When You Get the Chance by Tom Ryan

Author:Tom Ryan [Ryan, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Running Press
Published: 2020-05-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

TALIA

A couple of hours and a carton of ice cream later, the three of us are squeezed into the back of Babs and Shirley’s silver pickup truck and on our way to Toronto.

“Toyota Tacoma,” Babs says, thumping the steering wheel. “Ask any mechanic: these babies are bulletproof.”

I feel like we should be in a horse-drawn carriage, because Babs and Shirley are basically our fairy godmothers: a friend of Babs came and towed our smoking wreck to his garage while Babs packed a weekend bag and Shirley made us all banana splits in the kitchen of their tiny house, just down the street from the diner. It’ll be at least eleven before we’re in Toronto, but Erin’s working until midnight anyway. I sent a text to say we had car trouble and were running late. We didn’t call our parents, though, and I still don’t know what Mark’s going to do with Paige when we get to the city.

But that is not my problem. I have a relationship to save. I’m not going to give up on Erin without a fight, and as much as I adore Paige, I am definitely not available to babysit tonight.

Babs turns on the radio, scans through a few stations featuring classic rock and heavy static, and turns it off again with a grunt. “Well. Last time we went to Toronto for Pride was… what year was that, Shirley?”

Shirley has flipped down the visor mirror and is applying bright red lipstick. “Mmm…” She smacks her lips together and pushes the mirror back up. “Mid-nineties, must have been. More than twenty years.”

“1996,” Babs says. “It was the year of the first Dyke March. Remember all the fuss about it? And not knowing if anyone would show up?”

Shirley nods. “’Course, we’ve been to Pride in Orillia more recently. But that’s not anything like Toronto, of course.”

Babs continues as if Shirley hasn’t spoken. “And the police said we’d have to march on the sidewalks if fewer than a hundred women showed up.”

“And did they?” Paige asks. “I mean, more than a hundred?’

“Oh, yes, of course. Lots. Though we were a bit worried because it was pissing rain and it started late—”

“Lesbian time,” Shirley interjects. “But it was a great march. A great day.”

“Was that the year we went to the Rose after the march?” Babs looks at Shirley. “Our friend Gord was with us that night, and they had that rule—men could only go in the bar if they had a certain number of women with them. And we had to argue with that girl at the door—”

“Who couldn’t have been more than twenty—barely old enough to be in the bar herself—”

“How old are you guys anyway?” Paige interrupts.

“Paige!” I elbow her. “That’s rude.”

Paige looks taken aback. “Why is it rude?”

“It isn’t rude at all, darling,” Babs says. “I’m sixty-eight. And Shirley is—”

“Younger,” Shirley cuts in.

Babs snorts. “Anyway, when we came out in the early seventies, there was no such thing as a lesbian bar. Not really. Wasn’t until ten years later that the lesbian scene in Toronto started to take off.

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