1
Summer
My dad issmiling atus, a smile of approval, love, and forgiveness. This makes him happy, seeing his daughter in love.My happiness is allhe’sever wanted; it’s the motivation behind his actions for all these years.It’swhyhe let me go.
I turn tothe man at my side. Looking up at him is like staring into the sun, feeling its warm rays heat me from the inside out.He’sbeautiful, strong,steady, familiar.He’shome.
My eyes blink open as the dream fades away, courtesy of the obnoxious sound of my alarm. It’s not the first time I’ve dreamt of my father in the years since I left home as a child, but this is the first time there has ever been another man in the dream with us. I have no idea who he is, but he is clearly important to me. I am caught off guard by the overwhelming emotions that stay with me even as I wake.
Tying my long blonde hair into a ponytail, I sit on the edge of my single bed in the tiny apartment I share with two other instructors from the yoga studio where I work. I’ve always wanted to open my own studio, and I’ve got the training and experience to do it, but that would mean settling down. And no matter how hard I try to find a place that makes mewantto settle down, I just can’t. Even Calgary, where I’ve been the last few years, doesn’t feel like home. It’s just one more stop along the way, except I have no idea where I’m going.
When my phone rings, it’s still early enough in the morning that I know it can only be one person. My mom lives several provinces away, in a totally different time zone, and she has never adjusted to the time difference. We don’t talk often anymore, but every time we do, she seems to forget that midmorning for her is sunrise for me.
“Hi, Mom,” I say cautiously.
“Hi honey, how are you? Where are you?” Her over-the-top cheerfulness grates on me. I can see right through it. She doesn’t really care how I am, or where I am, she’s just saying what she thinks she should say.
“I’m fine. Still in Calgary.” My response is clipped, but she ignores it.
“Still? Wow, you’ve been there a while now,” she titters.
“It’s not so bad here.” I rummage through my bag, pulling out what I need before I go to the studio to teach, my mind only half on the conversation.
“That’s good, I guess. I could never stay somewhere that long. God, those years I had to stay in that damn town with your father were so hard. He never wanted us. I swear, leaving that pathetic town was the best thing I ever did.”
Right on cue. Mom never wastes an opportunity to remind me how awful our life was in Dogwood Cove, the small town where I was born, and how horrible my father was. Granted, I haven’t heard from him in the almost twenty years since we left, so I can only guess that the feeling is mutual. But my memories of my childhood aren’t all bad. I’ve actually considered going back a few times over the years, not that I would ever tell Mom that, but something always stops me. Finding the time and money to go out west was only part of it; there’s also the little girl inside of me who believes her father doesn’t love her. Why would I go back to him when he has made it clear through his silence that he has no desire to have me in his life?
Still, whenever Mom tries to tell me that taking me away from my home was the best thing she ever did, I can’t help but wonder to myself,best for whom?
“Did you need something, Mom?” I ask, eager to get the conversation over with.
“Can’t I just call my daughter because I simply want to talk?”
“You could, but you never do,” I say bluntly.
Mom just huffs and doesn’t try to deny that it’s the truth. “Fine. I guess I thought you might care to know that I met someone. Ralph and I are moving to Ontario next month.”
This should surprise me, I guess, but it doesn’t. Mom follows whatever guy she’s dating anywhere he goes. Always has. And then when they inevitably dump her, or lie to her, or betray her somehow, she moves on. As a child, I was repeatedly dragged along with her.
“Okay,” I respond, not sure what else she wants me to say.
“It wouldn’t kill you to be a little excited for me, you know.” Her tone is chiding, but I know she doesn’t really care. “There’s nothing wrong with finding a man and doing what it takes to make him happy.”
Yeah, there is,Mom, when making him happy means changing who you areandblindlyaccepting his liesor false promises.
Mom has a pattern. And I’m sick of it. Have been for a while now, but she refuses to listen to me any time I try to convince her not to make the same mistakes again, so I’ve given up. That’s why, for the last few years, I’ve been in Calgary and she’s been in Quebec. I couldn’t handle watching her make the same bad decisions over and over again. When I find a man and fall in love, it will be with someone honest and kind. Someone who treats me as a partner; someone who respects me.
Out of nowhere, the silhouette of the man from my dream flashes into my mind.He felt like home.That seems strange, to describe a person as home. But it’s the only way to describe the comfort I felt in the dream. I can still sense his hand holding mine tightly, securely.
Too bad he is nothing more than a dream. A fantasy, even.
“Okay, sorry. I’m happy if you’re happy, Mom.” My words sound hollow to me, but my mother doesn’t seem to notice.
“Thank you. Now, let’s talk about when you might come for a visit. Niagara Falls is just lovely according to Ralph.”
That’s laughable. We haven’t seen each other in over three years, and she thinks I’ll just hop on a plane to Ontario? But that’s my mother. Incapable of seeing anything beyond her own thoughts and whims.
“You know what, Mom, that sounds fun, but I have to go. I teach a class in half an hour; don’t want to be late. Let’s talk again soon, okay? Bye.” I hang up with just a mild pang of regret. She might be a self-centered narcissist, but I still hate being rude to my mother.
