening?” I ask.

“I’m not telling,” he says cheekily. “All I’ll say is that it’s got multiple cool views and all these places have remained my favourite places since I’ve arrived here.”

“Where did you live before?”

“A few places, actually. I was born in Aarhus, but my family immigrated to Cardiff when I was eight. Learning Welsh on top of English was not fun.”

So that’s why his accent is so unfamiliar, I think to myself. Mystery solved.

“I moved to London for university and my parents and brother moved back to Aarhus a year later,” he continued. “I haven’t been back home since. I’ve visited them, of course, but never for too long.

“And then, three years ago, I decided to come to Vancouver to do my PhD. And that’s how I got to meet the infamous cobra chicken. And you. Not that you’re as scary as the cobra chicken, of course.”

I laugh. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes!” he says. “Until you indicate otherwise, I will assume you are nicer than the geese. Which is a really low bar, considering they have teeth on their tongue and hiss at you excessively. And that’s my life story in a nutshell,” he finishes. “Any questions?”

“Yes, one.” I look at him, incredulous. “Three years and you swear you already know all the best spots in the city?

He grins. “Absolutely. You ready for the best tour of your life?” he asks, extending his arm out to me.

Daylight

The garden is our very first stop. “This,” he tells me proudly, “is my favourite place in the city. And the best view you’ll probably ever see!”

I stare out at the barren trees and the freshy-placed soil in confusion. I open my mouth to protest but then the backdrop of the garden catches my eye.

An unending mountain range towers menacingly over a rippling blue sea. A sea, a voice says in the back of my mind, as blue as his eyes. I chase that thought away and look out again to the scene in front of me. The sun, just beginning to set, sits between two mountains. The sky is pink and orange, the occasional cotton ball of a cloud adorning the sky. A lone boat is on the water, moving towards the mountains without so much of a glance backwards.

“I know the garden isn’t much,” he says, as if reading my mind. “But as I’m sure you’ve figured out, the garden isn’t the focus here. Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous,” I breathe.

“There’s something cooler that compliments this.” He leads me to a nearby plaque. “See here?” he asks. “It’s a map of the mountains, flowers, and trees in front of us. I know the flowers are non-existent right now,” he adds hastily, “but you can see everything else.”

I look at the bronze carvings of the trees and their names and try to match it to the ones in front of me. “Is it just me or do they all look the same?”

He laughs. “Nope, I agree. That’s why I gave up a long time ago and decided to just focus on matching the mountains with the map. I haven’t figured it all out because it’s hard to see where one ends and another begins. Here’s what I’ve figured out so far.” He points to a mountain in the distance. “This one is Enchantment Mountain because that’s the last short mountain before West Crown, which is right next to it. And this one”—he points to one to the right—“is Mount Fromme. It looks like a butt. That’s how I always know,” he says with a chuckle.

I try to find the mountain peak that looks like a butt. “Is Mount Fromme the one that’s sticking out from a bunch of flat mountains?”

He beams at me. “Yes! That’s the one.”

“It really does look like a butt. That description was very helpful.”

He turns towards me in excitement. “You’re actually the first person to agree with me on this! When my parents came to visit me last year, I showed them this and my mum said I was being crazy.”

I shake my head. “You’re not. That’s an incredibly accurate description. I think she’s just mad she couldn’t find Mount Fromme.”

He laughs. “Maybe. Do you want to try to point one out by yourself?”

I stare at the jagged carvings on the plaque. “Uh …” I say, suddenly at a loss for words.

He grins. “It’s a bit overwhelming at first, I know. But it’s a nice place to sit and just focus on the mountains and nothing else. We can come back here again and spend as long as we want looking at the mountains.”

My mind catches on the ‘again’. He seems to, too. “I mean … if you want,” he says quickly, his voice trying to hide the panic.

This flustered side of him is so different from the smooth, confident person he normally is. It’s cute. “I would love to,” I tell him.

And I mean it.

Invisible String

For years, I have seen food bloggers sing high praises about this restaurant, but I never thought that I’d be able to see it up close, let alone step foot inside. The line-ups were always too long and the crowds were always too much.

His voice breaks into my thoughts. “In your presentation, you mentioned that one of your favourite foods was sushi. You didn’t mention any of the other favourite foods you had, so my options were pretty limited.” He looks at me, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. “Do you like this place?”

“I’ve never been,” I tell him truthfully. “I’m not a big fan of crowds so I always avoided this place. Also,” I add, noting the change of expression in his face, “I always felt I wasn’t bougie enough for this place.”

He grins. “That makes two of us. I’m pretty sure I’m half a flyaway hair away from being kicked out of this place.” After a pause, he asks, “Are you okay with the crowds right now?”

I look around. It’s less packed than I expected, which is strange considering it’s a Friday evening. “I think I’m okay.”

“Good,” he says, the relief palpable in his voice. “Let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

I nod. “Don’t worry too much,” I assure him. “I’ll be fine.”

When the hostess calls his name and beckons for us to follow her, he offers his hand out to me. I accept. His hands are incredibly soft and they fit around mine perfectly.

“Ready for the best dinner of our lives?” he asks, a twinkle in his eyes.

I nod in response, but my mind is still focused on his incredibly soft hands. I don’t want to let go, ever.

And then he leads me into the crowd, his body creating a divide in the sea for me to walk through.

~♡~

As the restaurant comes to a close and the servers begin clearing our table, it surprises us. Time seemed to stop around us and neither of us bothered to step back into the flow of time.

“I just realised that we never got around to talking about your research,” he says ruefully. “I really wanted to hear all about it, but I got too caught up talking about everything else.”

I grin. “I guess we’ll need a second date to fulfil that second part of our agreement. That’s the only reason, of course. Nothing else,” I say jokingly.

His eyes light up in delight.

Sweet Nothing

“Think you have room for dessert?” he asks as we step into the glittering April night. A lone lamppost illuminates the cobblestone street—”One of the few streets left in Vancouver that still has true cobblestone,” he told me earlier, pride in his voice.

“Of course!” I exclaim.

He grins. “Excellent. My favourite ice cream place is a few minutes away from here.”

We walk through the streets in a comfortable silence, his hands clutched in mine. A gentle breeze from the sea carries through the harbour, gently ruffling his dark hair.

“Are you cold?” he suddenly asks, his breath visible in the air.

“A bit,” I admit, pulling my jacket closer to my body.

Without hesitation, he takes off his grey scarf and gently wraps it around me. “Here,” he says, tying a knot at the front. “This should warm you up.”

I look at the plaid pattern on the cloth, and then back at him. “Thanks. I feel warmer already,” I tell him truthfully. “Will you be cold, though?”

He shakes his head. “My jacket is warm, and so is my sweater. Don’t worry about me.” He gives me a smile and squeezes my hand. “There’s the ice cream shop,” he says, pointing to a purple-and-white store across from us.

I grimace a bit. “I’m sorry to announce that I have, in fact, been here before. I grew up by another Rain or Shine location so I went there a lot.”

His face falls a bit. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“No, no. Don’t worry!” I reassure him. “I’m one of the boring people who orders the same flavour over and over again. You can choose what flavour I get this time.”

He brightens. “Sounds like a plan.” He looks at me in disbelief. “But also, how do you live with yourself, knowing that you’re missing out on so many other amazing flavours?”

I shrug. “I just really like London Fogs. Latte, ice cream, cake … you name it.”

He rolls his eyes, a smile on his face. “Oh, so, if there was a London Fog-themed toilet, you’d buy it?”

A giggle escapes out of me. “Absolutely.”

He sighs, mockingly shaking his head at me. “A lost cause, you are,” he comments. He grins at me. “Ready to not have a London Fog ice cream for the first time ever?”

~♡~

The bell above us lets out a gentle tinkle as I push the door open. The sweet aroma of ice cream washes over me; I close my eyes and breathe it in, content.

I hear him chuckle. “Allie, we’re here to eat the ice cream, not just smell it.”

I open an eye and stare at him. “Shh,” I say, closing my eye again. “Just for a minute more.”

He laughs. “Alright, but then I’m going to have to move you to the side so we don’t block the other people coming into the store. Okay?”

“Okay.” I say, nodding. Then, I add, “And stop talking!”

He laughs again. “Okay.” He places his hands on my shoulder and gently navigates me somewhere to the right of the store.

Finally, I sigh, fulfilled, and open my eyes. He’s staring at me, an amused smile on his face.

“What?”

He shakes his head, the smile never disappearing. “Nothing,” he says as we walk towards the cashier. “You were just entertaining to watch. I’ve never seen someone so in love with the smell of ice cream.

“Hi,” he says to the cashier. “Two single-scoop ice cream cones, please.”

“Sure,” the teenager says. “What flavours?”

“A Malted Milk Chocolate for me, and …” He looks over at me. “And for her, a scoop of Honey Lavender, please.”

~♡~

Later that night, after he takes me back home and bids me farewell, I get a text from him.

Hey, you forgot your scrunchie! He sends me a picture of the black-and-white scrunchie, now on his wrist.

How did I lose it? I text back.

He sends me a shrug emoji. I just found it in my car. A pause, then, When do you want it back?

I smile. Give it to me on our next date ;)

And that’s the first thing of mine that I leave behind.

Paris-dise

Over time, more and more pieces of my life intertwine with his.

A toothbrush. A phone charger. A stuffed animal from my childhood. The sweater he got me for Christmas. My favourite book. And then another.

This change is gradual, an unspoken agreement welcomed by us both. As more of my things migrate to his place, a space magically clears to hold it.

I still have my own place, of course, but his is where I find heaven and eternal peace.

Peace

The call happens during our weekly walk through Queen Elizabeth Park.

“Who was that?” he asks after I hang up.

I sigh and look at the Caller ID one more time. “Just a researcher,” I say, sliding my phone into my pocket. “From the University of Zurich. She invited me to discuss my project with her research team. They’re interested in hearing more about my work.”

“Switzerland?” he repeats, incredulous. “That’s great! When do you leave?”

“Who said I was leaving?”

He shrugs, his eyes full of pride and delight. “Allie, it’s Switzerland. Land of chocolate, mountains, and … oh, I don’t know, opportunity? You should go.”

“Henry, it’s not a conference,” I say. “It’s not one of those weeklong conferences where I’m spending half my time nerding out about my project to other nerds and the other half stuffing my face with food. They’re inviting me to … to work there. Permanently. Or, at least, until the year it’s over.”

“So?”

“It’s February right now. That’s eight months until December. Eight. That’s a really, really long time.”

“So?” he asks again. “This is huge! This is an opportunity of a lifetime. Plus,” he adds, “I know you’ve been wanting to go to Switzerland. You keep talking about the chocolate there.”

“And the mountains.”

He grins. “And the mountains,” he agrees. “Even if it’s an afterthought.”

“Hey!” I protest. “You can go to Google Images to see the Swiss mountains. You can’t exactly go to Google Images to taste the chocolate.”

“Maybe if you concentrate hard enough and lick the screen, it’ll work,” he jokes. His face quickly turns serious again. “Allie, I can tell something’s holding you back. It’s not like you to hesitate. You’ve been working so hard on this project for months and now, you’ve found others who are equally as passionate about this work, your work. Normally, you’d be jumping up and down in excitement. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

I take a deep breath. “I don’t want to leave you behind. I can’t do that. I don’t think I’d be able to enjoy Switzerland without you. But I can’t just ask you to give up everything for me. You built a life here. I can’t just ask you to abandon it just so I can chase my dreams halfway across the world. You deserve to go after your dreams, too.

“And I know how stupid it sounds,” I say quickly, my words tripping and tumbling over each other in my haste to let it out. “I know how stupid it is, the thought of giving up everything I’ve worked so hard for, for you. Or anyone.

“But I just don’t think that I’ll ever be satisfied with my work if I have to leave you behind. You’re just as important to me as my work is. Perhaps even more.”

He stays silent, contemplating my words. “What are you going to do, then?” he finally asks, his calm gaze trained on me.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“I have a suggestion, if you’re willing to listen to it.”

I nod. “Anything.”

He takes a step towards me, then another. “Marry me,” he says, his voice suddenly soft.

My heart understands before my mind does. “W-what?” I say, my heart pounding in my chest. “What did you say?”

He cradles my cheek in his hands, his crystal blue eyes full of longing. “Marry me,” he repeats.

“Be the face I see every morning when I wake up. Tell me your fears, your struggles, your dreams, and I will engrave each and every one into my heart.

“Never give me peace. Never give me that quiet, suburban life. You’re not meant for that, anyway,” he says with a smile. “I can’t imagine you being a soccer mom.”

I laugh through my tears. “Me neither.”

He gives me a kiss and gently wipes away the trail of tears on my cheeks. “Be the calm in my storm, the undying fire of my heart. Be whomever you want, whatever you want, as long as you’re with me, because I don’t want to live in a world without you by my side.

“I finished defending my thesis last semester,” he says. “There’s nothing tying me to this place, except you.

“Marry me,” he says again. “I’ll gladly go with you wherever your heart desires. Just let me be a part of your life, from now until forever.” He rests his forehead against mine, his gaze never leaving me. “What do you say?”

Afterglow

Six Years Later

I never wanted to think of an ‘after you’, but now I have to.

How do I carry around a person I’ve committed to memory? How do I know every cadence of a laughter I won’t be able to hear anymore? How do my fingers know every curvature of a face I’m not able to feel anymore? How do I forget the voice that brings me home?

How can I go anywhere I want except to the one place I want to be?

I close my eyes, the bask of the warm sun unable to soften the heartbreak inside. The sea is lonely and grey, as if mourning with me.

I look towards the mountains, wishing for the calm he said he felt, but I feel only desolation.

I think of us, sitting side-by-side on the very bench I sit alone on now, laughing and talking as the hours go by, but feeling as though only minutes passed. I remember how I looked over at you and felt only peace.

I remember your hand searching for mine.

I remember your head on my shoulder.

I remember our whispered vows to each other in the dark.

I remember it all too well.

If only I had held onto you for a second longer. If only I had said one more vow to you. If only I pulled you in tighter. Maybe everything would have been different.

Maybe we would have survived all the great wars.

And maybe we would be here, together again, in our favourite part of the city, years after we were here for the first time.

Or maybe, it just never was.