“Tell me about Evan,” Claire said during our Friday session.
I took out my wallet. “Can I show you a picture?”
She nodded. I flipped through my wallet, and suddenly I had a change of plan. “I actually want to show you a few things,” I said. I took out three wallet-size pictures: one of Evan and me in a photo booth, one of Nonna Annunziata and Nonno Pietro at a party, and one of Nonna Maria Grazia and Nonno Raimondo with the Amalfi Coast behind them. They were the only pictures that I had in the wallet. I handed them to Claire.
“Those are the most important people in my life,” I said, “even though they’re dead.”
Claire studied them. “Your grandparents pictures… they remind me of my own.”
“Where are you from, originally?” I asked.
“My maternal grandparents are from Wales. My paternal grandparents are from Michigan. They both came to Canada before World War I. I’m originally from Cornwall.” She raised her head. “They were so good to me.”
She handed my grandparents’ pics back to me, and looked at the last one. “Where was this taken?” she asked.
“Canada’s Wonderland,” I replied. “In 2003. It was his birthday. We rode every ride there, and we ate funnel cakes. Before we headed back, we piled into the photo booth and made out. This was my favorite from the set.”
Claire smiled and handed me the photo. “What was Evan like?” she asked.
I sat back in the chair. “He was… everything. He was everything that I could have asked for in a person.”
I looked at the photo again. His eyes were deep and green, and his hair was softly mussed and brown, which considering he was dirty blonde, I attributed to questionable lighting. “Whenever I had a problem, even if he didn’t know how to fix it, he was still there for me. When I got sick, he would make chicken noodle soup from scratch. The only things that he would use that were pre-made, were the noodles. He always bought those No-Yolks noodles. He would take three hours to roast the chicken, cut the vegetables… and when it was all done, it tasted so good and… I’d feel better the next day.”
Claire nodded. “He must have been something special.”
“He IS. Sometimes, I think of him in the present tense. Since he died, I’ve slept with a pillow. It has a royal blue case, and the inside is made of buckwheat hulls. He always looked good in royal blue, and he loved Japanese food.”
I began to tear up again. Claire offered me a tissue, but I took out one of my own from my pocket. As I dabbed my eyes, Claire asked me, “What was it like, after Evan died?”
“I couldn’t function,” I said. “Everything just shut down. I stayed in our apartment for months. I made sure that the rent and utilities were paid, but I barely went out. Eventually, Evan’s parents came from Utah and collected everything. They didn’t even attend his funeral.”
“What were his parents like?”
“Assholes,” I replied. “The biggest assholes to come out of Utah ever. They never accepted Evan being gay. They never accepted me. They never even accepted that he wanted to be a dancer.”
Claire put her hand on my knee. “Do you think that you’ll ever find love again?”
I let out a deep breath. “There IS someone in my life, now. I think.”
“What do you mean, you think?”
“His name is Mykhaylo Karbanenko. We went to Earl Haig together. We reunited a few weeks ago after nine years apart. He’s a really sweet guy, but…”
“But, what?”
“I like the guy, and he makes me feel so good. But I’m kind of scared. After five years of meaningless sex, it feels good to have someone in your life who isn’t a booty call. But I don’t know what’s going to happen. Will we break up? Will we last a few years and then HE dies?”
Claire sighed. “Honey,” she said, “as cliché as it sounds, there are no guarantees in life. But I encourage you to see where this relationship takes you. It could be the best thing you’ve ever done. Besides, with your history, you deserve a break.”
I nodded in agreement. And then, I said, “We reunited at my gym, in the locker room. His dick is as big as mine.”
Claire’s eyebrows raised. “Really?” she asked.
“I’m not showing you!” I exclaimed.
“Then why did you say it?”
I looked around and chuckled. “Levity, I suppose.”
AFTER THE APPOINTMENT (not narrated by Graziano)
Claire left the office at five o’clock. By then, the sky had darkened, and the sun had dipped halfway under the horizon. With another work week in the books, Claire walked to her Kia and sped off.
As she drove towards Yonge Street, with CBC Radio One playing on the car radio, Claire felt guilty. She had only known Graziano a few weeks, but there was something different about him. Graziano was one of her many clients, but she felt especially drawn to his story. In the shotgun seat was an assortment of case files and other papers. Graziano’s manila folder topped the pile, and had more in it than the others. His surname, Buonfiglio, was on the tag in bold red marker, upper-case.
This was unusual for Claire. In her many years as a psychotherapist, she had developed attachment to her clients. But with Graziano, she felt the need to go above and beyond her role. “What can I do?” she muttered over and over, turning the corner onto Yonge and heading south.
She stopped at a Shoppers Drug Mart. Every Friday afternoon, right after work, she would pop in to the same Shoppers at 728 Yonge Street, across from The Second Cup to the north and Payless ShoeSource to the east. Often, she would jettison to The Second Cup for coffee. She almost never went to Starbucks, which occupied the northeast corner of Yonge & Charles Sts. It wasn’t that she held ill will towards the company; she preferred Canadian-owned businesses.
After parking nearby, Claire walked in and began perousing the store for necessities. She stopped in the personal care aisle. Claire took a pack of Kotex U tampons (the ones marketed to younger women) and put them in her basket.
“Aren’t you a little OLD for those tampons?” a woman asked in a thick snide.
Claire turned around. A short, blonde woman in her 50s wearing a blue pantsuit and smelling of booze stood in the aisle.
“That’s none of your business,” Claire said. She left the personal care aisle and walked to the hair color section. The same woman followed her.
Claire found a box of Healthy Essence hair coloring that fit her shade, and as she put it in her basket, she heard the same voice:
“You WISH you looked that good.”
Claire growled and stomped toward the snacks section. She picked up a few tubes of Pringles, her favourite snack.
“And you won’t look good eating that junk food shit,” the same voice rang.
“WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?!” Claire roared.
There was dead silence in the store. Even the music playing on the PA abruptly turned off.
Claire glared at the woman who had been accosting her for all of one minute. “Who the hell are you?” she asked.
“You may not know who I am, but you’ve heard of me,” the woman said, rather proudly. “I happen to be the mother of one of your clients.”
Claire thought for a few moments. Short, blonde hair? Stinking of alcohol? Oh, shit. It was Nadine Buonfiglio, Graziano’s estranged mother.
“You must be Nadine,” Claire said. “No, I take that back. You HAVE to be Nadine.”
“Yes,” Nadine continued in her proud, bordering on smug, fashion. “Yes, I am.”
“I won’t reveal anything concrete, due to doctor-patient privilege,” Claire said. “But let’s say that you leave a lot to be desired.”
Nadine pointed her right index finger at Claire. “You just watch yourself, bitch. You mess with me, you mess with my whole family.”
“How very original.” Claire was not buying this shtick. “Clearly, you’re Mother of the Year material. Have you ever washed yourself? You smell like a rotten combination of Grand Marnier and grappa.”
Claire turned around and walked toward the cashier.
“I’m warning you, bitch!” Nadine screeched. “If you dare try anything, I’ll have your barren ass tossed in the Don River!”
Claire turned back toward Nadine. “Listen, Carmela. You may think that you’re a slick bitch, but you don’t want to mess with ME. I may look Bohemian, but I know krav maga. You, Tony, Big Pussy, Paulie Walnuts, even your dead mother-in-law Livia, whoever you dare throw at me, I will bust your motherfucking asses!”
Nadine glared at Claire and threw a slap toward her. But Claire deflected it, prompting Nadine to fall on her ass.
“Graziano deserves MUCH better,” Claire said.
After Claire paid for her Pringles and hair colouring and Kotex U tampons, she immediately got into her car and drove off. When she arrived at her Kensington Market home, she took out her iPhone and Google’d “Nadine Buonfiglio”.
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