Page 1 of Trial and Error

bridget

Summer.

The worst time of the year.

No, that’s wrong.

Summer in Vancouver is the worst time of year. High rise buildings, crappy temperamental weather—which, really, is only two seasons: a scorching hot summer or a blistering cold winter, both of which I’m not a fan of—and god forbid I forget the lack of air conditioning. And let’s be honest, that’s the biggest flaw of all.

As I list all of the things I hate about the city on this sweltering hot bus, filled to the brim with sweaty and smelly people, I find myself gazing out of the window in awe at the sheer amount of greenery we have here. For a city, it’s rather environmentally-friendly and the ecosystem is kind of a big deal.

One of my favourite areas of the city is Stanley Park, a big-ass public park that is located in Vancouver’s downtown peninsula. Walks through there on the weekends are one of my best friend Imani’s and my favourite pastimes.

As the bus pulls up to the stop just outside my favourite bar, I shout a quick, “thank you,” then hop down onto the sidewalk along with ten other patrons, all dressed in their office wear. My best friend Imani has been living in Vancouver since she became a student at UBC when she was nineteen. I remember her moving into her cute heritage apartment in the West End and almost fainting when she told me the cost of her monthly rent.

Let’s just say I’m glad I live outside of the city.

I weave through the throngs of finance bros and Pilates princesses, all chatting boisterously to one another, and make my way to the bar’s patio. I spot her immediately, her tawny and bronzed skin glowing under the setting sun, standing at one of the high tables in the middle. I’m surprised she even managed to get a spot with the sheer amount of people here, and I make a note to myself to buy her a drink for her efforts.

Her dark brown eyes look over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip of wine and a warm smile settles on her lips. As soon as I’m close enough she reaches for me, her slender fingers clasping around my wrist and pulling me toward her.

“Fucking hell, Bids.” She sighs, letting go of me and sliding a glass of crisp white wine in front of me. “I didn’t think you’d find me out here.”

Looking around, I realize there are no spare seats and my ankles throb at the thought of having to stand any longer than necessary. I spend most of my days either sitting down or running around after my boss at the law firm I work at. I’ve been a legal secretary there for nearly four years, and if it wasn’t for my hefty paycheque and the health benefits, I’d have left that place a long time ago.

“Me either.” I hum in agreement as I take a sip of the Moscato. “I thought we might’ve had to ask Dumb and Dumber over there for their table.”

Imani follows my line of gaze at the two men in their all-too-tight suits, both of whom are talking to two women, who look bored out of their minds. They both lean against the table while the girls lean back, exchanging the odd look here and there.

Imani laughs. “To think that could’ve been us.”

After a few minutes of aimlessly watching the men attempt to shoot their shot, we turn our attention back to each other. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, and I’ve missed her.

Her coiled black hair is twisted into a knot on the top of her head and secured with a pink claw grip with a few stray strands that fall around her rounded face.

Imani fans her face with a menu from the table and puffs out her cheeks. “I can’t wait for it to be fall, this summer was too hot.”

“Yeah, thankfully, with September around the corner, it’ll cool down soon.”

“Thank god, I was not made for this climate.”

“So, tell me,” I start, resting my elbows on the table top. “How is that mighty fine brother of yours?”

Imani rolls her eyes. “Girl, please.” A knowing smirk slowly spreads on her glossy lips. “You already know he’s obsessed with you.”

Malik Kingston, Imani’s older brother, is God’s gift to mankind. We’ve been friends ever since I transferred to their high school twelve years ago. I’ve always had a little soft spot for him, and for many years I thought it was one-sided, until one drunken night in our early twenties, he told me he had been harbouring feelings for me since we first met. As soon as the cat was out of the bag, he didn’t hold back on the flirting or doing anything and everything he could to get my attention.

It’s not that his attempts haven’t worked because, trust me, that man lives in my head rent free, but I worry that dating Malik would ruin things between Imani and me if it went wrong.

Not to mention, his baby mama is an absolute psycho.

“He’s such a DILF,” I say wistfully, inwardly laughing when Imani gags.

She closes her eyes and holds out a hand in front of her. “I don’t want to hear Malik and DILF in the same sentence.”

“See, this is why I haven’t taken him up on any of his offers.” She looks at me with a puzzled expression. “Because I wouldn’t be able to talk about his dick size with you.”

I swear her bronze skin turns pale at the thought. “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe it’s best if you two stay just friends.” I nod in agreement but she pauses, her eyes softening as she assess me. “I wouldn’t have anything against the two you of you dating, you know that, right?”