So Sweet

We share something special, the girls and I.

Janet and Rene first came into my life last February, after a sleetstorm swept over Village Park and left the sidewalk slick and uneven with ice. The year hadn’t started well. I lost my job, then my benefits. Nothing was officially wrong with me—aside from my teeth and bladder.

My doctor—chickenshit—never told me plainly. He worked with his eyes down and nose turned up at me, even while giving advice. 2007 was supposed to be my year. Change and progress were in the cards like never before. I found myself walking that morning after an appointment, idling and looking for new cafés and bookstores outside my usual route. This led me to Village Park, which then led me to the girls.

My shoes at the time were ratty, discoloured, far from winter-ready. I would have headed home early if Rene hadn’t stopped me. She was wrapped in an olive jacket, hair bunched up underneath a snowy toque.

“Could you take our photo?” she shouted like it was for someone else.

She placed a phone in my hand, and I finally got a good look at them both. Rene looked like a dancer. She had muscles flowing where her torso wasn’t covered by thick layers—I found out later she lifted weights. She balanced herself on the balls of her feet to speak to me.

“Excuse me, could you take our photo?” she repeated, just as loud.

Janet stood alone by a railing, posed like a lay figure beneath a dead tree with clawlike limbs above her. She was a few inches taller, with bright sharp features I could make out easily in the hazy winter air.

For one terrible moment, I felt like I was stalling when I couldn’t get any words out. Rene leaned close; her ungloved hand touched my threadbare coat.

“Pretend you’re taking a photo, please.”

I looked down and noticed her phone camera was already recording. I was confused, and a little embarrassed.

Janet was getting impatient.

“It’s alright, babe,” she called out.

Rene turned and looked around the park for someone more willing.

“Sure,” I finally said. I didn’t want to, but I also couldn’t find an escape without sounding unpleasant. I realized I had to pee—not urgently, but enough to be distracting. I shifted on my feet, eager to leave.

Rene perked right up and left the phone running in my hands. She rejoined Janet by the railing and got comfy next to her. They were a couple, clearly, and it was apparent they were crazy for each other. Janet put her elbow on top of Rene’s head, mocking her shorter frame. Rene leaned and posed underneath her.

I pretended to take photos. “Got it.” “Okay, nice.” “Let’s do another one of those.” The phone was still recording, and I was thinking, Who is Rene to pull some kind of nasty prank on Janet? I remember liking Janet more at that moment.

Rene turned and unzipped her jacket. From her breast pocket, she retrieved a small velvet ring box. I panned from Janet back to Rene, zoomed in, then out.

It all changed quickly to something really wonderful. Cold tears started filling Janet’s eyes as Rene dropped down to one knee. I went with her and lowered the phone to show them both, one looking up at the other, Janet standing stiffly in shock and Rene starting to run through a little speech she had prepared. I can’t remember the exact words, but I have the video saved somewhere; I’ll have to go through it again. From what I remember, words like soulmate and sexy and Kingston were strewn about the speech.

Janet swooned. She was screaming yes into cupped hands before Rene could finish. I was trying not to make any noise, but if you watch the video closely you probably hear a few pleased mumbles. I would find out later that friends and family would ask about the nice man taking the video, making soft little noises. When Rene finished and finally accepted Janet’s answer, she slid an andradite engagement ring onto her red finger. There they came into one.

I whooped like a game show audience, the phone shaking in my hands. Onlookers started gathering. Janet hoisted Rene up and spun her around like they were skating on the choppy ice underneath them.

Rene gave me a thumbs up. I grinned and congratulated them. They hugged me, one at a time. Rene squeezed like a kid playing rough; Janet nearly cracked my ribs.

By then, my bladder was screaming. I tried not to show it. I wanted to check the video, make sure it was good—but Rene just took her phone back and smiled. There was a quiet stillness between us, like we were all waiting for the next step.

Naturally, I wanted to know more about them. And they didn’t seem eager to let go of the man who’d helped make their day so special. They asked for my Instagram, but I’d deactivated it for personal reasons. Instead, they gave me theirs. I wished them all the best.

Weeks passed. I had run through pages and pages of job listings, with zero interest. I fell into reselling rare books and magazines and I had enough rounded up at the end of each month for rent and essentials. One day I went to Instagram and noticed that Rene’s account had been set to private. Maybe on account of some family drama. Maybe some jealousy among friends. I understand completely what that’s like—people not satisfied with the cards they are dealt, living vicariously through others. Janet’s account, however, was still active. Their engagement video—my video—was pinned to the top of her page.

Frankly, I’m surprised I was worried at all. They trimmed the shaky beginning. It looked good. The post had 143 likes and dozens of comments. One caught my eye:

“Congratulations Lovebirds. This video put a huge smile on our faces! Your friend taking the video made us chuckle.”

Friend.

Usually, I avoided my phone during the day but one foggy Friday, I opened Janet’s page again. New comments: hearts, clapping emojis, recycled phrases. But no more mentions of me. I left my apartment with my push cart and tote bags neatly packed with first edition fiction I wanted to sell. The sun was going down and I didn’t make it to the shop that would offer the best value. Village Park was close by, so I walked south for a few blocks. It was zero degrees out, no breeze, and after sunset the park was lit only by brass lamps down the winding walkway.

I found the spot where Rene proposed. How did she drop down to one knee around here? I thought. The ice had melted, but the sidewalk was cracked and fractured, more than I realized before. I had to pee, so I found a blind corner by the public plant sanctuary and relieved myself.

I walked back to the proposal spot. The bench closest to me was free, so I walked over and sat far enough from the cart so nobody thought I was homeless. I turned on my data and played the video again. When it was finished I looked at the comments. There were now 58 comments on the video, one more than when I left. Rene had commented. It was a reply to Maggie White’s comment.

“Haha thanks, we’re pretty over the moon! Miss you guys. LOL that was a random guy at the park. He was so sweet!”

I didn’t have my brightness turned up all the way, so I could be remembering it wrong; I only read it the one time. Frankly speaking, it was an odd thing to mention. Nothing would’ve been lost if I could have stayed a friend in the eyes of their inner circle. Maybe I was stupid, but I thought I was in their inner circle. Rene could have moved on after I stumbled to agree, but she didn’t! What does that say? During the proposal, I recall Janet wanting to move onto someone else. A better candidate. I decided on that bench that Rene was my new favourite, but not by much.

The park was scary at night. There was a burning plastic smell in the air. Small black ants were circling my foot, and past a few hemlock trees, an argument was breaking out between two men. I left with my cart soon after.

My physical exam took place a few days later. Bad news but unsurprising. Doctor C wouldn’t shut the window so I could hear loud engines on the expressway while he told me all about urothelial carcinoma. At that point, I was going pee sixteen times a day, so the writing was on the wall. I had to keep asking him to repeat himself like I was deaf. He talked about options like time wasn’t on my side anymore. When I got home, I stayed in the bathroom for hours and went to Instagram. Janet had a new post.

“We have a date! May 13th (That’s right, Friday the 13th) at the Islands Clubhouse! Just a short ferry ride away. We’ll be surrounded by the breeze of Lake Ontario and the city skyline at our backs when we finally say ‘I do.’ We can’t wait to step into this next chapter and share such a special place (and moment!) with our friends and family. Countdown to May is officially ON!”

So soon. These were my first thoughts. I knew that they were a naturally spontaneous couple, but that only left a few months to plan an entire wedding. And on an island? Think of the logistical problems. You’d have to make sure everything you needed was sailed over on the ferry. Alcohol, decorations, catering, cutlery, the endless flower arrangements. All impossible to find on the island if anything goes wrong.

The biggest issue I had with the plan was privacy. The non-existent privacy. Anyone wandering around the island could sneak in and make an ass of themselves on Rene and Janet’s special day. Thousands of people visit the island every day, some of them vagrants and degenerates. Whenever I visit Ward’s Island, I see the usual types hanging around, lounging, looking for a free meal or a place to shit.

March gave way to April, then just as quickly to May. I didn’t tell anyone about the diagnosis. Not that I had anyone I could tell. 2007 was my year of change and progress, and I needed to focus on the people I cared about. The weekend of the wedding I put my paperbacks back in their crates and started researching ferry routes. The Islands Clubhouse. I’d seen it once, years ago, on a Canada Day picnic with an old coworker and his cousin. It’s tucked near the edge of Ward’s, behind some tall hedges. They don’t close down the restaurants nearby for events, and you can still hear the fanfare from a distant amusement park. Despite the natural privacy, the clubhouse is still considered a public area.

I arrived early. Hours before any guests. Ferries were sparse that morning and I didn’t want to risk missing the ceremony. The clubhouse staff were bustling with arrangements, balloons, pink and gold linens, food deliveries that came in heavy crates. I wore a beige sport coat, the same ratty shoes, and slacks I had ironed for the first time that morning. It wasn’t exactly wedding-appropriate, but then again, neither was the wedding. I kept my cart at home and brought only a tote with an old hardcover edition of Wuthering Heights, one of the ones with the embossed cloth cover and deckled edges. I’d decided it might be a nice wedding gift. Not worth much in monetary value but packed with sentiment.

The guests started arriving shortly, all ferrying over in bright summerwear and sandals. The sun was high that day with no comfort in the shade. I saw Rene before I saw Janet. Her hair was up in a chignon, back straight, her shoulders proud and bare. Without the winter layers, I noticed then how thin she really was. Janet appeared soon after, radiant in a white jumpsuit, strong in the way I remembered, holding a bouquet with one arm and Rene with the other. They looked wonderful. Everyone turned to watch them, most with phones raised like periscopes above the crowd. I watched with my own eyes. I owed them that much.

There were chairs arranged in rows near the clubhouse garden. No gates or signs of any kind to keep away strangers. Shoddy work. I stood behind the chairs, past the last row, under a birch tree where the shade hovered over my shoes. No one turned me away. No one noticed. Or maybe they did and didn’t care. The officiant was some friend of Janet’s, speaking confidently with an iPad in hand. People laughed when he mentioned the proposal in Village Park.

“She made her get down on one knee in that weather?” he said.

When it came time for the vows, Janet went first. She cried halfway through, and everyone sighed like it was scripted. Rene’s voice cracked too, but she didn’t stumble. I kept waiting for her to mention the day we all met. Something about the man with the phone, the shaky beginning, the sounds behind the camera. But she didn’t. Maybe it was too intimate. Or maybe they had rewritten it in their minds. It happens. Details get lost over time.

The officiant pronounced them married, and everyone rose. The applause was enormous. People hugged, laughed, kissed cheeks. Music played from tall subwoofers, loud and unfitting. I chose that moment to step forward, book in hand.

I moved quietly down the side aisle, trying not to look eager. Rene turned first. Her eyes met mine for a brief moment and didn’t look away. She tilted her head, not in confusion—more like recognition, the kind you give someone you remember from a dream.

Janet noticed too, lips parting slightly. Her posture shifted, subtly shielding Rene behind her hip. Something passed between them, and I stood still, unsure whether to wave or hold out the book.

Quick as a flash, a woman with a clipboard and headset intercepted me.

“Sorry, are you—?”

Her voice was warm but firm.

“Just dropping off a gift,” I said. I held out Wuthering Heights. “Something for them to read together. I filmed their proposal.”

She blinked, then smiled awkwardly.

“Of course. I’ll… I’ll make sure they get it.”

I didn’t resist. I handed her the book and stepped back. The crowd was already drifting toward the reception hall. Glasses clinked. Janet and Rene were swallowed by gold and pink and laughter.

I made my way down to the water’s edge. The lake lapped at the stone, smooth and dark and endless. I sat there until the music grew faint behind me. My bladder ached again, a familiar discomfort I chose to ignore. I would be wrestling with that ache on and off until the third week of November the following year.

Before catching the ferry back, I checked Janet’s Instagram one more time. No new posts—just that same pinned reel of the proposal. Still 58 comments. Maggie Wright’s was there, with Rene’s reply underneath:

“That was a random guy at the park. He was so sweet.”

I reread it twice. Then I turned off my phone and looked down into the lake. I wondered what it would feel like to swim out as far as I could, until my legs gave out. Not out of sadness—just to feel what it was like, to disappear slowly into that deep blue vein of water.

The wind shifted. From somewhere behind the hedges came the soft sound of champagne corks popping and forks clinking against glasses. I listened for a while, noticing a light breeze picking up from the lake.

Then I stood up and started the walk back to the dock.