“Was he not supposed to be a bald Nigerian?”
She shrugs and keeps smiling. “He said he was from Saskatchewan, but I guess you can be both. And the picture on his profile is of a tanned man with lots of dark hair. But looks change.”
“Sure,” I say slowly, cutting off a piece of pancake.
“He also wasn’t a teacher anymore. He was fired after he was caught selling drugs to the students.”
“Oh my god,” I say, glancing up at her. “How did you find that out? Did he tell you?”
“No, not really. The cops told me.”
I put my fork down on the plate. She has my complete attention now. I’m immediately trying to figure out how to write this into my book, but with, you know, a fantasy slant. “The cops? How were there cops? What happened, are you okay?”
“Oh yes,” she says. She nods at the pancake. “Try it.”
“I will. Just tell me why you were consorting with the police.”
“They thought I was a hooker.”
Now I’ve heard everything. “And why the hell did they think that?”
She tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Mister Nigeria thought that maybe that was something I would be interested in. We discussed it on the street corner, and I guess we looked suspicious.”
I raise my palm. “Hold up, Ana, hold up. Are you saying this guy was a pimp?”
“No,” she says quickly, almost defensive. “He’s trying to be one. He said he needed a new line of business since he can’t teach or deal drugs anymore.”
I blink, trying to absorb it all and come to terms with the crazy in the lives around me. First Rio, now her. “So then the cops busted you.”
“Yes, but they believed me, of course. Well, first they thought maybe I was a Russian mail-order bride, but I was able to prove my beauty school and everything. I showed them my portfolio on my phone and I even offered to do one officer’s makeup, but she said that would be against the law. They arrested Mr. Nigeria in the end because he had violated his parole.”
“Wait, wait…I thought you said you had a,” I make air quotes, “wonderful date?”
She grins at me, wiggling in her seat. “I did. Before all that happened, he took me out for dinner. I had the veal parmigiana. It was really good.”
I slowly nod, trying to find the joke in all of this, but I know she’s one hundred percent sincere. Which is sad. There’s being an optimist and looking on the bright side of life, and then there’s finding joy in a free meal because you haven’t had that kind of attention in a long time.
“Well, that’s good,” I say, picking my fork back up. “At least you enjoyed yourself.”
I pop the pancake into my mouth and take a tentative chew.
Very cinnamony. The syrup drowns out most of the weird flavor.
Then I crunch hard on something and pause, my gag reflex threatening me.
“Uh, what is this again?” I manage to ask, my hand coming to my mouth, the bits of pancake not sure if they should go down or back out.
“Naeris and kaneel. Turnip and cinnamon. Local favorite. Though I don’t think I boiled the turnips enough, sorry.”
I make a gurgling kind of noise in surprise but eventually chew and swallow. She’s watching me as I finish it off with a big gulp of coffee. “Well, there’s nothing worse than an overcooked turnip,” I manage to tell her.
She nods emphatically.
“So,” I say, pushing around the rest of the pancake and trying to eat around the turnip bits. “Do you think you’re going to give up on online dating?”
Her head jerks back as if I’ve said something totally disgusting. “And where do you suppose I’ll meet a man?”
“I don’t know. Like a normal person, out in the real world.”
She stirs sugar into her coffee and stares down at it with amusement. “Oh, sweet one. You’re so young, you should know more about this than me. Why don’t you give it a try? It has been some time since Alan, yes?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have time for guys.”
“Everyone has time for sex,” she says, her eyes gleaming. “Especially boys your age who blast off like a rocket.”
“Oh joy, what a pity I’m missing out.” I get up and artfully throw half the pancake in the garbage when she’s not looking. “Between hearing about Rio’s adventures on Tinder and whichever dating site you’re finding these Nigerian pimps, I’m quite okay with being my single self.”
All right, that’s kind of a lie, especially since I was having a pity party for my singledom last night, but I have to admit it’s sounding more appealing than Rio and Ana’s love lives. At least my company is predictable, and my growing collection of vibrators never lets me down, even though as I was replacing the batteries last week, one did fall off the shelf, smacking me right in the cheek. Try explaining that black eye to your mother.
I’m still feeling in a bit of a funk though so I get into my running clothes before I can change my mind. Normally I run to an ever-evolving playlist, but I fear if I wait for my phone to charge, I’ll lose my nerve, so I head out the door and start running.
I feel like mixing it up this time, so instead of heading onto Beach Drive as it skirts Oak Bay and the multitude of coves and waterfront houses like I normally do, I head in the opposite direction, running through winding suburban streets past the spires of the Victorian Craigdarroch Castle which was built by a coal baron in the late 1800s, which strangely doesn’t look out of place in Victoria.