Tim Hortons References: The Cup Overflows!

Enjoy a little book tour via a collection of Tim Hortons references. 

 

I took this photo exactly one year ago, while in Toronto for Thanksgiving.
(Can you spot the Tim Hortons?)

       Our food stores can't be beat. It's true that the Bay closed down with its really neat Maxi, but in Chicoutimi we have at least two Metros, a couple of Intermarches, a big IGA, a big Loblaws, a Maxi, a Super C. The Corneau Cantin too, but they're expensive and are always on the verge of going bankrupt. Still, when you get your Publisac at the beginning of the week, you can find good bargains. There's also Tanguay, which isn't bad, a huge Gagnon Freres with an escalator, the Bureau en Gros, an Omer DeSerres, all the dealerships (except for luxury cars), three Tim Hortons, soon to be four, a super Pacini, where you can make your own toast, a Casa Grecque with a salad bar, a Scores with a nice salad bar too, a great new Jean Coutu across from the other Jean Coutu, but twice the size; in fact we're up there with just about anybody, even people in Quebec City. A great Winners, a Pennington, an H&M that's coming soon. (p 20-21)

        I view the whole scene from the roof of Tim Hortons, onto which I have climbed. The daring of my friend by default has inspired me. It will soon be my turn to play. I climb down to pedal to the end of the world. To watch the world burn, I put on my helmet. (p 181)

-from You Will Love What You Have Killed by Kevin Lambert, translated by Donald Winkler

--------------------

        She knew she was being vain, but she was excited for her old university friends to see her updated look. Seeing Sunil again, however, might make for a complicated reunion. The last time she had been alone with him was a few years ago, during a late-night study session at a Tim Hortons. 
[...]
        "Hello, Serena, don't you look well," Karen said. She was rosy cheeked and plump, and Serena couldn't help but notice the giant diamond she waved around on her left hand. An apple scent wafted from her. "Quite a small dress you have on."
        "She can rock it though, huh?" Kal grinned as he leaned over to kiss Serena's cheek. "If it isn't Miss 'One Hundred and One Questions' herself! God, I remember how much you bugged me when I asked you to join the University Indian Association years ago. Serena was all, 'What counts as an Indian?' By the time graduation came around in 2001, she was standing with all us Indians for pictures. I hope you know the answer to your question now, Serena. Good to see you."
        Serena blushed, remembering her younger self, immersed in women's studies, desperate to find a place to fit in. How could she even have questioned who counted as Indian? The answer met her in the mirror when she stared at herself every day. She smiled at the group. Sunil was the only one who didn't meet her gaze.
        "How are you, Sunil?" she found herself asking. For a brief moment, it was as if Kal and Karen had vanished. Only she and Sunil were sitting at a table covered with textbooks and Timbits. She wondered what would have happened if she had given Sunil a chance to be her boyfriend -- if she had looked past the fact that he was a man immobilized by his shyness and allowed him to take her on a proper date. Would she be married with children by now? Would she be living in a house somewhere in the suburbs? (p 135-137)

- from The Desirable Sister by Taslim Burkowicz

--------------------

        The next day he sent me Sup again and told me he was helping organize a show to buy the singer dental implants. We chatted for weeks: I told him about studying for my first midterms and he told me about working at Tim Hortons. When I found out I was going to be playing the part of the Cheshire Cat in the school production of Alice in Wonderland, he wrote, They should have made you Alice.
        I told him I wanted to be the Cheshire Cat, it was a more interesting role. I fantasized about inviting him to see me slinking around the stage in my black turtleneck and leggings with whiskers painted on my face.
        Sometimes he'd say, Too bad you're so young, and I'd say Why? and he'd say Never mind. (p 54)

        Eventually Holly got a text from a guy who said his ex-girlfriend had the dogs. She met him in a Tim Hortons and they drove together to the building where his ex-girlfriend lived.
        "Were you scared?"
        "No, that's why I met him at the Tim Hortons first, to make sure he wasn't," she paused, "scary, I guess."
        "What about when you got in the car?"
        "I trusted him, after talking at Tim Hortons," she said. "You just have to listen to your gut in those types of situations." (p 62)

-from All I Ask by Eva Crocker

--------------------------
  

      The average adult female should consume only 6 teaspoons (25 grams) of added sugars a day. The average adult male should consume only 9 teaspoons (38 grams) of added sugars a day. [...]
        North Americans eat 16 to 21 teaspoons of added sugar every day. If it's hard to wrap your head around that number [...] consider the iconic Iced Capp at Tim Hortons. A large Iced Capp contains 15 teaspoons of sugar. According to the new guidelines, that's a little more than twice the recommended daily amount for a woman.

-from Peace, Love and Fibre: Over 100 Fibre-Rich Recipes for the Whole Family by Mairlyn Smith

---------------------

        "You look like you could use a cup of coffee," he says. "Don't worry about your friend, okay? Sandra's going to take good care of her. Look, see the Timmy's right down the hall, by the elevator?" He points to a sign and digs in his pocket. "let me get you some cash."
        Shannon shrugs his hand off her elbow and he steps off. "Do I look like I need your money?"
        The girl behind the Tim Hortons counter wears an immaculate French braid and no makeup. Her uniform is boxy and nothing about her says sex, only work. Everything screams temporary foreign worker. Probably still fresh off the boat.
        "Black," Shannon snaps. "No sugar."
        "Yes, ma'am, one minute, one minute." The worker talks weird, her mispronounced words pitched in apology. She offers a quick smile but drops it when she sees Shannon's face. It's another two minutes before she figures out the till and takes the change Shannon's held out the whole time.
        Shannon taps her foot. She doesn't have time for this shit. She's got to get to the airport, pay the rent, the damage deposit. She could have been there and back twice by now.
        "Hello? I said black." The girl flinches, spilling the cream she's poured into Shannon's coffee. Shannon turns to the man in line behind her. "Think anyone here speaks English?" (p 89)

        The bush outside the Fort McMurray conference centre had acorns on the ends of its branches that grew straight up like it was giving the world a gazillion middle fingers. Eff you, idling semi truck! Eff you, Tim Hortons drive-thru next door! Eff you, minivan mom with oversized sunglasses! You look like a stupid bug!
        Mom keeps talking, but Zoe pretends she can't hear. (p 99)

        It doesn't seem right, doing all that work and letting someone else take the credit. Like when the twins won Most valuable Players at the World juniors last year and thanked Dave on camera for coaching the Timbits team they played on as little kids, but actually it was Lacey who had coached four of the six weeks because Dave was stuck in camp all season. (p 150)

        Glass in one hand and bottle in the other, Karen returns to the ladies. She walks the circle made around the psychic's wobbly little table, refilling glasses. The group's token non-executive wife (only invited because the executive husbands wanted her field-operator husband to bring their three National Hockey League sons to their annual golfing retreat) lifts a giant Tim Hortons paper cup and beams a smile just as warm and homey as the coffee.
        "I've got my double-double, but thanks, Karen." The woman tilts her head to the side, but her 1990s feathered bangs don't move an inch.
        What was that old joke? The bigger the hair, the closer to God?
        Karen pats her shoulder. She's always had a soft spot for women like Lacey, round and thick and a little boring. Sincere people make the nicest company, their happy-go-luckiness a salve for the jaded-but-glamourous. (p 170-171)

-from Always Brave, Sometimes Kind by Katie Bickell

--------------------

I'm pleased that other readers occasionally send me Tim Hortons sightings:

        Somewhere in rural Quebec we stop at a Tim Hortons for a bathroom break. There's a payphone out front and I have two prepaid phone cards in my pocket from Strane with instructions to call if I get lonely.

-from My Dark Vanessa by Kate Elizabeth Russell
with thanks to @la_rose_noire of Litsy

---------------------------

        I went for a run this morning in my old gym shorts, with a Tim Hortons gift card (a parting gift from the parents; they believe in well-caffeinated students) tucked inside my hoodie. I ran for half an hour, stopped for coffee, then took my time walking home. (p 43)

-from Nice Try, Jane Sinner by Lianne Oelke
with thanks to @LauraBeth of Litsy

For more Tim Hortons excerpts, click here.

Tim Hortons again... popping up in the books I read...

I am tickled every time I come across a Tim Hortons reference in the books I read. So Canadian! Previous excerpts can be found here: Tim Hortons tag

And these are the latest:
______

"I scowled. We were almost at the main road, Lawrence Avenue, a busy street for traffic but a lonely one for walking -- all of civilization was at the strip mall with the Tim Hortons and the big-box Walmart, or else inside the grey apartment buildings that stood, washed-out and faded, beside the sidewalk."

- from Frying Plantain by Zalika Reid-Benta, p 182

_______________________________________________________________

I was standing in line at the Tim Hortons on campus when I saw Jonas. He was ordering, leaning forward over the counter and whispering his order to the cashier. She blushed, covered her mouth with her free hand. Her hat was red. If Patty were here, she would have said, "Women dressed in red are more sexually attractive to men."

- from Shut Up You're Pretty by Tea Mutonji, p 97
_______________________________________________________________

He holds up a paper bag.
"What's this?"
"Milestones," he says. "Want one?" He shakes the bag of doughnut holes.
"I don't know. Is your own little poison stone crouched in there somewhere?"
"Don't make fun of my mental illness," he says bluntly. "And I'm not telling you if it's in there. You'll never know unless you reach inside."
I take the bait, pull out a Milestone, take a bite. Dark chocolate with pomegranate jelly.
"Yum. So you work at West Edmonton Mall now?"
"Ugh I know, rub it in. I hate this place."
[...]
"If you promise to stick around and chat until my shift is done I'll make you The Great One for free."
"What's The Great One?"
"It's our legendary, off-the-menu Miles Hortons drink. It's like a double-double but it's nine creams-nine sugars. Get it? After Wayne Gretzky. Number 99."
"That sounds horrifying. I think I'll pass."
"Your loss. I drink one every day."

-from Melting Queen by Bruce Cinnamon, p 106-108

________________________________________________________________

But the road also made her long even harder for Victor. Over the years, road trips were an excuse for them to be neither here nor there, free from their daily lives. Fucking in the back seat behind a Tim Hortons; tipping lamps off desks in motels that still had smoking rooms; enjoying the smell of themselves on each other's hands and faces while ordering breakfast at four o'clock in the afternoon at Denny's.

-from Empire of Wild by Cherie Dimaline, p 89

_________________________________________________________

The Labrador Sea appeared in early 2015. It was at first only a modest success. There was an approving review in the New York Times Book Review, something more equivocal in the Telegraph. The Labrador Sea was overlooked by the London Review of Books. In Merrett Leys's home country, the National Post profiled the author as a "global literary phenomenon," emphasizing his "nearly-million-dollar advance." Merrett Leys told the interviewer, "I consider myself very fortunate that anyone would be interested in this story of longing and sea foam."

The Labrador Sea went on to receive Canada's lucrative Tim Hortons Prize. More surprisingly, it was named as a finalist for the US National Book Award and for the Man Booker. It won the latter, to widespread astonishment -- bookies put Merrett Leys's odds at 100-1. This recognition opened the floodgates.

-from The Wagers by Sean Michaels, p 210-211

_________________________________________________________

Without being asked, Al-Karim takes orders for tea. "Tim Hortons! Shabash. Would have brought a thermos of chai from home if we'd known," a senior says, shaking her head. All the seniors request double doubles.

-from Night of Power by Anar Ali, Chapter 14

_________________________________________________________

After Donald Trump was elected president in 2016, writing felt pointless, let alone writing arts criticism. Finally, at a Tim Hortons during a christmas visit to Canada, I managed to hammer out the section of this essay about Trump as a stand-up comic. The one section that I wish I could expand is the relationship between TV news and TV comedy.

-from 'How Jokes Won the Election' in I Like to Watch: Arguing My Way Through the TV Revolution by Emily Nussbaum

_________________________________________________________

...And this one is thanks to my Litsy friend Memory Scarlett:

It took us about fifteen minutes to get to the Tim Hortons on Bloor where Colin was hiding out. Parking was nonexistent -- no surprise there -- so Hudson pulled over and put on his four-ways.

-from Graveyard Shift by Jenn Burke 
________________________________________

To top it off, there was a bit of a twitter storm in October 2019 when a Hong Kong student shared his perspective on the place Tim Hortons holds in Canadian culture:

Further Tim Hortons References in Literature

Now that I've started noticing references to Tim Hortons coffee shops in the novels I'm reading, I'm finding them everywhere.

"There were a lot of people in the parking lot: long, lean men with hips the size of ten-year-old girls, women with legs the size of Rose's arm, and an army of volunteers with eager smiles and matching T-shirts. Rose watched the runners kick out their uncooked spaghetti legs in the cold morning air.
Rose had not yet left the warmth of the car. She chewed energetically on a piece of gum. Callie sipped her hot chocolate in the passenger seat; Sarah was stretched across the backseat, wrapped in the quilt from her bed, her eyes clamped shut.
'I'm not ready.'
'Kinda too late, Mom.'
'We could go to Timmy's and you could get a donut. And we could say that I ran the race.'
'I don't like lying for you, Mom.' Rose knew that was a lie.


-from Rose's Run by Dawn Dumont, chapter 13
____________________________________________________

"I'm gonna fetch him, I told Mavis, who was busy unjamming his C7 in his boxers and a pair of flip-flops he'd made of duct tape and packing foam from a shipment of Tim Hortons vanilla dip with sprinkles. We had eighteen doughnuts each that day.
The Afghans started flinging grenades and mortars and we had a new problem appearing at the east side of our position: I saw we were in for a Taliban swarm we'd failed to expect."

-from Lost in September by Kathleen Winter, p 260
______________________________________

"'I wanted to see how you were doing. you sounded a bit ... on the phone.' A bit what, I wonder. What adjective best describes how I sound right now? Tamara notices my discomposure. 'Let's just go for coffee and talk. Easy, right?' she says. 'I'll take you to Tim Hortons.'"
"'Last winter, you remember when that bad snowstorm hit?' Rose stands now. I guess she's over being superstitious. 'Worst winter of my life, without my Ricky. So Bobby, she packed us all into my car, and I never let anyone drive my car, and she drove to the Tim Hortons, and after we all got our Double Doubles and Timbits, Bobby spun donuts in the parking lot. You know that parking lot's mostly gravel. I was scared half to death. And that was the moment I realized ... I realized that life would go on without my son.'"

-from Sodom Road Exit by Amber Dawn, p. 315
____________________________________

"She stopped in Arborg to touch up her makeup (You need to be cis for, like, a couple hours, don't forget) and a final coffee for her sleepy nerves. She drove around the town looking for a Tim's but they didn't have one here, just a community centre and a hockey arena and churches and a school and a Chicken Chef and a bakery and a huge machine shop and another little Co-op gas station. She stopped on Main Street, and her phone confirmed that the closest Tim's was half an hour south, in Gimli."

-from Little Fish by Casey Plett, p. 244-245
________________________________

"So, after a series of convoluted explanations involving the racist Tim Hortons 'No Drunken Indians Allowed' incident in Lethbridge, the impact of the coffee trade on the environment, globalization, multinational corporate irresponsibility, and a brief foray into the problems with GM apples, rates of lactose intolerance in First Nations people, and whether deep frying is partly to blame for rocketing rates of cancer in North America, I think I convinced him that it made perfect sense for me to blurt out 'I'll have a large coffee, double cream, and better give me an apple fritter while you're at it.'"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  

"When I woke, three days later, Jesse was sitting by the bed. He had one hand resting on my arm and with the other, he was drinking a coffee, a double-double no doubt."

-from The Day I Learned to Fly, in The Stone Collection by Kateri Akiwenzie-Damm, p. 107-111
________________________________________

"The rental car hummed along, the wet roadside unfurled and the wipers beat a slow march. They shared a bag of jelly donuts Felix bought at Tim Hortons. They passed the Wreck Point lighthouse and he slowed."

-from Barkskins by Annie Proulx, p 695
_____________________________

"Maisey poured herself a cup of coffee in the dining room. 'Guess it's this decaf stuff for the next six weeks. Sure am glad my son stopped in Vernon so I could have my last cup of full-throttle Timmy's."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"'I was going to skip the next workshop and go for coffee. There's a Tim Hortons across the street calling my name."

-from Tilly by Monique Gray Smith, p 117 and 169


My previously collected quotes that mention Tim Hortons can be found here: https://lindypratch.blogspot.com/2017/11/tim-hortons-references-in-canadian.html

Tim Hortons in Canadian Literature: An Even Dozen

With all the CanLit reading I've been doing for the Shadow Giller project, I've come across a lot of references to Tim Hortons. To make it an even dozen, I'll start with a link to an online sugar cereal review by Canadian author Brian Francis. Did you know that there's a Tim Hortons breakfast cereal?

Sugar Cereal Taste Test will open in a new link here. Enjoy!

---------------------------------------------------------------

When Neela finally broke her silence, Rukmini gasped again, unprepared for the bass of her vocals. Neela's voice was neither sweet nor raspy, tender nor sensual. Rukmini was reminded of her grandfather's death, and the two weeks her family had spent beside his hospital bed, waiting for him to pass. His room had smelled sour, despite the growing number of bouquets of not-quite-white-but not-quite-pink carnations fighting with the boxes of Timbits for table space. Listening to the sound of his laboured breathing and coughing fits made her wish she too would escape her own body. When she later described Neela's voice to Puna, she said that it sounded like the feeling of watching someone die, like witnessing every leaf on a deciduous tree change colour and fall as autumn transitioned into winter. 

(p 21)

-from The Subtweet by Vivek Shraya

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"Eternity," my mother's friend Angela said sternly, taking a sip of the Tim Hortons coffee she held in one hand as she pointed at me with the other. [...] "If anyone calls you a n----r, you break their fucking nose." She then proceeded to take my hand and show me the exact force I would need to accomplish this assault. I wasn't yet eleven.

_____

While working my first job on campus, helping first years with their internet in residence, one of the cleaners, a woman with a European accent, saw me wiping away sweat on a hot day. "Why are you sweating like that? You must be used to this weather where you're from."

And at a Tim Hortons in the winter of my final year, the cashier gave me the most pitiful glance. "You poor dear. It must be so hard adjusting to Canadian winters," she said, handing me my coffee.

"Well, no. I was born here," I replied.

"Oh! That's great! You speak English well."

-from They Said This Would Be Fun: Race, Campus Life, and Growing Up by Eternity Martis

------------------------------------------------------------------

One night, Pierce skipped dessert and walked out of the mess tent to the crashing sound from a rocket's first impact, then heard the long drawn-out whine of the next incoming round. The second rocket streaked past and blasted the kitchen. Amid screams of the wounded, Pierce found his way back to the smoke-filled tent. There was blood, vomit, Red Bull cans, Tim Hortons paper cups, doughnut fragments and muffin wrappers.

"I shouldn't have skipped dessert," Pierce said.

_____

This is the second time he's called me "the best." If only I'd earned such praise for something other than handing over cash.

"Can I buy you dinner?" I ask. "There's a Tims just up the street."

-from Misconduct of the Heart by Cordelia Strobe

------------------------------------------------------------------

It's Friday night, but it's not busy out. This is Winnipeg, and it's not late enough. The younger versions of my selves are jammed in the back of the car. There's someone in my trunk, laughing. I drive through a Tim Hortons and get two extra-large coffees and turn back. None of them want anything. (p 301)

-from Vanishing Monuments by John Elizabeth Stintzi

-------------------------------------------------------------------

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

2017 Spring/Summer Job Fair

(Sponsored by the Old Rat Creek Economic Development Department)

Come one, come all, and learn about all the employment opportunities in our booming town! Skilled and unskilled workers needed. Bring your resume and bring your friends. Interviews may be conducted on the spot. Booths will be set up at the town office on Saturday, May 5, from 9:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. with HR representatives from the following companies:

- Ye Olde Rat Creeke Fudgery

- Old Rat Creek Best Western

- Owen and Felix's "Whitecaps North" Indoor Soccer training Academy

- Oh Canada, Eh? Maple Syrup and T-Shirts Retail Emporium

- Naomi's Next-to-Godliness Soap Company

- True North Performing Arts Centre

- Tim Hortons (formerly The Donut Hole)

- Canadian Tire (formerly Old Rat Creek Hardware)

And many more! The band Iron Glory (formerly Satan's Ballsack) will be playing gospel rock in the foyer of the town office all afternoon. ('The Pull of Old Rat Creek,' p 179)

______

He had a friend who'd been laid off from his job as an insurance adjuster and still showered and got dressed in a suit and tie for work every day. Larry took the crowded morning bus downtown and sat in Tim Hortons watching daytime TV or playing solitaire on his phone, then took the five o'clock bus home at the end of the day. Like a dead tree that refused to fall to the forest floor. His wife had no idea. Or maybe she did. Maybe she was just playing along to save Larry the embarrassment. ('Mycology,' p 196)

-from The Swan Suit by Katherine Fawcett

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Her mother always made weak coffee. Her parents should stop buying Maxwell House and get the good stuff. Maybe she'd make her mom stop at Tim Hortons the next time they were in Saskatoon or Edmonton and pick up a bag of good coffee. They might live out in the country, but they didn't have to act like backwoods hicks. (p 45)

_____

Gord had been to Starbucks a couple of times in Edmonton. He hadn't liked it. He said the coffee was overpriced and tasted burnt.

"Why would someone pay so much for a simple cup of coffee? Why not go to Timmy Ho's or a gas station? People just think it tastes better because they paid more and it's a fancy chain." (p 257)

-from Mad Cow by Alexis Kienlen

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Kelli liked pretty much anywhere she was taken. She enjoyed outings, full stop. Be they to the mall, the doctor's, Tim Hortons. (p 23)

_____

Kelli's thing was to dawdle. She liked a few hours' advance notice of any potential outing, to sit in her chair and think about the proposed destination, perhaps issue a few inquiries, before she would agree to heave herself to her feet and be helped on with her shoes. It wasn't that Kelli didn't like going out -- in fact the magic words Tim Hortons could get her very excited at the prospect indeed -- it was simply that Kelli would not be rushed. (p 186)

_____

Trevor showed up, stepping into the foyer before I could get to the door to open it for him, holding a mere six-pack of Alexander Keith's -- he was only staying the afternoon, after all -- and a box of Timbits with which to tempt Kelli down to the rec room to keep him company in front of the sports channel. (p 64)

-from Watching You Without Me by Lynn Coady

---------------------------------------------------------------------

He's thinking about Elaine's Tim Hortons coffee and maybe a slice of that chocolate loaf she buys from the Israeli bakery in between his place and hers. He's hoping the Sobeys office will try his cellphone when they decide to reach him. He gave them both numbers, home and cell. He's imagining the call coming in. How his phone will display the caller so he can be prepared before he answers. ('The Elaine Levine Club')

-from You Are Not What We Expected by Sidura Ludwig

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"There he is." She points to a man making his way down the street in wide, determined steps. The man's eyes are deep pits in his face. His grey hair flaps with each pace. He wears a long, stone-washed jean jacket that hangs open and floats out behind him like a cape.

"Who is he?"

"The Ambler. All day, he makes trips to Tim Hortons. He'll be back in about ten minutes with a cup. Then, in an hour or so, he ambles back." Maggie taps ash out the window, ignoring the ashtray. Nan would be ticked if she saw. (p 197)

_____

"I love people-watching," Jamie says. "It's like trying to figure out their secrets. Why do you think that guy walks back and forth to Tim's all day?"

"He's doing coffee runs for someone," Maureen says.

"But he only carries one coffee at a time," Imogene says. "I think they're for him."

"Maybe he has a crush on someone who works at Tim's," Jamie says. "He comes in to gaze upon them."

"If he lines up in front of them every day, maybe they'll notice him eventually," Imogene says. (p 213-214)

_____

She opens the glove compartment and locates some napkins. Her hands tremble as she unfolds them.

"You want another coffee?" he says. She nods. She just wants the car to stop. Jamie pulls into an Irving station. "Did I scare you?" he asks. "I scared you. I'm sorry. It's cause I'm right tough, see."

"Why do you keep a bat in your car?"

"It's good to have something just in case. I keep one under my bed too. Anyone breaks in -- pok." Jamie makes a swinging gesture. She pushes a smile into her cheeks.

"We can get a coffee in here or go to the Tim's on Torbay Road," he says.

"I'm okay," she says. "I wasn't really enjoying the last one. There's nowhere open to get a good one now."

"There's nowhere to get a good nothing, ever." He puts the car in drive. (p 195)

-from Some People's Children by Bridget Canning

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Among the food court's sticky tables, with the lunchtime thrum packing her ears, Mala found a spot and set down her shopping and milky Tim Hortons tea. The air was oversaturated with competing odours -- fast-food meat, battered fish, the sulphurous reek of stir-fried cabbage. Even a week ago, the smells would have triggered a reaction like two fingers prodding down her throat. But oh, the bliss of the second trimester, her nausea sailing away like a stretch of bad weather. (Ch 57)

-from Secret Lives of Mothers and Daughters by Anita Kushwaha

----------------------------------------------------------------------

How about you stop feeling sorry for yourself, Chip barks at me, and start kicking some ass. That'll make you feel better.

Sometimes when Eugene and the Other Demons gang up on me, I fight back. Blackbird Mavrias, I begin, First Nations photojournalist. Winner of a National Pictures of the Year award and an Aboriginal Achievement award.

That and a buck fifty will get you a cup of coffee at Timmy's, says Eugene. (p 101)

-from Indians on Vacation by Thomas King

To see my entire collection of Tim Hortons in Canadian Literature examples, click here.

Tim Hortons in Books Read in 2026

I will add to this list of Tim Hortons references as I come across them in the books that I read this year. I've been collecting them since 2017 and you can find older posts via this link: Tim Hortons references from prior years

_________________________

    "Car trouble?" A guy got out of the driver's side of the truck. He was wearing green camo, just like a good ole boy, but he didn't sound American. He walked right towards us, and the funny thing was, the black ice didn't stop him. He walked on over it, just like Jesus on water.

    "What's that, electric, is it?" he asked. "Those are no good in the snow, eh? She's a beauty though. I was just doing a Timmies run for a double double and thought I'd pop into the store for a two-four and a pack of darts when I saw yas. There's a Canadian Tire a few klicks back."

    He stopped to check on Brody. "Jesus murphy, what a gong show. Buddy must be loaded, is he?"

    Our translator was flipping through his book like crazy, but he couldn't tell us if this man was friend or foe.

from: 'A Letter Home,' in Sorry, Not Sorry: An Unapologetic Look at What Makes Canada Worth Fighting For by Mark Critch (transcribed from the audiobook)

_________________________

 

   It was unreal. Unimaginable. Not possible. No more than seeing Dracula or the Loch Ness Monster at a bodega. There were no such things as -- could he think the word, let alone say it to himself -- the W word? They were creatures of legend, metaphors to keep his ancestors in line, fanciful stories created for cold winter nights. They most certainly were not walking the streets of Toronto, hanging out behind a Tim Hortons or an Indigo.

    As the resume instructor droned on to the drones in the room about the potential power of proper spacing and tabbing, her mind wandered. To her left, on a fold-out table, she could see the coffee vat, half full of weak, industrial coffee. Perhaps that's what she missed most of all since this had happened to her: good, strong coffee. Stuff that could fuel an airplane. This concoction they pumped into you in these social assistance environments could barely be called coffee. But there beside the full coffee, glowing in the fluorescent light, sat Timbits and crullers, glistening in divine caloric abandon. In addition to existing on the edge of nicotine withdrawal, she was hungry. 

    "I'll be right back." Quickly he ran outside to the homeless man and dropped ten dollars into his worn Tim Hortons cup.

Cold by Drew Hayden Taylor (transcribed from the audiobook)

_________________________

     When Jen Militia broke up in 2009, Kim and I grew closer. Mostly because we had the same approach to surviving break-ups: large bottles of red wine. Kim had Coach's sense of duty to the ones she loved. They were always the two quickest to cry at the slightest sentimental moment. Coach would cry at Tim Hortons commercials, and she was her father's daughter, so perhaps it was inevitable that we would get along.

Saga Boy: My Life of Blackness and Becoming by Antonio Michael Downing (transcribed from the audiobook)

_________________________

     Another accomplice was Steve Picard. He, too, started honest. Picard was the warehouse handyman who lived on a rural route nearby. Driving from his house to the highway, Picard had to pass the warehouse. One night, he noticed activity. He drove up. Caron was parked at the Tim Hortons near the warehouse and he saw Picard. Caron asked him where he was going, to which Picard replied, "I have to go to the warehouse."
     Caron told him not to go, which Picard found strange, so Caron let him in on the theft and implicated him. After that, Picard worked as a sentry and also a wiper. He had to wipe the barrels if they sweated to get rid of any traces of water, and wipe up any evidence of the theft on the floor of the warehouse.

-----

     I seek the people pushing the syrup industry into the future. I want to meet Big Maple. On route, I stop at a Tim Hortons and see for sale by the cash register maple syrup in a bottle as big as a hotel ration of shampoo. For ten dollars, you get 100 ml. That works out to $100 per litre. There's money in the sticky stuff.

-----

     Ken Jewett made his money in the prepared foods industry, such as making chili for Tim Hortons. Jewitt used some of his wealth to create a charity, Maple Leaves Forever, which subsidizes landowners to plant native Canadian maple trees along laneways, fence lines and the roadsides of their properties.

Maple Syrup: A Short History of Canada's Sweetest Obsession by Peter Kuitenbrouwer (transcribed from the audiobook)

_________________________

     I slept okay considering the situation. The traffic died down after sunset, I was dry and had a good excuse to be parked where I was. When the sun came up I got out and walked Woody around. There was a Tim Hortons around the corner. Canadian chain coffee would have to do for that 'eat something Canadian' idea. I risked bringing Woody into the store and no one so much as blinked.
    The mechanic was opening the shop when I got back but I didn't get a word out before he said, "You can't park there."

A Monster of a Land by Lauren Hough (transcribed from the audiobook)

_________________________

_________________________

Encounters with Tim Hortons While Shadowing the Giller

This entry is part of my continuing collection of Tim Hortons references as I come across them in my reading. I hope these excerpts will prompt you to pick up and read the books in their entirety. All of the titles in this post were published between October 2020 and September 2021, making them eligible for Canada's Giller prize in 2021.

___________________________________

    The road is an intermittent companion. It was made to wrap around natural features, whereas I am compelled to push straight through. I'm heading more or less west from home. If I walk long enough, I'll fall into the ocean. Wouldn't that be poetical?
    My ambition is too blunted to contemplate such a lofty goal. I'll come across a derelict Tim Hortons before too long--maybe that's good enough.

Emily Brewes, The Doomsday Book of Fairy Tales, p 272

___________________________________

    But—and there is a but, and not a minor one—the two women's children couldn't stand each other. As soon as they were in the same room, they would turn their backs on one another. "As if they were like poles of two magnets," Suzan sighed when the conversation got to that point. (Desmond, whom I met at a Tim Hortons in Sudbury, had another explanation: "I couldn't stand the way she looked at me. There was something in her that struck a nerve. I couldn't tell you what it was. A huge void, or a vortex. It would take me days and a lot of work to extract myself from it.")

Jocelyne Saucier, And Miles to Go Before I Sleep (translated by Rhonda Mullins), p 56 

____________________________________

    Up ahead, someone has taken three of the brownies. Now there are only five left.
    "I'm going to make you an offer," says Loomis, trying to channel Vito Corleone, "that you can't refuse."
    "Make sure he doesn't cheat you," says Paula.
    I check the display case. Now there are only three.
    The mayor puts his arm around his wife. "Don't know why you insist we come here," he whispers. "Timmy's has a better selection and better prices."
    In addition to the real estate company, Mayor Bob also owns the two Tim Hortons in town.
    "Sure," says Paula. "If you want frozen lumps of lard."
    "Canadian company," says Bob. "Buy local."
    "Company hasn't been Canadian since 1995," says Paula.

Thomas King, Sufferance, p 47

_____________________________________

    The hardware store sat at the centre of Main Street in a town of three thousand and thirty-nine people. There was one Tim Hortons (facing impending closure), two pizzerias, a hospital, one public school, one Catholic school, a liquor store, a cafe, a pharmacy, a bookstore, the corner store, five churches, and Lou's hardware store. Indigo Higgins owned the local bookstore. She stocked poetry from Western Canada, Bart Hastings' murder mysteries, and books about birds. It was a well-known fact that Indigo could name collective nouns for birds in any situation, and she often created opportunities to mention an asylum of cuckoos, a museum of waxwings, a charm of goldfinches, or a pretense of bitterns. Each Christmas since Lou had married Edward, she had bought him a book from Indigo's store -- usually one of the select few that wasn't about birds and wasn't authored by Bart Hastings. Lou never knew what else to get him. This year, they hadn't exchanged gifts at all.

Amy LeBlanc, Unlocking, p 11

______________________________________

    "What's for breakfast?" I ask Amina, watching her fold my quilt into a perfect rectangle. Particles of dust fly up as she beats my mattress with a coconut broom and smooths out the creases in the bedsheet.
    Aunty, my mother's sister, says Amina is a couple of years younger than me, which means she is about seventeen. Yet a solemn maturity lurks behind her youthful olive skin, beneath the surface of the innocent wonder in her large chocolate-coloured eyes.
    "Porota, omelette, potato fry, tea," she says with a smile, exposing her rust-coloured, betel-stained teeth.
    Instantly, my mouth moistens. Over the past year in Toronto, I've only come to know cereal and Tim Hortons muffins for breakfast. The few times I tried the store-bought porota from No Frills supermarket, it felt as though I was eating rubber.

Silmy Abdullah, Home of the Floating Lily: Stories, 'Across the Ocean,' pp 50-51
Note: Two other stories in Abdullah's collection also have Tim Hortons references. I will let you discover them for yourself.

_______________________________________

    We reject the crumbling donuts and thin coffee offered in the hotel lobby, the elegant sounding "Continental Breakfast." We stop at a Tim Hortons on the outskirts of town. Next stop, the mountains and the new monument that is the reason for our visit.
    We avoid the drive-through, several cars making a figure eight in the parking lot, and join the line on the inside. I tell Dad he can find us seats while I wait to get our English muffins, but he doesn't. He's perturbed by the long line, so needs to exercise his annoyance, to take it for a walk like a small dog. He's mostly perturbed, I soon see, by the sight of the only person taking orders, an older South Asian lady. She's clearly distressed and requires help, but her colleagues are all occupied: two giraffe-like blonde teenage boys bobbing and weaving behind the soup/sandwich counter, and a gaggle of girls administering to the drive-through traffic, radio headsets fastened to their ears. I suggest to Dad that we'd be better off going through the drive-through, but he gives me a look as if I've asked hime to cut off his right hand.
    We wait. [...] Once or twice, the poor woman, confused by the onslaught of requests, Double-cream no sugar, one cream three sugar, double-double, double-milk one sugar, one decaf black, a maple dip not maple cream donut, an old-fashioned plain donut, not a glazed old-fashioned plain donut with vanilla sprinkles, sets both her hands on the counter and closes her eyes. The lineup of customers grows and surges.
    Dad makes a nocturnal sound and steps, figuratively and literally, out of line. I shrink. He shouts, "Can't anyone help this poor woman? What kind of place you running here?" The whole place pauses. Heads pivot, patrons at tables in mid-sentence mid-bite and mid-sip, coffee cups or iPhones at the ends of their arms. Things resume. The coffee machine begins again. I see a commotion through the door behind the counter, and a young woman, not in the standard Tim Hortons uniform, but in a black halter top, with a bracelet-of-thorns tattoo circling her right arm--she looks vaguely Goth, wholly angry--comes out and punches open a second cash register, narrows her crow eyes as if daring anyone to approach.
    [...]
    Once we're sitting, he starts in.
    "Disgraceful. Immigrants forced to take these jobs. Part-time, you can bet, then they don't have to pay benefits. We shouldn't patronize these people."
    "She seems to be handling it all right."
    "It's in the job description. You can't frown at Timmy Hortons."
    [...]
    Before we leave, a middle-aged man, around my age, in crisp new jeans and scuffed silver cowboy boots, long greying hair in a ponytail, stops by our table and says to my dad, "Thanks for saying something. Place makes money hand over fist. Canada's Goldman Sachs."
    Dad barely responds, just whispers, "You bet," without looking up. The man waits for a more meaningful interaction. I say, "Thanks," He nods and moves off. His cowboy boots snap along the sticky floor.

John O'Neill, Goth Girls of Banff, 'From Castle Mountain,' pp 124-127
Note: As with Abdullah's book (see previous entry) two other stories in O'Neill's collection have Tim Hortons references.

_______________________________________

    Surely there's a washroom in this building that I could use, said Grandma.
    I'm afraid not, he said, they're not designated for public use.
    She really has to go! I told him.
    You don't have to yell at me, miss, I can hear you. I told you they're not designated for public use.
    Her diuretic kicked in on the streetcar and she'll spring a leak if you don't let her use the fucking washroom, you fascist prick! I said.
    Swiv, said Grandma. She pretended to slice her throat with her finger. The guy finally looked at us and got up and came around to the front of the desk with his hand on his gun. Grandma asked him if it was all right with him if she peed in one of those giant planters by the window. He said no, he couldn't authorize her to do that. Do it! I told Grandma. I'm authorizing it! She said no, no, we'll find a place. She told the security guy she was very tempted to let 'er rip right there in the lobby on that shiny floor and he said ma'am, you do not have a constitutional right to use fighting words with me. Then grandma started talking about constitutional rights but she was huffing and puffing and also dizzy still, and sort of teetering around and it was hard for her to talk. You're gonna have a goddamn cardiac event, Grandma, I told her. I'm telling De Sica. De Sica! said Grandma. Did he call? Don't let this be the hill you die on! I said. Hoooooooooo, said Grandma. You're right. What a ridiculous last stand. I took Grandma's hand and we went to the Tim Hortons next door and bought two Boston cream doughnuts so they would give us the code to the washroom.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

    The cab driver fell in love with Grandma instantly and took her arm and helped her down the stairs and along the little path to the curb, like they were a bride and groom. Shotgun! yelled Grandma. She always had to sit in the front of cars. Normal people sit in the backs of cabs, but not Grandma. She wants to see everything and navigate everything and talk with the driver. The cab driver had to move all his stuff off the front seat. He wiped off the crumbs and chucked some garbage into the back seat next to me. A Tim Hortons cup landed on my leg. Sorry, sorry he said.

Miriam Toews, Fight Night, pp 32-33; 128-129

______________________________________

    A man passed them on the sidewalk, the late thirties overgrown-child type, baggy shorts and hockey-player hair, sandals. He was just walking along, eating a donut, sipping from a big Tim Hortons cup. Marthe wondered shat it felt like to live in the world like that guy did.

Aimee Wall, We, Jane: A Novel, p 65

______________________________________

    Aisla hasn't slept for more than forty-five minutes in a row for over a year. She looks at her list again sitting on the toilet, the baby sleeping in that bucket seat on the floor, one of her feet rocking as she tries to pee without splashing all over the toilet and her pants. Have to keep rocking or he'll wake up and getting him to sleep takes up so much of her life that any respite when he is actually sleeping is heavily and anxiously guarded. She has to look at her list again because she forgets something every time. She knows she's forgotten to write things on her list, but the most important things are probably on there. Probably. It's a fifty-two-minute drive into town, and if she's lucky he'll fall asleep halfway and stay asleep for twenty minutes after—enough time for her to grab a coffee at the Tim Hortons drive-thru and take a pee in the mall bathroom before she starts her errands.

Angelique Lalonde, Glorious Frazzled Beings, 'The Pregnancy Test,' pp 157-158

______________________________________

    Sometimes I watch TV and I want to throw it against the wall. Sometimes I read a book and I want to rip out every page. Sometimes I am in a restaurant, patiently waiting for my takeout, and I see a straight couple my age laughing as they get their bags and go home and I want to block the entrance right in front of them and claw my eyes out and say, "Tell me—how did it happen? Did you meet at a fucking art opening? After a whole dramatic year on Tinder? DID YOU MEET AT FUCKING TIM HORTONS?! Are you going home to your fucking cat or your fish or your ADORABLE CHILD?!
    I have never been an aggressive person, as you know. And I would like to say I don't know where this urge to rage comes from. Except. Of course. I know exactly where it comes from. It shouldn't be so simple.

Casey Plett, A Dream of a Woman: Stories, 'Rose City, City of Roses,' pp 171-172

_______________________________________

    "It's a nice day out today. Feels like spring. Never used to melt this much when I was a kid. When I was a kid we had snow up to our armpits and froze all the way through all winter. Not like you kids, always warm and inside. You guys got it easy."
    Phoenix scoffs at this, but only a bit.    
    "Oliver had a hockey tournament this weekend so we went up to Sagkeeng and was in that arena all weekend. Was colder in there than outside. Good thing they have a Tim's out there. I never asked you, are you a tea girl, Phoenix, or coffee? Which do you like better?"

Katherena Vermette, The Strangers, pp 142-143

More Tim Hortons references - 2024 edition

I'm continually adding to my collection of literary references to Tim Hortons. You can find earlier collections here.

---------------------------------------

Where the Falcon Flies: A 3,400 Kilometre Odyssey From My Doorstep to the Arctic by Adam Shoalts

    "I don't think I can round the point in these waves. I will have to wait for the wind to die down. Perhaps in the evening it will be calm enough for me to continue."
    Brad said that he had to take off, but that he might come back and bring me some Tim Hortons, if I were still around.
    I said I may or may not be, depending on what the wind brought.

---

    I thanked them once more for all their help. When we parted ways, Tom and Eileen asked if I would object to their bringing me something from Tim Hortons. I had no objection at all. In the meantime, I took shelter under some oaks overlooking Burlington beach. It was only mid-afternoon, so I was reluctant to make camp, although given the grey skies and howling wind, it seemed unlikely that the waves would calm down enough to relaunch anytime soon.

---

    At the post office, I was relieved to find my package was safe and sound, and I quickly emptied the precious contents into my depleted pack. Afterwards, knowing I'd soon experience hunger like never before, I treated myself to a grand feast in the form of a Tim Hortons brunch.
    Then, the sun shining on a fine morning, I picked my way along a trail leading north of town to a rough road under construction. There would be no cell service where I was headed, and my route was bound to become much lonelier and wilder.

---

    Below the mountains and along the lakeshores were extensive alder swamps. Passing through these vast solitudes made a strange contrast with the crowded cities near the start of my journey, and when I camped in quiet woods or along deserted lakeshores, I'd reflect on how different it felt from when I'd slept, say, under the Burlington skyway. It seemed doubtful that anyone would bring me Tim Hortons now.   

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Winipek: Visions of Canada from an Indigenous Centre by Niigaan Sinclair

    Wearing an orange shirt is a beginning, but four other harder and vital steps--requiring much time and resources--are necessary. These are: Listen. Learn. Commit. Act.
    [...]
    Now comes the really hard part: commitment. Commit to moral, social, cultural, legal and economic change. Justice. Commit to standing up to ignorance every time you encounter it. Commit to voting for leaders who can actually articulate what reconciliation looks like and--most important of all--have a plan to do it. Then, refuse to accept when attempts are made to renege on promises for things like pipelines and payoffs. Commit to talking about relationships with Indigenous Peoples in the community, the home and the workplace. I know a group of seniors who do this during every Tim Hortons visit. Read the treaties. Realize they are about the future, not the past. Recognize that they are not just words but a way of life.
    Then it's time to take the bravest step of all. Act. Fulfill this vision. Don't just be an ally, but live as one. Revisit the first three steps often. When you stumble--and you will--get up and start again.
    That's how we produce change in this place, our place, and the future can be seen here, in more places all the time. I hope I've helped you see that it can be where you are, too. Miigwech.

--from Closing Words: Life in the Centre

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Avalanche: Stories by Jessica Westhead

    I told Janine that I have been talking to Mustafa and she said he should be grateful because our troops over there keeping his family safe. In order to challenge her skewed preconceptions (but gently, so she wouldn't get offended), I pointed out that his family lives here, in Canada. She said well he's probably got a grandmother or grandfather over there, at least. I said yes maybe, but he hasn't told me about them yet.
    One day I brought Mustafa some Timbits. I got him an assortment including chocolate and sour-cream glazed and the birthday-cake kind with sprinkles and the apple-fritter ones my son used to love when he was little but suddenly he's off gluten so who knows anymore. Anyway, he's off at university now so he can eat what he wants, I don't care. All of his classes are online and he still moved away but it's his life and I hope he's happy with it. I slid the box underneath Mustafa's chair and instructed him in a playfully stern voice, "Don't you dare share those with anybody!"
    He said thank you in the nicest, softest way but he didn't reach for the box, so he must have excellent willpower because I would've opened it immediately and gobbled up at least two right off the bat, starting with the chocolate ones. Then I supposed he was probably holding off because he was wearing the face mask, so maybe he'd eat them on his break.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Hair for Men by Michelle Winters

     I'd picked up a few valuable lessons in my time with them, most notably in the area of law enforcement; one thing I knew was how to spot an undercover cop. Hardcore shows were always getting busted for drugs, underage drinking, assault--you name it. Law enforcement was the enemy and was always nearby. Sometimes they tried to infiltrate, to find out about the parties going on afterward so they could bust them up, that kind of thing. Marko had told me the surest way to spot a cop was that they'd be asking questions. Once you're part of the scene, you don't ask; you just find out. Anyone skulking around wanting to know where the party was, we gave them the address of a Tim Hortons in Regent Park.

------

     I drove through the night, seized every so often by waves of doubt, talking myself back through the events. I stopped three times at Tim Hortons for coffee but was too emotionally queasy to even consider one of their sensible ham and cheese sandwiches.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Peacocks of Instagram by Deepa Rajagopalan

    When it's bright enough, we stop at a rest area for breakfast. I wake Akash and get him into his winter coat while he's still in the car seat. He smiles and says, "Are we there yet?" I say no and tickle his stomach. Inside the building, I contemplate the lines in front of Tim Hortons and Starbucks before choosing Tim Hortons--the line is longer, but they have six employees whereas Starbucks has only three. Tito has disappeared, and I am relieved. A cigarette will do more for this marriage right now than anything else.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The Knowing by Tanya Talaga

    The voice on the radio declared they were known as school cars and schools on wheels. Trains that brought classrooms to children in the most isolated communities of northern Ontario. I was listening to the introduciton to an hour-long CBC Ideas feature on train schools, a program that would explore remote education, home schooling and nation building. 
    Home schooling? Nation building? Was this for real?
    My friend Alvin Fiddler, then Grand Chief of Nishnawbe Aski Nation, and the leader that pushed for the inquest into the deaths of the seven,* had called to tell me about the radio doc. He'd been driving around in his truck in Thunder Bay after a Tim Hortons tea run when he heard the episode.
    He said, "You need to listen to this."

*see Talaga's Seven Fallen Feathers

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Buffalo Dreamer by Violet Duncan

    "Oh, good, you're up! I was just going to wake you," Mom says as she sips from a familiar red paper cup.
    "What?! Mom, you stopped at Timmy's?!" I ask, instantly wide awake.
    Timmy's is our favourite place to go when we drive through Canada, where I always get my favourite drink and treat. The thought of it makes my mouth drool.
    "Why didn't you wake me up?! I would have gotten--"
    "A frozen lemonade with a Boston cream donut," Mom answers, cutting me off mid-sentence. "You have them right there." She points at my cup holder and the paper bag by my feet.
    "Oh, thanks, Mom," I say, feeling a bit embarrassed. I reach for my drink and take a sip.
    "You had quite a nap," my mom says. "You were really out. And I could've sworn you were talking in Cree right before you woke up."
    "Weird, since I don't know any Cree. What did I say?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Real Ones by Katherena Vermette

    

"Want me to come get you later, bring you by?"
    "Oh, can't today. I have yoga later. And then I have to finish my knitting. Why don't you come get me tomorrow morning. You can drive me to the Friendship Centre. I've been making mittens and scarves for their program."
    I'm surprised, but only a little. "Okay, sure, what time?"
    "Come by nine. Bring me a double double? It has to be milk and the fake sugar, remember. Awful stuff but better than nothing."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Age 16 by Rosena Fung

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The Gulf by Adam De Souza

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The Deluge by Stephen Markley

     

"Where you working these days?" you ask.
    "Over by the mall near Indian Ripple. It's a Tim Hortons. How 'bout you? You got a job, with all these collections people after you?"
     "Yeah, I got a job at a blood bank."
     "Blood bank? What you know about that?"
     You pretend you can't be bothered to explain.
--from Book 2. The Watch & the Blood Bank. 2025

     "My mom," you say to Andrade when you reach him. His eyes light up.
     "Such a pleasure," he says, taking your mother's hand in both of his and pumping it profusely. "I heard tell of you, but here you are in the flesh."
     "Least for now," says mom. "Day's not over yet."
     Most of your mother's comments these days are about dying. The reverend compliments your mother's outfit and asks if she'll be staying long.
     "Just until the evening. Got my shift at Hortons tomorrow morning.
--from Book 4. The Ghost and the Mask. 2036

---------------------------------------------------------------------

'Endowed' by Terese Mason Pierre, in The Journey Prize Stories: The Best of Canada's New Black Writers, volume 33

    Headlights turned the corner. Tre's beat-up Corolla swerved slightly as it headed toward Jerry. It jerked when it stopped. Jerry opened the passenger door and got in. "You're late."
    "There was a bomb ting by the Tim's, bro," Tre said as he turned onto Eglinton.
    Jerry rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched in a smile. Tre was his most loyal customer.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Becoming a Matriarch by Helen Knott 

    Her petite frame didn't seem capable of pulling the heavy words into the room. Her lack of confidence hit me in the stomach. I watched the doctor retreat into her body as she greeted Mama. And then she asked Mama a question: "Before coming here, what did you think your illness could be?"
    There would be no joyous car ride home, and no dark jokes of what could have been, as we went through the Tim Hortons drive-thru. No singing along to songs on the radio as we sipped our creamy, sugared, caffeinated liquids.
    The "C" word tumbled out of Mama's mouth and the doctor nodded slowly to confirm her suspicions.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Prairie Edge by Conor Kerr

 

  I had been crashing in my auntie's basement. A 1960s wood-panelled wannabe sex dungeon with mirrors in the weirdest places and blue-purple shag carpet. The carpet had stains that I didn't want to think about. My Auntie May had gotten clean in her early thirties. While doing that, she'd gone back to school and earned a nursing degree. And now, she worked with native kids who struggled with addiction. May put everything into the job. When she got home, usually late at night, she'd sit on the house's front steps for hours smoking cigarettes and drinking decaf double-doubles from Tim Hortons. Auntie always let me stay in her basement if I needed to.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

A History of Burning by Janika Oza

    A few weeks later, Hari was working at the kitchen table when Sol called him to come play. The sunlight through the window warmed his forearms, drawing his attention away from his textbook and toward the jungle of vines out back, the leaves of the sugar maple just blushing orange, and Hari had no trouble ditching the report he was supposed to be writing. 
    They met at the Tim Hortons by the park, where Sol ordered two double-doubles and a donut, slapping his change down on the counter before Hari could pay. 
    They hunched over their creamy coffees at a table shared with another family, whose kids were losing their minds, standing on the chairs, the parents switching between English and Vietnamese, so that Hari caught only snatches: Enough! Quiet! Hey!
    "Honey cruller?" Hari poked at the cracked icing, trying to make Sol laugh. "You know it's Boston creme or bust for me."
    "Fine," Sol said distractedly, waving the donut at the screeching kid next to him who grabbed for it with both hands.
    Hari watched as the kid scraped the icing off the cruller with his fingernails before looking up at his mother. The way his eyes sought her out reminded Hari of the last time his parents had come over.

---------------------------------------------------------------------