It’s a flash in my memory. His face. His dark hair and piercing eyes. Where do I know him from?

The townhouse in Mount Pleasant. He lived on the top floor. The arborist. Ash. His name is Ash.

My gut turns over. I knew him in the time before. It’s like waking from a dream. What is real? Am I awake? Have I been asleep this whole time?

I liked Ash. I admired his relationship with his girlfriend. I was attracted to him.

I remember sitting in a strata meeting and liking his temperament and wishing I were in a relationship with a man like him.

***

Russell and I sit beside a fire that overlooks a frozen lake, our legs tired from skiing, our bodies hungering for food. The sun is setting. We share a pitcher of beer while we wait for food to arrive.

He shifts over to sit close to me.

He looks at me with admiration and love.

“I’m so lucky,” he says. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

He holds my hand and kisses me.

“I love you,” he continues, “although you already know that. I love you very much.”

***

There have been all of these other moments.

On the beach of a secluded cove on an island at midnight on New Year’s, sparklers illuminating the faces of my friends. Sparkling wine sloshing out of a plastic wine glass. Waves lapping on the gravel landwash. Laughing until my body aches.

Skiing through an old growth forest in the dark. Racing down hills and laughing and then warming up beside a fire.

Friends over for dinner and board games. The apartment warm and full of happy noise and appreciation for the moment.

Meeting Holly’s new dog, and him leaning up against me and looking up with so much need and love. I instantly loved him and wanted him for myself.

***
I haven’t been to the hairdresser since fall of 2019. I can’t seem to summon the energy to make an appointment and travel over to East Van, so I trim my own hair every month.

It’s odd how I am willing to drive a long way and expend a huge amount of energy to play in the mountains, but the idea of a haircut exhausts me.