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"I meet with my first client tomorrow in Brisbane."
"Cool."
"The second thing I wanted to do was snap a few pics at the obligatory tourist hotspots like the silly Yank that I am."
"Hey, stop taking words right out of my mouth. How am I supposed to make fun of you?"
I swallow a grin.
"And the third thing?" he asks.
"The third thing…" I look out the window. This is the thing no one knows. "The third thing is I want to scatter my mother's ashes."
Wilby snaps his neck to look at me. The car swerves.
"Fuck!" we both cry out.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Wilby straightens us out. "Mate, are you serious?"
"I am."
"I'm so sorry."
"Thanks, but— It didn't happen recently. I was seven."
"So what? You still lost your mother. You don't ever get over that."
"Do you…" Fuck, I can't believe I'm about to pry like this. "Do you speak from experience?"
He nods glumly. "I do. We lost Mum early last year."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. Um…”
"What is it?"
"Nothing… Just… Okay, if I’m pushing too much, which I probably am, tell me to piss off, and I’ll drop it, but… If your mum died when you were seven, how is it that you still have her ashes now?"
"That’s a fair question," I say. "So I’ll bank your invitation to tell you to piss off for another time."
He gives me a small smile. "Fair enough.”
I take a breath. "Dad and I scattered her ashes shortly after the funeral, but he also saved a portion for me to scatter when I was older and ready…" Which, nineteen years later, I still apparently am not.
"That was really thoughtful of him."
"Yeah, it was." I smile, my chest filling with all the love I have for Dad. It’s the worst losing a parent, but god am I lucky to have him.
But enough about me. "How about you? Is your dad in the picture?"
"Long and complicated story we would need more than three hours for. Yours?"
"Yeah. Dad and I are like this." I intertwine my index and middle fingers.
"That's awesome. Any siblings?"
"Nope. You?"
