American Boy

Of course, if she had an exam she'd be studying late and he couldn't bug her with his memes at a time like—

SLAM. The sound of contact between metal and something else was so jarring it made Phin and a few others swirl around. Shit, he inwardly swore when he realised the metal was the back of a flatbed truck and the 'something else' was a civilian being taken down by a cop.

That did it. The closest policeman to the gathering crowd twirled his motorcycle handlebars enough to hit another protestor in the hips, forcing the next five people to fall back like dominos. Then it was a whirlwind of tear gas, during which Phin grabbed the arms of a man and woman who'd fallen down nearby and led them to safety past a gap in the ensuing chaos.

He went back three more times before hearing a cop holler at him to stop running, then accepted he couldn't save anyone more. The little group of strangers he'd parked in a side alley a few blocks from the riots stayed quiet as they pooled their bottled water to rinse their inflamed eyes.

"This is never going to end," one young man finally spoke up. His tanned skin and sharp nose reminded Phin of his own dad. "George Floyd and a bunch of other things may have happened under Trump, but Trayvon Martin and Standing Rock happened under Obama. Every member of that club is the same, and they don't give enough of a fuck about us to actually get off their asses and help us."

Phin felt for the guy, whose face struggled to grow some stubble, he was so young.

"I've been to a lot of these," he interjected. "This isn't out of the ordinary. You might find that out after coming out to a few more—"

"A few more??" the kid responded in disbelief. "Doesn't everyone in this country thump their chests about fucking 'freedom'? How the hell are we free if we have to protest for our lives in the streets every few weeks? How are we free when we have to do crowd-funding because our kid broke his leg and we can't afford the hospital visit?"

Phin peeked around the corner of the alley, partly paranoid they'd be heard—likely not, because the shit on the main road was unhinged—but mostly trying to formulate a response. He couldn't.

"You're not wrong," the woman Phin first picked up off the ground answered. "My neighbour is Pakistani. She applied for permanent residency when her daughter was nine, and now that girl is 24." An audible gasp came from the group. "She keeps getting told her application is being processed, and she's terrified she'll lose her job in the meantime and get deported."

"That's exactly what I mean," the kid pointed his finger at her. "I don't think there's any redeeming this country. I looked it up and the numbers that both parties deport is the same. Nevermind all the talk about 'Dreamers'—there's pretty much no path to a green card for most people other than marriage."

"Great, if you don't like America, you can just leave," a goateed blond man standing behind Phin challenged.

"Fantastic idea!" the kid responded. "I was on the fence about doing college in Germany and leaving this shitshow behind, but tonight cinched it!" He splashed more water on his eyes and blinked hard.

"Reasonable people I know have a list of basic things we ask of the so-called 'centrist' party in this country—codify Roe, cancel all student debt, fix a goddamn bridge, stop enabling genocide, liveable minimum wage, single-payer healthcare. They haven't moved on any of that! And never mind the right-wing party that's just a bunch of fascist turds.

"I don't give a shit if America crumbles and I don't give a shit about any future elections. We could go to a hundred rallies like this and not a damn thing will change." The kid threw on his shoulder bag and patted a stunned Phin on the back. "Thanks for the help, man." Then he exchanged glares with the blond man.

"Stay healthy," he wished him. "Because otherwise this country will make sure you end up under a bridge."

Phin did stay up late that night but forgot to look for Qadira online. Instead, he was battling lingering nausea from the teargas, not to mention the caustic words of that young man which haunted him into the wee hours of the morning.

His eyes were still on fire when he woke up. But now, he felt a different type of nausea when he realised he was incredibly late for work. Squinting at his phone, he cursed the corporate culture that wouldn't let everyone work from home although most of their jobs took place online anyway.

Harold, I have a doctor's appointment, he texted his boss. Will be in at 11. Even the lie reminded him of the kid who looked like a young version of his dad—there was no way he'd see a doctor when his company's insurance plan had a $6000 deductible.

See me as soon as you get in, Harold texted back, taking Phin's day from bad to worse. When he finally strode into the office, he knew he was just counting the hours until he could leave.

"You're wearing sunglasses on a cloudy day?" Harold greeted him. "You know you can take them off inside, right?"

"Didn't your generation love up Corey Hart for wearing them at night?" Phin muttered. He relented when Harold stared at him wordlessly.

"Whoa! What happened to you?" his boss asked upon seeing his angry, puffy eyes.

"Industrial accident. Harold, I hate to rush you but what's this about?"

"Okay," Harold took a deep breath in and then let it out, which was definitely a horrid sign. "Remember the meeting a month ago with all the AVPs there?"

"The one where Brett tried to steal my presentation and then fell on his face?" Phin recalled. "I saw him on my way in. Nice to know prep school boys are still failing up around here."

"You don't have to rub it in; I know Brett made a mistake."

"Brett made a mistake the way a surgeon makes a mistake when he sews a patient's head to his ass," Phin coolly replied, "which is a fitting analogy, seeing as that's where Brett usually speaks from." He was encouraged when he noticed his boss attempt to disguise a laugh as a cough.

"Be that as it may," the older man composed himself, "you can't go around antagonizing your colleagues like that. I know you're usually the smartest guy in the room but—"

"Harold, I'm going to stop you there. I know you and I know you're a good man. And I know you and Maria have been married for what, 23 years now?"

"Twenty-four."

"Twenty-four." Phin knew he was taking a risk with this one, but Going There was clearly a recurring theme in his life. "Tell me that in 24 years of marriage, your Puerto Rican wife hasn't once said to you that if she had been a white man, her being bold and outspoken and assertive at work would only be seen as a positive thing. Tell me that's never come up between you two."

The ensuing silence all but convinced Phin that this was the moment he was going to get fired. Just as he was trying to recall the friend of a friend who was an employment lawyer, Harold sighed.

"I've told you before Brett isn't the only one who's complained about you," he said softly, inwardly angry that his brightest, most reliable employee was being railroaded like this by the rest of the team.

"It's fine," Phin didn't want to prolong this any more than was necessary. "If I'm fired, just break out the paperwork and don't haggle on the severance package."

"No, you're actually promoted."

"Really, Harold? You're screwing with me at a time like this?"

"I'm serious." If Phin took this offer, Harold calculated, at least he wouldn't have it on his conscience for the rest of his life. He already didn't like it that he'd have to go home to Maria tonight and tell her she was right.

"Corporate loved what you did in Toronto," he continued, seeing the abject confusion on Phin's face. "Last month's numbers just came in. You not only hired the right team, you set it up so they could grow better than what was projected when I sent you up there."

When his boss slid a few papers across the desk to him, the words finally began to make sense.

"It's a one-year contract to head up the office in Toronto. It could be shorter, but hopefully it'll be extended. Find an apartment, send me the lease agreement, and work will pay for the move. But I have to warn you, if you decline—"

"When do I start?" Harold didn't think the sell would be this easy, gaping as Phin took a pen out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket. The younger man flipped through the pages of the contract as though the offer would be off the table in five minutes. "I'm just going to initial each page to show I read it, yeah?"

He didn't need to look up at his soon-to-be-former boss's face to register Harold's surprise. Truth be told, Phin surprised even himself. This was somewhat removed from his master plan to jump jobs for bigger and bigger salaries—no, this felt like his one chance to escape.

The kid from the previous night who'd been so disillusioned with the US awoke a sad realisation in Phin that he, himself, hadn't even know was there. But again, this was different from simply moving away from his problems. An image of Qadira's peaceful, sleeping face flashed through his head and he knew he was actually moving toward something better.

He'd signed all the papers and half-opened the office door when another thought struck him.

"Harold, there are no hard feelings between us," Phin shut the door again and turned around. "It's not lost on me that you've been protecting me a lot more than I've ever been aware of. I just hope you know this tagline of 'work hard and you'll succeed' is corporate bullshit, when companies reward the calculated mediocrity of the Bretts of the world more than they ever award merit."

"Oh, I know," Harold nodded.

"And hey... corporate never would have looked back at their projections for the Toronto office unless someone brought it to their attention, right?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Harold straightened some papers on his desk without looking up at his protégé. That is, until Phin walked back and pulled him out of his chair for a bear hug.

"Thank you," he said. "For everything, all this time. If anyone asks, I'm out for a coffee." Then he put his sunglasses back on and sauntered out of the building without so much as a glance at the folks he'd worked with for two years.

***********

"Look up, Q," Jennie muttered while sprinkling chocolate shavings on one of the three drinks she was working on. The afternoon rush was beginning to gear up and Jennie's words told Qadira their least favourite customer had just walked through the door.

"No." Qadira vehemently shook her head. "No." She was planning to quit working at the café in just a couple more weeks, but she wasn't going to tolerate this bullshit. "Henry told me he'd spoken to Green Lantern and he wasn't allowed back in."

"No, it's not—"

"I don't care," Qadira fumed, her eyes still turned down toward the counter, "if he doesn't come out of his office and kick that guy out again, I swear I'll—"

"Hi, could I have a double-double, please?"

She knew that voice. Her eyes slowly raised themselves to the handsome man on the other side of the pastry window, a day's worth of stubble on his lightly tanned face. The onyx of his suit rivaled that of his hair, not a strand out of place.

Qadira felt like a gnome in comparison, sweaty and stained, wearing every syrup known to humanity on her apron. But all that was overshadowed by the fact Phin was back.

"I mean, that is what Canadians always order no matter what, right?" his cocky smile teased her. Ducking under the counter in an instant, she was suddenly in his arms.

"What are you doing back?" she murmured against his freshly-pressed lapels. "Are you on your way somewhere? I'm only off at six tonight."

Jesus, I wasn't ready for this, Phin realised, overcome by how gorgeous she was. How did she get even prettier in just a month? Reddish-brown lowlights still glimmered along her black curls, and her golden skin all but glowed. Her dark, kohl-lined eyes were still dangerous enough for a man to drown in.

Then suddenly, he was empty again. She was gone, ducked back to the other side of the counter to finish the coffees she'd been putting together.

"And what do you mean 'what Canadians always order?'" she asked, the questions hurtling forward so fast they couldn't even wait for their own answers. "How would you know?" Phin stepped to the side to avoid blocking the line behind him, lightly resting his elbows on the glass counter that separated them.

"Who knows, I might get to be an honorary one."

Qadira put down the steel carafe she'd been pouring foam from, her face a mess of questions.

"But to answer a bit of what you asked before, I'm just leaving work because I have to check out a few apartments. I can be back at six, though."

The words buzzed around her brain until it threatened to short-circuit. She blankly nodded, not knowing how she was supposed to last another three hours until she could confirm that he was... moving here?

"Girl, I don't even have a crush on him and I'm curious as hell," Jennie grinned at her after Phin left.

"I don't have a crush on him," Qadira lied.

"Sure, pink cheeks. Because if, say, Henry were to leave for a month and then return, you'd be on him like saran wrap too."

Ugh, is that what she'd done?

"Relax!" Jennie was chagrined by the horrified-slash-disgusted look on her friend's face. "Look, I know PDA isn't a huge thing back in Iraq—"

"Understatement."

"—but I came in this morning watching a couple stick their tongues down each others' throats on the TTC, then take bites of their respective BeaverTails, then resume with the tongues for the next five blocks. Not only was your little hug super-wholesome, that dude was blissed out."

Qadira took order after order, filling them while trying not to be distracted by Jennie's words. Not to mention Phin's cryptic teaser of a visit. She felt silly doing it, but she scrubbed her face and reapplied her makeup at 5:55. Phin walked in exactly when he'd said he would, still in that debonair suit, clutching some papers.

"I didn't change after work because I figured I'd be more likely to get a place while looking all cute," he explained when he noticed her noticing him.

"And did you?" Qadira yanked her apron strings and grabbed her purse from under the counter. She turned back to signal to Jennie she was leaving, then hoped to god Phin didn't notice her friend's exaggerated wink.

"Actually, yeah! It's a low-rise in... Willowdale?" He showed her the lease agreement he was holding. "Do you know where that is?"

"Yes, it's in North York," she smiled. "The question is, do you know where that is?"

"I do now," he said, holding the door open for her. It was still a smoky, congested downtown core, but psychologically the air just felt lighter for Phin as he slowly took it in. "It's like, at least an hour from the office. But the rent for anywhere closer is..."

"Exorbitant?"

"I was going to say parasitic." They strolled across Front Street, not having a clue of where they were headed.

"Welcome to Toronto," Qadira smiled wryly. "From here, it'll only take you about two hours to get to, well, Toronto."

"There has to be a way around that," Phin shook his head. "Maybe one day when I'm the boss—oh, shit, that's right! I am the boss now!" Even more thrilling than saying those words was witnessing the genuine surprise and joy on Qadira's face.

He quickly ran down everything that had happened since they'd last seen each other, including that nagging feeling in his soul that he had to leave the US sooner than later. His promotion had come along at the exact time he'd needed the out.

It was really tempting to add the part where he'd missed her, but it was also too soon. He didn't want her to think he was just another one of those guys who saw her as a love interest before he valued her as a friend.

They just kept on walking while Phin had kept talking, not questioning when Qadira pulled him into a streetcar and they zipped eastward. He figured she knew where they were, even if he didn't.

"So a part of me thought Harold would definitely fire me when I said Brett's head was sewn to his ass but—" He looked back at Lake Shore Boulevard as she led him toward the shores of Lake Ontario. "So is this where Torontonians dump all the bodies?"

"This is where Torontonians go for fireworks," Qadira said, pointing to the signage at Ashbridges Bay. Coming from any other woman, Phin would have been right to assume she was flirting. But he didn't want to be so careless with this particular woman. "Take your shoes off, boss," she commanded.

Okay, how can she say that and not be flirting? Phin rued. She was a vision that day in a cute, little denim skirt, a black tee, and sandals. He wasn't so lucky as he was still in his business suit.

"What's a Sloan anyway?" he asked as he took off his socks and shoes, wrapped them in a plastic bag inside his laptop bag, and rolled up his trousers. Qadira looked down at the rock band emblazoned on her shirt.

"Are you kidding me? Ohhhh, boy, would you get beat up if you said that in Halifax." She took out her phone. "Sloan is arguably the best Canadian band in the last 30 years."

"Out of like, what, all three of 'em?"

She rolled her beautiful eyes, then grabbed Phin's suit jacket and put it on, unbothered that it hung down to her thighs. He measuredly drew in his breath at the thought that, from the back, it looked like that's all she was wearing.

"You're already carrying that huge bag," she explained, as the mellow guitar opening of Coax Me flowed from her phone and she stepped out onto the beach. For a moment, there was just them, the music, and the waves threatening to lap at their feet.

"So guess who's waiting on a start date with Toronto Paramedic Services?" Qadira broke the silence, dropping her phone in Phin's jacket pocket as her toes sank into the warm, damp sand.

"Heyyy, that's fantastic," Phin smiled, joining her as they walked down the beach. "Your coffee shop boyfriend's going to be crushed he can't use his incel pick-up lines on you anymore." She laughed with an exaggerated shudder—but didn't mention an actual boyfriend, thank god—and Phin took it as a fair sign she wasn't seeing anyone.

He hated the times in the last month that it'd popped up in his head because it wasn't fair or normal to feel jealousy over a woman he wasn't even with. He hated even more that he'd had to remind himself of that fact more than a few times, but something about Qadira rattled him.

"...so it was just a given that they recruit straight from colleges, and I was floored I didn't have to send out endless applications," she'd continued from whatever she'd been saying when Phin had zoned out. "I thought this was what I should have done when I was 20, but at least I'm not 40 on a film set somewhere and regretti—" She finally noticed him entranced by the waves of Lake Ontario.

"I'm sorry," she said sheepishly. "I get carried away when I'm talking about work."

"Oh my gosh, no," Phin stopped her. "No, I was listening." It was sort of true. He'd been thinking about touching her hair for the first part, but then he'd been listening. "Cleveland's also right there on Lake Erie, but this feels a whole lot calmer somehow."

"I agree," she smiled. The falling Sun cast a pink-orange glow across the water. "I'm glad you're back, even if it's only for a year. It's nice out here with you."

It's nice anywhere with you, Phin thought.

***********

It was a Friday, it was his first working day off in three months since he'd moved to Toronto, and Phin was eager to spend every hour possible with Qadira. He knew she'd just completed four days on shift, and this was her first of four days off.