By Lucy

My alarm woke me up at 6. I dragged myself to the free breakfast downstairs and put something together. As I finished up, someone came down and grabbed the last luggage trolley.

Bollocks.

The clerk at the front desk offered to have housekeeping check for the other trolleys. I mean… it’s 6 AM! The only reason all the trolleys would be missing was if people just kept them in their rooms after checking in last night, which is terribly rude.

We had no luck, so I started walking stuff down to the car. Maybe I should have asked Duff for a hand last night so I only had one or two things to pack up today. Too late now. I finally got a trolley for the last little bit, but by then it was 7:30. Later than I meant to be on the road, but at least with my car filled up, my tires retorqued, and I was on the East edge of town. Once I was on the road I was flying.

With my new shocks and struts, I could finally appreciate the straight, flat Prairie highway.

I could also feel the shaking from the cupping in the wheels.

About an hour outside of town, I had my first encounter with deer. A doe sprinted up to the highway, but I saw her coming a way away and there was no one around me, so I simply slowed down. As she approached the highway, she saw me coming and apparently decided against it. She turned around and went the other way.

It was a nice day for driving, overcast and not too windy (rare for Saskatchewan). I checked the radar and the bulk of the rain was expected to stay ahead of me.

The scenery was more of what I expected from the Prairies. Long grass waving in the breeze. Fields of yellow canola flowers, practically glowing beneath the dark clouds.

As I came up to Brandon, I encountered another deer. A stag, who didn’t even bother looking left or right as he bolted across the highway. I also saw him a while off and tapped the breaks to let him pass. Not even three hours on the road and two deer? That does not bode well.

The clouds broke up somewhat as I got deeper into Manitoba, but the sun was behind me at this point, so I wasn’t baking. A good chunk of the construction I had encountered on the way out was finished, it was quicker going by Winnipeg this time. A quick stop after the bypass and back on the road again.

I had checked my tires each time I stopped, and took a picture just to compare the wear, but there was barely anything from Regina to Winnipeg. The road was flat, straight, and empty – I was unsure if there would be long weekend traffic, but there wasn’t. With the cruise control on and the traction control off, the kilometers slipped by like nothing.

I don’t get homesick, and I definitely wasn’t now, but I won’t deny I was glad to see the rolling hills and evergreen forests of northern Ontario. The endless, shifting sky isn’t something I prefer.

Spring had sprung while I was gone, apparently. Isn’t June past spring? Welcome to the real great white north, I suppose. The ditches and fields were alive with clusters of yellow birdsfoot, white asters and Queen Anne’s lace, and tall cones of purple loosestrife.

Purple loosestrife is pretty, but invasive in North America. I thought they’d gone through a process to remove it? Must be just in southern Ontario.

I finally encountered rain, a few absolutely black clouds rolled overhead. It was just a burst here and there, the storms rolling overhead faster than I was driving.

The smell of the mill hit me – vinegary, overboiled broccoli. Then I came around the bend. There was a dark raincloud behind the mill, but the sun was behind me. It conjured a rainbow over the mill. I smiled.

There was a deer parked outside the Subway. The shaking had subsided, which made me nervous, because it meant the wear on the tires was finally starting to even out the cupping. I checked all four tires, but I still couldn’t see the wear bar. Still, if anything were to go wrong, this would be the worst time for it. It would be dark soon, and there’d be moose.

The Vagabond called me as I was eating dinner. We talked for a bit. He was nervous about me making the last leg, especially humorous since I had done the run at midnight. Not for the first time, I wondered if he had ordered Eli to go with me.

“I know you’re a tough bitch, but none of us are invincible, meathead.”

Meathead is an insult of endearment between us. When I had asked him about when he had first noticed me, he said; the orientation at the hotel. But not that I was a pretty young woman, or my red hair. He noticed the determined scowl on my face, mirroring his own. He called me a meathead and started listing off traits I have, and I laughed. “You’re describing yourself, you know!”

“I know! Cuz I’m a meathead too!”

He’s right, I’m not invincible. But I’m also not stupid. I’m well rested, and I know it’s a marathon, not a sprint. Take it slow, watch for moose.

Admittedly, I was less gung-ho as the sun slipped below the horizon. The rain whipped up again and I started seeing phantoms. Every bush by the side of the highway was a moose, waiting to cut my journey short. Would the rain keep the moose away?

It was past midnight by the time I arrived in town. I went right to the Vagabond’s place.

I expected him to be waiting at the door, but he was flaked out on the couch as I stomped in. He wanted to talk, but I just wanted to sleep. I curled up in bed and he followed me, wrapping me up in a cuddle so tight I felt like I was in a straightjacket. He kept babbling and I replied as best I could until I finally drifted off. I woke up still wrapped in his arms.

The first words he said to me in the morning were “Did you put on weight?”

I burst out into hysterical laughter. I care less than the average woman, but I imagine most women would not take kindly to being told they look like they put on a few pounds. “I don’t know, I haven’t weighed myself! It is, also, almost that time of the month.”

“Oh, do you swell up? Your face is a little rounder, that’s all.”

One of the few things I really, truly dislike about him is that he’s one of those “brutally honest” people. His opinion is that something can’t be hurtful if it’s objectively true. He can and does button it around people he knows it’ll offend, but not around me. For some reason. I do tell him I find it hurtful, so it’s not that. Although this doesn’t bother me, I do appreciate being told something has changed about my appearance, especially with my health problems.

I checked my phone and had some angry texts from Duff. I smiled. Presumably he had gotten drunk enough to finally admit he had wanted me to stay. Sorry, Duff.

After I got out of bed and made myself breakfast, the Vagabond wrapped me in his arms. He apologized profusely for his angry tirade before I left, and swore it wouldn’t happen again.

It wasn’t even necessarily the outburst itself so much as the surprise about-turn. Months of silence, then a tsunami of emotion.

“When is your doctor’s appointment again?”

“July 19th. You’ll be back in Geraldton…” I trailed off.

He nodded. “I’ve thought about it. I wanted to go, if it was when I was in town.”

WOW!

He has been thinking. It was a lot to process. Things were happening in leaps and bounds!

In the afternoon, I went back to my place to pay rent and unpack the car. The Vagabond had already made plans for dinner, so I knew he expected me back. He asked me to drive him to the shop to pick up his bike, but when I said I had to go out, he said he’d just drive himself in the truck and we could grab the truck later. Why? Don’t be silly, I’ll be back soon.

I packed up what I needed for a night and headed back. The truck was gone.

Meathead!

I got a text: what size top are you?

Half angry, half smiling, I replied “I don’t want a t-shirt, I wanted you to wait! I wanted to meet the guys at the shop!”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

No, you won’t! What I want is to end this silly dance; being afraid of his feelings for me, being afraid to love and trust me, or being afraid of people judging us for being together. But there was no real use in being angry. I hopped back in the car and went to Wendy’s to get a burger. Then I went to the market to get some honey. I sat in the parking lot, listening to the buskers and eating my burger, until I got a text asking me where I was.

I jumped back in the car and went back to his place. He was waiting on the deck, grinning sheepishly.

He stays up far later than I do. I’m on the fence about forcing myself to stay up to keep him company. It’s one thing when we’re just spending the weekend, but I’m not going to change the way I live long term and this is tending towards that. Balance will need to be established sooner rather than later. I was yawning a lot and he offered me some… umm… scaffolder’s candy.

Not the first time he’s done that, and it’s always pretty casual. “Want some?” “No.” Conversation moves on.

This time, he asked me with more feeling. “Try some? Not for me -“

I cut him off with a laugh. “The only reason I’d try it is for you. I’m not interested otherwise.”

He thought for a minute.

“I’d like you to try some, then, for me.”

I’m not sure why, but people have this impression of me that I have a secret side. They can’t believe I’m just the way I am. Often people try to get me intoxicated, drunk or otherwise, to try and coax out the deep dark secrets or hidden side I just don’t have.

I did a tiny little bit. I felt more awake right away, the way coffee is supposed to make you feel, but doesn’t to me. I could feel something else, euphoria I suppose, in the back of my brain, but it was fleeting and easily ignored. After about half an hour, a bitter, numb taste crawled down the back of my throat. He said that was normal.

Exciting.

I could see how people enjoy it, though. Every time I can’t keep up with the boys, I think to myself, just a little bit would help. But that’s a slippery slope I know I’m better off not on.

Thursday we went for a nice, long ride. The bike was at the shop to get a new seat. Not that the old one was broken, but a “better” seat. He’s right, the new seat is more comfortable, but I almost resent it for that. It feels like it’s too easy to get on the bike now, no working for it.

He took me down to the bike shop, finally. They have a bunch of nice old bikes there, one even from World War Two, with its little two-stroke engine and battery so small it could fit in the palm of my hand, painted army green. There was also a bike with the red and white “Support 81” and “Nomads of Ontario” on it. I wonder who originally owned that?

The woman at the cash runs the M2 course sometimes, but the weekend I signed up for it, she will be out of town. She mostly approved of my gear, but said I need boots that cover the ankle, no heel. I have nothing that fits that description, so a shopping trip is in order! It’s nice to talk to some of the pros and have them be ok with my participation.

The Vagabond had some questions about the course as well. He’s asked me more than once if I’ve ever driven anything with a clutch. I think he’s really nervous about me taking the course, which is adorable and slightly annoying.

He didn’t want to buy me a t-shirt; he wanted to buy me a hoodie. My current favourite hoodie is a Pusheen exclusive, turquoise with colour blocks. It came with the video game box and is video game themed, which is part of why I love it. He complains it looks like a child’s hoodie, and I suppose it does, which makes him uncomfortable when I look so young already. But I’m not arguing with a free hoodie, especially something biker themed.

We stopped in Kakabeka for lunch. I got some onion soup. Onion soup is my favourite and one of the few things I can make myself eat no matter how sick I am, but I haven’t had any in a while. Nowhere to store a bag of onions.

He’d left it to me to make arrangements for our spontaneous vacation, although he still wanted final say. A lot of the cabins that might fit our needs or budget were already booked. They also seemed to be aimed at Americans going hunting or fishing. I called the last cabin that seemed promising and was rudely told there wasn’t any available before she hung up on me.

Well then.

I walked back to the table when my phone rang again. A man from the cabin place.

“We have a cabin if you book two nights.”

I relayed this to the Vagabond. He had some sort of vague preference for only booking one night at each place and moving each day, but he agreed to this. “How much is it?”

“200 American.” I said. “Like I said, most of the cabins are aimed at Americans-“

The guy on the phone piped up. “Are you Canadian?”

“Yes?”

“200 Canadian is fine.”

Oh, sweet! That’s saving us 70 bucks a night, which is very generous of him!

After we got back to the house, I started packing my things to go back to my place for the night. I’d told him that was my intention earlier – at this point, I’d paid a month of rent for a place I hadn’t slept at – and he hadn’t said anything. Now he pulled a long face.

“It feels like a jab.” He said finally.

A jab? Christ, it felt like forever, but barely more than 6 weeks ago we weren’t even on speaking terms! I was surprised by this as well, I half-expected him to want some space before we consigned ourselves to the better part of a week in each other’s company.

“I’ve had space for three weeks, girl!”

Nonetheless, I had promised myself a night alone. Time spent together notwithstanding, I hadn’t slept in the bed I’d paid for in four weeks, checked my mail, or been able to use my PC. It’s a little different for him when we’re staying at his place and he has his belongings around him. So I went home, puttered on the PC for a bit, and took a sleeping pill so I could top up my rest.

It’s curious… at one point when I was in Regina, he misunderstood something I said as alluding to me moving in. He was very wrong – staying at his place last year for a shutdown was one thing, but things need to change before I’d consider moving in for good. Like a working fridge, to start! I am under no illusion that I can change him, or that he’ll fix up the house at my request – he has to find the will within himself. But it’s moments like this, when he hints that he basically wants to spend every day for two weeks with me, that there is real honesty, beyond what words can express.

Friday morning I went to the spa. Since I was near the mall, I decided to shop for some things I needed. Like a bathing suit. I hadn’t had one in quite a while.

I went into the Shoe Company first. Leather boots, cover the ankle, no heel… should be easy to find, no? But there wasn’t much, even in the men’s section. I went across the way to Mark’s. Marks is always supremely disappointing. Their men’s section is impressive, but often you can’t find anything in the women’s section that you couldn’t find at Old Navy or the Gap. So much for working clothes! The bathing suits were all skimpy little bikinis, and the boot selection was disappointing. I didn’t trust the little fashion boots to protect my ankles and feet in a spill.

“Where do you go for motorcycle boots?” I texted him.

“Excalibur!” Was the reply.

I went back home and packed for the next few days, presuming they were to be spent at his place. He didn’t feel like going out shopping, and I didn’t either. However, he had an appointment for therapy in the afternoon. I made plans to go for dinner and a walk with Hanuman, and told the Vagabond just to text me when he wanted me to come home. Obviously sometimes you want alone time after therapy to think about things.

Me and Hanuman went to the Bannock Lady, cuz he’d never been! We had a good meal and I bought some bannock loaf for breakfast (I wasn’t going to try storing eggs in that fridge again!). Then we went to Mission Island Marsh to walk and talk for a bit. We got eaten alive by mosquitoes.

At 8 I got the text “going for a ride before dark. door’s unlocked.”

I broke into a cold sweat. At 8PM? It’s already pretty dark and the moose are out for sure. Therapy must have stirred up something heavy. Good thing I got a full night’s sleep the night before.

I drove Hanuman home and went back to the Vagabond’s place to wait.

He wasn’t riled up when he got back, maybe the ride tuckered him out. He was eerily subdued, staring in the distance and talking in a low voice. I could tell he was in that painful place where you want to talk but also don’t want to talk. I kept the conversation going until he was finally able to drift off to sleep. He never did tell me what came up.

Saturday he decided he wanted to clean the bike before the trip. It’s a good idea – a proper wax coat will heal shallow scratches in clear coat, on cars and motorcycles. It took him about 2 hours, so I went outside to keep him company and play some tunes (and watch his bronze skin glisten in the sun. Hey, women can be lusty, too!)

I brought out the new laptop my good friend Andrej got me, and the Vagabond was quite jealous of it. He has a large dinosaur laptop he doesn’t really use, he just wants a bigger screen than his phone for some things. Another potential gift idea to put away in the brain box.

I helped him a bit, especially with the smaller nooks that my tiny hands can reach easier than his giant masculine mitts. It felt good to be involved in caring for the bike, since I ride it so often. I should wash and wax my car soon, come to think of it.

When we were done, we went down to Excalibur to pick out boots.

So, remember what I said earlier about the new seat being too easy to sit on? He took the tour-pak off the back of the bike to clean it and didn’t put it back on before the ride. I tend to lean back on it like a car seat, and when I suddenly didn’t have it behind me, I was lost. The biggest problem is that my helmet is quite large, and when I have to snuggle up to him for balance, I lurch forward when he twists the throttle and smack my head off his. For an in-town ride without the tour-pak, his spare half-shell is probably enough, and would have helped avoid knocking our heads together. Woops.

The guys at the shop recruited a female to help me sort boots, although they only had like 10 options to chose from. The first thing I noticed is that they feel exactly like figure skates – they’re stiff in the ankle, so you don’t break it if you fall off. They also have the same hook-style lacing to tighten the laces. The Vagabond told me to check how “sticky” the grip of the bottom is, for when you are bringing the bike to a stop.

He was more pleased with the purchase than I was! Every single time I put the boots on, he says “I really like those boots!”. I do also like them. They are nice stompy boots!

He also commented, “You have a much more confident walk now, not that shy shuffle you had last year.”

The first thing that popped into my head was Duff ordering me to pick up my feet and stop dragging them. I did walk different last year.

Part of that is my increased fitness – more strength and endurance. It’s hard to hike when you’re getting stuck on every stray tree root and rock.

But he’s right, it is also confidence. I know on this blog I often describe myself as stomping, and I am. My confidence has been restored, and then some!

After we got back, I took the car to go shopping for a bathing suit again. I went to Walmart first. I really want to get a Knix period-proof bathing suit – I dislike using tampons. But it won’t get here before we leave, so I figured I’d just get something cheap at Walmart in the meantime.

Jokes on me! There was little in the bathing suit selection at Walmart. There was lots of options if I wanted a teeny tiny bikini for lounging by the pool. A lot of the more covering options were plus-sized, which never fails to annoy. Because obviously if I’m slim, I want to let it all hang out?! I decided to go to Sport-Chek for something a little sportier, but all their one pieces were a hundred bucks and up! So much for something cheap to tide me over.

I bought the stupid 100$ bathing suit and resolved to swim more to justify it.

The next day, he kicked me out before dinner.

He gets more fearful of things the more serious we are. I’ve never met his son, but last year he was pretty cavalier about it. Because last year, I was just a co-worker renting a room from him for work, no big deal. Now I’m obviously a paramour, and one serious enough to take on a vacation. There’s an obvious squick factor to introducing your son to your girlfriend who is younger than him!

I knew already that I was expected to make myself scarce for dinner, so I had made plans with K to hang out. K lives within walking distance of the Vagabond and I hadn’t seen him for something in the realm of five or six weeks, because we hadn’t hung out for a while before I left for Regina. It would be nice to catch up. But then the Vagabond surprised me by asking me to stay out ’til 8.

‘Til 8! You do realize I haven’t had dinner or planned to be away for three hours, right? That’s something to just drop on someone!

I took off in my new biker hoodie. Motorcycles driving by honked or nodded at me, and I realized my folly. This was something only a biker chick would wear. I should avoid wearing it when I don’t want a certain kind of attention.

I got halfway to K’s place when I realized I had forgotten my wallet. We went out for a walk, stopping at Timmies to get something to tide me over until I was allowed back.

K called it a night at 7, so I walked back towards the house. There’s a park with a swing around the corner from his place, so I decided to just sit on the swings until I was told the coast was clear.

At 7:20, I got the text to come back.

Well, of course I did! His kid has work in the morning and his granddaughter is only 3 or something, they weren’t going to be there for hours and hours! I was back at the house within five minutes. I walked through the door and heard someone in the kitchen.

I stuck my head in. It was not the Vagabond.

It was another man, and the girl herself. Shoot. He must have assumed I would be a while walking back, cuz I know this isn’t how he’d plan to introduce us. I said hi quickly and walked back towards the front of the house.

Shit shit shit.

Now what? I couldn’t just leave the house and pretend I hadn’t been seen. I had sort of given myself away by just waltzing in the front door, showing I was comfortable with letting myself in. Well, they had to know who I was, to an extent. My car is still parked in the drive.

I decided to lounge in the sunroom until I was sure they had left. They came out front to pile into a truck parked in front of the house. I kept my eyes stubbornly locked on my phone – if I appeared to notice them, I’d have to introduce myself. And perhaps I should have, but I was so lost. If he came over to say hi to me, it was out of my hands.

Once the truck was out of sight, I went back inside. The Vagabond was sitting on the deck. I confessed the other guy had seen me. He shrugged it off. Still, I felt the weight of it; “Hey, aren’t you the girl who ran out of the house that one time?”. Somedays I am dreadfully awkward.

There is now a hole in the deck. One of the boards broke while his son was standing on it. He wasn’t hurt, fortunately.

I’d spent most of the last week, and indeed a good bit of the texting back and forth in Regina, trying to convince him to do the deck this year. I know part of the reason he wanted to whisk me away on a vacation is because he wants to pretend the house doesn’t need work. The deck is small potatoes to a competent carpenter, and I’d love to help him work on it. The new hole in the deck underlined that he couldn’t keep pretending for much longer before the whole thing fell apart.

He has reluctantly made plans with the other man to tear down the deck and build a new one in September. I am excited for it – it will be a good bonding exercise, and I get to learn how to build a deck!

Cue obligatory reference to John Denver. Every gamer knows this song now because of Fallout 76. Thanks Bethesda!