#finally spring

“Um,” I peer around for clues. It is the fourteenth of March. The shops and restaurants surrounding the park have begun to put cheery little shamrocks in their windows, and the Shelbourne Hotel has hung tricolour flags up above the grand doorway. We squeeze in close to the iron railings to allow a slow moving crowd of Canadian tourists with fluffy green Viking hats, and Guinness t-shirts under their coats pass by. “Uh, you were saying that you hate St. Patrick’s day.”

She scoffs, “Um, well, I do hate St. Patrick’s day, it’s gimmicky, but that’s not at all what I was saying,” she makes a swing for my arm and I manage to dodge her, “I can’t believe you weren’t listening to me on my birthday.”

“I’m listening now, sorry, sorry…” The sunshine glints between a gap in the bud laden branches overhead and I squint against it. God, that really is nice…

 “...driving me kind of crazy, like, honestly, if we could even talk about something else for a minute…”

Oh, shit. I focus really intently on what she’s saying. “Michelle,” I announce triumphantly, “This is about Michelle.”

She rolls her eyes, “Yes. Of course. If someone could enact a ban on her going on and on about Evan all of the time, it’s like, Evan this, Evan that, ‘Evan is so sweet, he’s just not like those other boys’…”

I snicker, “Oh, they’re just in love. Don’t be such a misery guts.”

“Yeah, nobody goes on about it as much as them. I get it. It’s been like, six months now can they not just cool it?” She heaves out a sigh, “And I’m just saying, I’m not a selfish person, right?”

“Nuh uh, never.”

“But if we meet them in a minute and all they do is gaze lovingly into each other's eyes I’m going to be mad, okay? I’m going to be fully upset about it. It’s my birthday. They can bloody think of things to say to me.”

I sling my arm around her as we amble through the gates of the park. The spring flowers are in full bloom now, and the smiling faces of the daffodils beam up at us from the borders along the path. “Of course they’ll make a fuss about you, Jenny, they’re not monsters. Yeah, they’re full on with the PDA and talking about their big feelings but they love you and they’ll want your birthday to be special.”

“Well, good,” she says primly, “This is my one day.”

“They’ll have me to answer to if they don’t behave.”

“Ooh, big scary Jude,” she giggles, “Will you shove them in a locker or flush their heads down the toilet?”

“I never did that to anyone!” I elbow her gently in the ribs, “who do you think I am?”

“Like I don’t remember the breast-pocket-ripping rampage you went on in first year!”

We’re both tittering as we round the gentle curve of the path and are assaulted by the sight of Michelle and Evan in the grass by the Pavillion, lying horizontal and open mouthed kissing each other. I gasp and shield Jen’s eyes with my hand. 

“Ugh! No! Too late, I’ve seen them,” She cries, and I spin her around to me and get into her eye line instead so that she has something appealing to look at instead. “Do you think it’s too early in the year for ice cream?”

“No,” she says. “Are you gonna buy me some?”

“Yeah, as many scoops as you want. Maybe when we come back those two will have finished their little performance.”

“Ugh, yes please. How do you always know what I want before I do?”

I shrug, “talent.”

“Jude Turner,” She shakes her head as we walk towards the exit together, “you're such a friend to women.”