Sparks

My head is filled with liquid. I hear the “whoosh” as it sloshes between my ears when I lift my face from the smushed pillow. The pillow isn’t mine. Neither is the bed I’m sleeping in.

“You’re too old for this,” I think to myself. “Sex with randos won’t make you less lonely.”

I push the rough sheet off my warm, naked body before turning to see who’s lying beside me.

That’s not who I think it is… Is it?

The face is buried under a lime-green blanket but sprouting out of it, is a brown hand with a blue braided bracelet twisted around the wrist.

Nestor.

The fluid from my head drains quickly to my chest, submerging my heart.

Shit! Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Why couldn’t it have been anyone but him!

Where are my clothes?

I edge to the side of the bed as quietly as I can but the cheap springs on the mattress let out a quick squeal. Nestor sighs but doesn’t wake up. Something white glows in the corner of the room. Is that my bra?

The window doesn’t have any curtains but sunlight is thin in winter and doesn’t brighten the small room. I stand slowly, my feet splaying on the cold wood floor. A knot of phlegm is stuck in my throat. Swallowing hard, I tiptoe towards my undergarment. Reaching out, I pick my bra up from the floor.

“Oh, fuck,” I say to myself, remembering how it got there, a striptease teased out of tequila.

My jeans are on top of a pair of old snowboarding boots. My t-shirt is halfway under the bed along with my phone. I can’t find my socks or underwear. They’ll have to stay here.

Shoving my feet into my sneakers and grabbing my coat off the floor, I open the door softly and slip out. Shuffling down the stairs and into the dark living room, I get a whiff of rotting beer and skunk from the party the night before. Two guys are curled up on a dirty beige sofa, the only furniture in the long room, while a woman, mouth open wide, is snoring on a stained and torn green rug on the floor.

I would trade places with one of them in a second. My chest feels like it’s being squeezed like a lemon. How am I going to tell Marina I slept with Nestor?

I sneak outside and the frigid late November air wraps itself tightly around my throat. I cough and cough and cough and it stings and pinches and hurts. I spit out yolk-yellow phlegm, staining the snowy ground. Zipping my jacket all the way to my chin, I stick my hands in my pockets and start walking. Vehicles with roof racks filled with skis, poles and boards speed past me on the road. I wish I could catch a ride to the mountains looming in front of me. Pretend it’s just another day on the slopes. Flying down the hill with the wind chasing me. Twisting and turning and punishing my knees on the bumps. Forgetting everything except how to carve snow.

Ski season opened last week. Tonnes of new people arrived in Revelstoke to work on the hill or take a holiday. The bars are full of music and laughter and men. Everyone is smiling, in a good mood from their first runs. It’s easy to fall in love for a night.

So why did I have to fall into bed with my best friend’s ex-boyfriend?

Pushing open the door to my apartment, my marmalade-coloured cat Tim runs to me.

“Sorry, I left you alone in the Hovel,” I say to him, rubbing his velvety ear with my fingers.

The Hovel is what I call our apartment. It’s one tiny room in a large old Victorian house cut up into other small apartments. It’s all I can afford while on Employment Insurance in this expensive resort town. The Hovel only has enough space for a bed, a tiny bathroom with a bathtub and a clothing rack made out of a branch cut from the yard and shoved into a corner. My fridge doubles as a nightstand. A couple of months ago, the hotplate and microwave were taken away by the landlord. He told me the town said he couldn’t have kitchens in his suites. He removed everything while I was away, interviewing for a job.

I kick off my shoes and then sink onto my bed, rolling onto my back. The ceiling above me is grey and white, mottled with mildew.

“That’s probably what my soul looks like,” I say to Tim.

I’m 35 and I have nothing to show for all my years on Earth. No career. No money. No boyfriend. No future. All I have is my cat and Marina. She’s the one who brought me here after I was laid off from my newspaper reporting job in Kelowna last year.

“Come ski while you look for work!” she said.

I said yes and she picked me and Tim up and here we’ve been for four months.

Marina’s from Revelstoke. I met her when she was living in Kelowna two years ago. She was there with her husband, Josh, and their little boy, Lukas. Marina was working at my paper as a reporter, too, and we hit it off from Day One. We had so many things in common – same age, same job, same hatred for cilantro, same love for lemon pie and a passion for the outdoors.

Now we have one more thing in common.

“Fuck!” I roar at the fungus.

All I had to do was avoid Nestor.

Nestor.

My heart rate surges remembering Nestor’s hands grabbing me around my waist last night. Remembering him whispering my name in my ear. Remembering the weight of his body on top of mine.

My heart rate plummets when I remember what Marina told me in the summer by the fire in her backyard. 

“Nestor’s the love of my life.”

“Don’t say that,” I said. “That’s the gin and tonic on an empty stomach talking.”

“It’s the truth talking. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I’m not single like you. I’d kill myself if I had to deal with the shit you get – men ghosting you, getting fucked up before your date, puking in the bathroom during your date…”

“I can pick ‘em!”

“I do love your stories,” Marina said in the growing darkness. “It’s half the reason I keep you around.”

“I’m glad my loser life keeps you entertained,” I said.

“Something has to,” Marina said, sighing. “My husband is sooooo boring and my kid takes up all our time.”

“Josh is a great dad and he worships you.”

Marina flicked a strand of her long, brown hair off her shoulder.

“He never plans anything spontaneous like a dinner out. A romantic evening for him is a bike ride and a beer and in bed by 10 p.m.”

“I’d give anything to have someone to curl up with at the end of the night and actually know their name,” I said.

Marina hugged herself.

“Josh is boring. He’s my pet rock. Stable. Solid. I can rely on him.”

“That’s a good thing!” I said. “The only thing I can be sure is the black-hole-pit-of-emptiness consuming my best years. I’ll be 40 soon with a sagging face and boobs. You’ve got it all. A job and a sweet family.” 

“There are no sparks. I don’t think there ever was with Josh, even at the start, you know, like at the beginning when everything is new and exciting. I dated Nestor 10 years ago and even now when I run into him, a jolt of electricity zaps my body.”

“You know what it’s like to be electrocuted?” I laughed. “Do tell!”

“You know what I mean,” Marina said.

“I don’t. I’m an epic failure at life, especially love. I’m so lonely that when I go to the grocery store, I don’t see any point in eating. I get Tim’s cat food and that’s it.”

“I can’t go to the store without hoping Nestor will be there grabbing milk,” Marina said. “God, I’m a middle-aged cliché.”

“Would you rather be me?”

Marina shrugged.

“Maybe Nestor will move?” I said, filling the air with red embers while stirring the smouldering fire with a stick. “Then he won’t be a temptation.”

“Revelstoke is his hometown, too,” Marina said, crossing her legs. “His parents are here. His sisters and nieces are here. His skiing, climbing and biking life is here.”

“You could move again?”

“Josh has seniority at the hospital. He’s only working the late shift tonight as a favour to another nurse. Besides, what would I say? ‘We have to leave town because I’m still in love with my ex?’”

I nod in the shadows.

“I’m going to tell you this as my closest, closest friend,” Marina said, “and you cannot repeat it. Even to me.”

“Ohhh…kayyy...,” I said slowly.

“I’m secretly happy Nestor is single.”

“Really?”

“He actually would be a great guy for you,” Marina said. “You’re both skiing freaks and still read books. Oh, he hates cilantro, too.”

“The herb of death!” I said. “I just might like this man.”

“Sorry, I’m keeping Nestor all to myself.”

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. The crackling of the fire covered my silence.

Marina and I were close, close like sisters. She fed me when my EI didn’t cover groceries. Looked after Tim when I went out of town for interviews. Cried with me when I’ve been turned down for jobs. Lent me her ski pass when I needed to burn off some steam. Invited me to become part of her family celebrations, joining them at Christmas and Thanksgiving. Listened to me complain about the ski bums and climber dirtbags I’ve dated.

I always thought she wanted me to be happy.

“Nestor’s my second husband,” Marina said. “Whenever I see him, he blinks and blinks at me like he can’t believe I’m real. He is still deeply in love with me. Another thing, he hasn’t had a real relationship since me. He’s not happy with anyone else. He’s waiting for me.”

“I don’t know him at all,” I said, “but when I see him, he’s smiling.”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

Just then, Josh’s bicycle light broke through the darkness.

“Your husband is home,” I said, standing. “I do have a man waiting up for me.”

“Tim is very handsome,” Marina said. “I bet he’s a good cuddle buddy.”

“He’s better than that guy who slept with me last week and then asked to borrow 20 bucks.”

Marina laughed and then grabbed my arm, her fingers wrapping around my skin, squeezing the blood out of my veins.

“Nestor is off-limits,” she whispered.

That night, I sat in the Hovel holding Tim and blinking away tears.

“Marina didn’t mean what she said,” I mumbled to Tim. “She’s going through stuff. I won’t add to her pile.”

I worked at avoiding Nestor this summer. We have no connections at all except for Marina. Besides, there are so many wild places to go around Revelstoke, it wasn’t hard to be somewhere else. Then one cool autumn Saturday morning, there he was, in my favourite café, his head thrown back, laughing. He was sitting in a corner booth with his two young nieces, surrounded by toast crusts, unaware that I existed.

The line-up to order was long and I had to stand by his table. Nestor’s deep brown eyes met mine and an electrical current arced between us. I broke his gaze and quickly left the coffee shop without my chai.

I started seeing him almost every Saturday morning this past month at the café. Before I’d go in, I’d peer through the large glass window to see if he was there. When he was, I’d walk on. 

But last week things changed. 

I was at the ski hill with a group of friends and we got on the gondola. He hopped on after us.

“Hi,” he said to me.

“Hi,” I said to him before fiddling with my boot.

I didn’t tell Marina about it. I never told her that when I heard the gruff, rich tone of his voice, I understood what she meant about being electrocuted. That sparks can ignite between two people that no one else can see. That invisible currents can be stronger than touch.   

Now I had to confess so much more.

Another knot of phlegm rises and clogs my throat.

Last night, I invited Marina and four other girlfriends to the Hovel for a few drinks.

“You’re giddy tonight,” Marina said to me, “dancing around with a big smile. Do you have a new man you’re keeping secret from me?”

“I got a job!” I shouted, sending Tim running under the bed.

The women encircled me with their arms, shrieking congratulations and splashing beer and wine in my hair.

“That’s amazing!” Marina said. “Where?”

“Cranbrook,” I said.

“That’s several hours away,” she said, narrowing her hazel eyes at me.

“I’ll visit, you’ll visit,” I said.

“You’re leaving me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are,” Marina said. “This is a terrible time for me.”

“For you?” I asked. “You have a job in journalism, a partner and a child.” 

“I forgot Lukas has an early ski lesson tomorrow,” Marina said, grabbing her coat off my bed.

“Really?” I asked. “Doesn’t Josh usually take him to the hill?”

“He used to,” Marina said. “Have fun tonight, ladies!”

The other women lifted their glasses to Marina as she rushed out the door.

“More alcohol for us, then,” I said, turning around to pour some tequila shots and hide my quivering smile.

After a round or three more, we stumbled out of the Hovel, down the street and into the bar. The music was blasting and the bass was so low it rumbled around in my stomach like a bowling ball in the gutter. I fell onto the dance floor and was swallowed up by the writhing and thrashing of limbs. I closed my eyes and jumped up and down and tossed my arms about like I was throwing demons out of my body.

“Whoa, there, little buddy,” said a voice above me. “Take it easy or you’re going to hurt yourself.” 

“God?” I shouted.

“I’ve been called worse,” the voice said. “It’s Nestor.”

Opening my eyes, there was a blur of light and an explosion of white, white teeth surrounded by brown skin.

“Nestor?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m not allowed to talk to you,” I said, trying to push through the pulsing crowd to get away.

“Why not?”

“Because,” I said. “Because, I don’t know. I forget now.”

“Great. Then it’s fine if we talk.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Do you think I should take you home?” Nestor asked. “You’re being circled by sharks. They smell fresh blood in the water.”

“I like sharks,” I said. “They have sharp teeth.”

“They do. Let’s find your jacket.”

Nestor took my hand and I felt pins and needles buzzing through my fingers, up my arm and settle in my chest. I followed my guide through the throng of revelers and off the dancefloor.

“My coat,” I said, pointing to a blue puffer draped on a chair.

Nestor poured me into my jacket and zipped it up for me once we were outside in the crisp mountain air.

“Where do you live?” he asked, breath steaming from his red mouth.

“In the Hovel,” I said, looking at the ground.

“Where is that?”

“Far away,” I sighed. “Very far away.”

“Which direction?”

“I don’t know. Leave me,” I said, sitting on the frozen ground. “I’ll just sleep right here.”

“You’re not sleeping on the sidewalk,” Nestor said. “Please try and remember where you live.”

“Nope,” I said. “I can’t and Marina is upset with me.”

“Marina?”

“Yep.”

“Can I drop you off at her house?”

“She doesn’t like me right now.”

“OK. How about this? I have some friends throwing a party a few houses away. We’ll go there and it’ll give you some time to remember where you live. Does that work?”

“Party on!” I yelled.

A couple of minutes later, we arrived at a two-story house vibrating with music, light and people.

“Go on in!” said a guy smoking by the front door. “Nestor, who’s your friend?”

“Liv,” Nestor said.

“How do you know my name?” I asked.

“I asked someone,” he said.

***

I stand and cough to loosen the sticky bile gathering in my throat. For balance, I put a hand on a wall wet with condensation.

“Gross,” I say, wiping my palm on my jeans.

The Hovel is disgusting and smells like someone’s ass after they’ve been camping for months.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” I say to Tim sitting on the windowsill. ‘I’ll call Marina when I’m in Cranbook.”

Chaos always finds me. When a good thing happens, something bad evens the score.

Grabbing the suitcase from under my bed, I throw it on the floor by the door. Tim chirps at something outside.

“What do you see?” I ask him, taking a look myself.

Nestor.

My whole body vibrates but I have enough sense to open the door before he can knock.

“Hi,” he says, stepping inside. “So, you know, I’m not stalking you. I wanted to make sure you were OK.”

“I’m fine,” I say.

“You left in such a hurry that we didn’t get to talk.”

“Sorry,” I say, picking up Tim, before he disappears through the open door. “How did you find me?”

“Marina. I texted her.”

The bile in my throat moves closer to my mouth.

“Marina?” I ask.

“I was worried about you,” Nestor says, rubbing his chin dotted with grey stubble.

“It’s just…” I say, trying to think my way through a blizzard of words. “It’s just, just, just…”

“Just what?”

“Marina is my best friend and I shouldn’t have done what I did,” I shoot out.

“Done what?”

“You know…”

“Slept?” Nestor asks, his eyes wide.

“And the other thing.”

“The striptease? I got to admit, it was pretty funny.”

“Funny?”

“You threw your panties and socks out the window. You could hardly stand and I was trying to get you to lie down on my buddy’s bed before you followed your underwear.”

“We didn’t have sex?”

Nestor throws back his head and bellows at the mildew.

“What?” he asks.

“I thought we got together.”

“You did wrestle me to the ground but that’s as close as we got.”

My heart rate surges as I remember his hands grabbing me around my waist. I remember him whispering my name in my ear. I remember the weight of his body on top of mine.

I remember the shock of Marina saying Nestor belongs to her.

“What did you tell Marina about us?” I ask.

“I asked where you lived,” Nestor says. “Liv, I’ve been trying to find a way to talk to you for weeks but you always disappear. You never go to the café anymore. It’s like you’re avoiding me.”

He was waiting for me!

For me!

“Marina doesn’t know I was with you last night?” I ask.

“What’s this fixation with her?” Nestor asks, his brow furrowed like an old man.

I bite my lip.

“She’s your ex,” I say.

“Emphasis on ex. We dated a long time ago.”

“Right,” I say.

“She’s married with a kid. Well, was married. She told me this morning that Josh is moving out.”

My brain spins.

“I need to sit,” I say, wobbling as I set Tim down on the floor.

“Here,” Nestor says, helping me to the bed.

“That’s exactly what the slut wants,” Marina says, appearing in the doorway. Her fists are clenched and her head is cocked like she’s deciding between punching me in the head or the gut.

“Marina,” I say, holding up my hands. “It’s not what you think.”

“Josh left me,” Marina says, taking a step toward me. “For you. Says he feels sparks."