American Boy

"Maybe for good this time," Qadira responded. "Our new friend here told him what's what and he disappeared. No thanks to you."

"I'm sorry," Jennie started as she put her hands up, "but last time he was here he told me he was a computer programmer and I had the power to turn his software into hardware." Phin chuckled to himself, despite the ache in his temple when his smile reached his eyes.

"I'll close up to make it up to you," she told Qadira. "I'll even make each of you a drink if you want to hang out in the break room. Don't want anyone to think we're still open." It was a good enough deal. When Qadira noticed Phin waver, she instinctively put her arm around his torso and guided him toward the back.

"So you wanna tell me how you singlehandedly turned a routine protest rally into tomorrow's top news story?" She smiled up at him, noticing his clean-cut face for the first time beneath all that sweat and blood. He bit his lip in a cringe.

"Police brutality never makes the news the next day. Not on mainstream media. But to answer your question, I mouthed off to a cop."

"You? Mouthy? I won't believe it." She paused in the middle of pulling a chair out for him, as the brightness of his impish grin caught her off-guard. "Sure you don't want to get that looked at? There's an urgent care clinic not far from—" He vehemently shook his head no.

"I'm not from around here. I'm just here for a few days from Ohio on business. I don't want any medical records or reports going back to my office."

"You're here on business but you're at a protest rally?" Qadira raised one eyebrow. "There are a lot of other things to do around the city, you know." There was that thousand-kilowatt grin again, geez.

"I know," he nodded. "But showing up for the community always makes for a better—" he stopped and sat straight up. "Do you hear voices?"

Actually, she did. Men's voices, and they were talking to Jennie. Phin put his ear up to the break room door before clenching his jaw.

"That fucking narc," he swore, as it dawned on him that Green Lantern had left in such a huff so he could track down the cops. He'd bet ten bucks the asshole who'd tried to arrest him was questioning Jennie on the other side of that door.

"This way." Qadira was already on it as she grabbed his hand and led him further back toward the employee washrooms, then out the side door and into the back alley. Sure enough, a squad car was parked in front of the café. She looked both ways while still gripping his hand, then quick-stepped in the other direction, around the corner, and down the steps of the awaiting subway entrance.

"Mind telling me where we're going?" Phin finally spoke up when they were zooming along in a train. It was strange how he hadn't felt strange at having this woman he'd just met guide him to safety like he was a child. It was oddly comforting to be taken care of when he'd been used to taking care of himself for so long.

"My place," she replied. Then she grinned upon noticing him raise both eyebrows with a suggestive smile. "You can stop congratulating yourself," she added. "You don't want to go to a hospital and I happen to be training with Toronto Paramedics Services. For my own conscience, I need to check you out."

"Qadira, we just met, damn," Phin looked ahead while holding onto a pole, so he didn't notice her shyly looking down at her feet when he said her name. They sped eastward on the Bloor-Danforth line until they were on the cusp of Scarborough, when Qadira stepped forward just as they approached the stop at Victoria Park.

"So are all Canadians friendly to the point of being foolish?" he asked when they turned onto a residential road two minutes after getting off the subway. It was the perfect night for a walk with a beautiful girl, notwithstanding it was the last way he thought this evening would end.

He was exhausted, but on this quiet side street was the first time he thought to take a good look at her dark eyes, and her crimped, reddish-brown hair that fought the hair tie it was held in.

"We can usually afford it," Qadira responded. "What with the lack of guns and all."

"I could still stab you," he retorted, only to hear her snort.

"You Americans are always like, 'what about knives,' while we're hearing about your mass shootings every week."

"God, you're right," he admitted, to her surprise. "More people probably have a gun than have health care. But don't you guys pay a lot in taxes?"

"No more than you do," she said as they turned toward a house and went around to the side door. "The difference is, our taxes go toward universal health care and other services instead of bombing brown countries."

"Like Canada isn't complicit in supporting the US internationally," Phin smiled. Her stance was one after his own heart, and he wanted to hear more.

"Can't argue with that one. Our head is so far up your ass we usually don't know where one ends and the other begins." His grin was enough to light up her landlady's run-down back porch. "We're like the sadsack nerd always doing the football star's homework, hoping he'll notice us one day but also deeply, deeply hating him."

"Don't hold back, tell me how you really feel, Qadira." Christ, there was her name on his lips again. She fumbled with her keys, then led him down to her basement apartment.

Phin was almost an entire step taller than her, which would probably put him at about six feet. She willed herself to stop thinking about his height, and concentrate on putting together a place for him to sleep.

"You don't feel nauseous at all, do you?" she checked as he put his backpack down in a corner.

"No, but I did after hearing that guy tell you why he was jealous of your heart." Qadira turned around and rolled her eyes, which highlighted how large and brown they were.

"You mentioned on the way you pack spare clothes when you protest, right?" she asked, pulling out a bath towel. "Go shower. You'll sleep better." She put on some tea, then pulled out an extra comforter and sheets for the living room futon when Phin emerged from the bathroom 10 minutes later. Upon taking a good look at the futon, however, she grimaced, then looked up at Phin and pursed her lips.

"How... how would you feel about sleeping in my bed tonight... with me?"

Phin's head practically ricocheted back at the force with which his eyebrows shot up. The sheer volume of jokes he could make right now collided in his brain with the prospect of sleeping beside a young woman who somehow got lovelier the more he looked at her.

"Uhhhhhhhhh..."

"The futon's too small for your height, and I can't sleep in a bed I'm not used to," she explained. Phin simply stared at her for the longest time as though he didn't understand, then closed his mouth and nodded.

"We can figure something out if you're not comfortable," she continued. "If it's a religious thing or something?" His laughter at that one somehow snapped him back to earth.

"Believe me, that ship sailed a lonnnng time ago," he told her, taking the comforter out of her arms and going back toward the bedroom. "But if it's a concern for you, I'm perfectly happy with separate bedding."

"Just don't tell my parents," she said. "It's a long way for them to travel from Nova Scotia to reprimand me and kick your ass, but they might blow up my phone considering—" Whoops. She hadn't meant for that sentence to go on as long as it did. Phin turned back, his face a question mark.

"Considering..." Bloody hell, she cursed inwardly. "I mean, that ship hasn't even docked for me."

Phin looked like his eyes would pop out of his head.

"How old are you?" he blurted out, realising too late this was now the third time tonight he'd said something he wished he could take back. He especially felt like an ass when Qadira's golden-brown cheekbones slightly rouged. But it wasn't unexpected considering this strange guy in her apartment questioned why she was still a virgin.

"Twenty-nine, but that's not the point," she stammered, her eyes on the ground. This isn't embarrassing; this is just who I am, she reminded herself. Men had been shooting their shots with her since she was a teenager, and she'd always carefully watched to see who would talk to her with the respect and camaraderie they showed their male friends.

It wasn't all bullshit and pick-up lines, but she lamented that the men who'd been into her saw her as a love interest first, and a friend... well, not even as an afterthought.

"It's not because I'm Muslim," she said defensively.

"Whoa, whoa, no judgement," Phin immediately replied. "My reserved, Jewish mother would be high-fiving you, whatever your reasons are for waiting for marriage."

"I'm not waiting for marriage!" This was a much easier thing to discuss when she was 19 or 20 as opposed to pushing 30. "I just don't want to waste my time on guys who aren't interested in me for me first."

"So you've never had a boyfriend either?" The process of setting her bed up for both of them to share had ground to an excruciating halt.

"I have, but I..." Qadira clutched the folded sheets to her chest, like they would somehow shield her. "My intention was to make them wait a few months but none of them ended up lasting that long."

Phin's face curled into a ball of confusion as he wondered how a guy—or more than one guy, as it seemed—could have a witty, smart, beautiful girlfriend who was committed to a relationship with him, but then not manage to jack off in the shower until she was ready for sex.

"I thought Canadian guys were supposed to be nice."

"Nice and kind are two very different things," Qadira said, seeming a bit less stressed. "Nice is words with nothing to back it up. Kind is actions." She opened up a sheet and fanned it out. "What you did for me tonight was kind—sticking up for a stranger when you'd just finished running for your life."

After dressing the bed, Qadira got out her medical kit and began to dress the gash on Phin's forehead. It didn't look like it was going to bleed anymore but she wanted to be safe. For his part, it didn't help that she'd asked him to tilt his head down after she'd changed into her PJ shorts and he was distracted by two of the most shapely legs he'd ever seen.

"So what's this day job you're here for?" she asked, putting one bare knee between his legs as he leaned back against the headboard. He winced as the rubbing alcohol scorched his skin.

"Setting up a new office for my marketing firm," he murmured, willing himself to keep his hands on the bedspread. Usually when a girl straddled him, his hands were on her hips.

"No, really," Qadira laughed, until Phin blankly looked up at her. "Oh... that is... that's probably one of the last things I thought you'd say."

"I'm starting clown college on Monday."

"Now that I believe," she deadpanned, taken once again with his toothy grin.

"It's boring as hell but I fell into it and found I have a knack for it. I figured, might as well make a shit-tonne of money while I'm young and spend the rest of my days organizing the nursing home orgies." Qadira's torso shook with laughter and Phin really, really wanted to put his hands on her hips. But then she slid off the bed, taking her medical kit with her.

"You... you came all the way from Nova Scotia to work in a café?" he asked, feeling like he'd worded it pretty stupidly, but not as stupidly as the time he asked her how she could still be a virgin at 29.

"I came all the way from Nova Scotia to go to the Toronto Film School, which is down the street from the café," she replied, not bothered in the least. "One day, there was an accident outside the school, and absolutely no one knew what the hell they were doing until the first responders showed up.

"I ended up finishing film school and working for a small production company outside the city for a few years, but more and more, it just felt like..."

"Trivial shit?"

"Yes!" Qadira had had this conversation before, but it'd always ended up with the person on the other side telling her she should have paid her dues in the industry. "My parents said if I stuck it out I could win an Oscar one day, and I was like... can we stop holding up the goddamn Oscars as the pinnacle of success when they mainly recognise films that gel with western values?"

Fuck, stop talking like that or I'm gonna fall in love with you, Phin simmered inside.

"The sheer volume of films from all over the world are an ocean compared to what unaffected Hollywood-types valu—I'm sorry, I'm way off topic," Qadira reined herself in. "Um, anyway, it was more and more clear that we have a messed-up way of valuing labour when actors and athletes are glorified while factory and grocery store workers are much more important but looked down on."

Okay, stop, really, Phin put his hand to his head and quickly inhaled.

"Are you okay?" Qadira was at his bedside, inspecting his cut. "Maybe you need an anti-inflammatory before—"

"I'm fine, it doesn't hurt," Phin reassured her. "So you stopped making movies?"

"The hours are grueling and I couldn't do my paramedic college courses at the same time," she explained, sitting on the edge of the bed. "So I started working at the café, and I'm planning to quit in another month or two after my training is finished."

"Green Lantern will be devastated."

"About that," Qadira grinned, "I'm going to make Jennie walk out with me if our boss doesn't allow us the right to refuse service."

"If you know when he usually shows up, try to get your boss there at the same time," Phin suggested. "If it's during busy time, refuse to work as soon as you see GL walk in."

"Ohhh, no, we'll get fired."

"A lot of people think they'll get fired, but your boss will give you whatever the hell you want if the alternative is him making 25 drinks himself. You and Jennie both have to commit to it! Say in front of the customers what GL said to you, and ask your boss if he still deserves service."

"You've done this before, huh?" Qadira smiled as she got under her own top sheet and comforter, adjusting Phin's covers beside her. It felt like they were on a marshmallow with so much bedding, but his offer to make her feel safer was sweet.

"Shit disturber by night... slightly less-extreme shit disturber by day," he smiled back at her. Qadira didn't know if it was the marshmallow or the sheer comfort of having another warm body beside her, but suddenly she blinked and it was pitch-black and silent. Her clock-radio showed 1 a.m., and Phin was out cold.

Don't tell me I dozed off mid-sentence, she thought, trying to recall how late they'd stayed up talking. Using what little light shone through her window, Qadira worried whether Phin was alright until she sat up a bit and noticed his chest peacefully rising and falling.

Her own internal clock woke her again at 2:30 to check on him again, but she stayed asleep after the 4:30 check. The next time she opened her eyes was 8, but she wasn't as concerned about being late for her ride-along shift as she was to find Phin missing.

She stumbled out of her room and toward her kitchen when she spotted the notepad near the coffeemaker.

Qadira (am I spelling that right?), he'd written, forcing a grin out of her despite her reading the note with squinty, dry eyes. Thanks for taking care of me last night. It's really a kindness I didn't expect. Despite my activism, I had to leave early to suck corporate dick again. Qadira laughed out loud, then took the note back to bed.

I'll try to come by the café later today. If you're free, maybe we could walk around the city this weekend? Swear to god I won't cause any more international incidents. Well... maybe just one more, but that's it. Phin.

She didn't even realise she'd snuggled back into bed under his sheets and comforter as she picked up her phone to check it, just before she remembered she hadn't given him her number.

Okay, calm down, she lectured herself. This guy is passing through. He's sweet and hilarious, but you two don't even live in the same country. You can't be more than just friends.

Nevertheless, she texted Jennie to pass on her phone number to him in case he came searching for her. Not only did they spend most of the weekend ambling around the Kensington and St. Lawrence markets, Phin stopped by to pick Qadira up for dinner on a couple of weeknights.

"I'm embarrassed to say," he started as she led him to a north Indian food truck one evening, "that I'm a big proponent of taco stands on every corner, but I've never heard of... Kathy rolls?"

"Kuhh-thi rolls," she corrected him. "Every culture has a bunch of stuff they roll up in a flatbread, my dear. This is in the north Indian style and it is bliss. Try it." She'd meant it flippantly but the two words in the middle there echoed in Phin's ears the rest of that night. Biting into the paneer strips doused in coriander chutney and wrapped in a soft paratha was almost as delicious.

Phin made sure the café was his last stop before the airport later that week. He wondered if it was his imagination that the smile faded off Qadira's face when she saw him with his carry-on bag and jacket draped over his left arm.

"Back to the land of freedom and apple pie?" she asked with a smile that never reached her eyes.

"No, I'm flying back to Ohio in a few hours," he gave her a lopsided grin in return. It felt clumsy, which irritated Phin because things hadn't ever been clumsy between them before now. He didn't know what he wanted to hear during that heavy silence while the café and the city swirled around them, but it wasn't a goodbye.

But before he could dwell on it any longer, she'd darted out from behind the counter and was in his arms. Phin knew it was a chaste, wholesome hug, but he sure as hell didn't want it to be. It felt like he was trudging all the way to the airport, then trudging all the way to his apartment in Cleveland. Just when he was falling asleep after a hot shower and a sandwich, the vibrations on his chest woke him up.

So did you make it back alright or is your company going to get even richer by cashing out the life insurance policy they took out on you?

It was the first time he smiled since he'd left a part of himself back with her in Toronto.

***********

Another foreign proxy war, another night trying to avoid gas cannisters and sound cannons, Phin thought as he waded through the throngs of protestors in downtown Cleveland. I'm too fucking old for this shit. It was funny that this was the sentiment he harboured at only 30, but he felt more and more that his generation had been forced to age faster than those who came before.

The last protest he'd attended had been that ill-fated one in Toronto, about a month ago. A month since he'd spent that night in Qadira's bed and woken up to her checking his forehead every few hours. Of course, she hadn't known he'd been awake, but he was floored at the care that beautiful woman had shown to some rando off the street.

It had also been a month of racking up way more hours on his phone than he'd ever spent before, checking in nightly to see if she was online. It was stupid, he knew it, but he didn't know if or when they'd next see each other and he didn't want her to forget him.

The June air in Cleveland was somehow a lot heavier and much less comfortable than the cool May evening in Toronto when he'd been lucky enough to meet her.

Usually, Phin would have been on guard to notice the first signs of trouble as they brewed near the groups of police that lined the road. Tonight, however, he was calculating how late he could stay out before missing Qadira altogether. He wasn't sure if she had an exam the next morning or a shift at the café, which would impact what time she'd go to bed.