Well, My Fair Lady is definitely the one I’ve watched the most. It reminds me of spending time with my grandparents. But there are a lot of problems with it, I say.
Finn chuckles. Like what?
First of all, it should have been Julie Andrews, not Audrey Hepburn. She was the one who made it a Broadway success, but they wanted someone with more star power. And Audrey has too much star power, it’s hard to believe she’s the poor flower girl in the beginning. Then there’s the ending. It’s a completely different ending in the original story, and I don’t think Eliza— I stop myself abruptly, suddenly embarrassed that I’ve launched into this rant about My Fair Lady.
Go on, finish your thought, Finn prods, and I worry that he’s humouring me. He doesn’t really want to hear about this.
When I only shake my head at him, he says, I guess I’ll have to watch it for myself and figure out what you were going to say about the ending.
Eager to move this conversation along, I ask, “What’s your favourite movie?
Finn shrugs. The Princess Bride. A snort escapes me—this was not the answer I was expecting. I was sure it would be something like The Godfather or a Marvel movie I couldn’t name.
He gives me a scandalized look. Have you ever seen it? I tell him I haven’t and he tuts at me in disdain. A lot of assumptions being made on your part, Violet. Both about me and the film, I think.
We pull up to the parking lot for the Franey trail. A few other cars are already parked, but there isn’t another person in sight. There’s a thick brush of trees surrounding the area, and signs pointing in the direction of the trail.
Here we are, Finn says, who also navigated the entire way here. Something in me eased at not having to show him the way or take responsibility for the directions. That’s usually my job, both with my family and with my work—to be the planner, the organizer, the one who will figure it out for everybody else.
We step out of the car and while it’s warm, it’s not the sweltering heat I know we’ll experience later in the day. I’m dreaming of the beach already.
Grabbing our backpacks, Finn reaches over to adjust the ballcap I’m wearing. It’s pale pink and has a tiny cartoon image of a seagull.
Ready for our adventure, Violet?
We hike in silence for a long time. I don’t want to admit that partially, for me, it’s because I’m so winded making my way up the steep incline. While I used to spend a lot of time outdoors growing up, my time in Toronto was pretty limited to sporadic gym memberships and running around to events.
Finn seems lost in thought, and I don’t want to disturb that either. But I wonder if something else is on his mind, or someone.
I resist the urge to get to the root of all his problems and fix them.
I think about my own family and their never-ending list of issues. More nudging texts had come in from some of my siblings last night. I’d ignored them all and called to check in on my Nan instead.
Are you having fun Violet? Is it beautiful there?
It is beautiful, I’d told her. Very different from B.C. somehow, and the trees aren’t nearly as tall here.
And the fun part, are you remembering that? Nan often teased me for being so busy I forgot to have fun.
By the time I was ten years old, I had four younger siblings, all in need of watching and feeding and having their diapers changed. While dad was at work, I stepped up to help my mom–whether I was asked or expected to, or did it of my own volition, I’ve never been sure. I had once overheard my Nan chastising my mother for putting too much responsibility on me. She should be out having fun, Nan had urged.
My mother had only said, But she’s such a good helper—and she loves to help, don’t you Violet?
I’m having fun, I told Nan, feeling exhausted even here from the weight of responsibility that isn’t mine. I launched into a description of the beach day and Louisbourg, leaving out Finn entirely.
Even though tricking my family was my entire reason for doing this whole thing with Finn, Nan wasn’t really included in that, though I didn’t doubt she’d be ecstatic about it. But saying the words out loud would mean admitting that all of this was just an act, and I’m not ready to do that yet. So instead I’d glazed over who I’d been spending my time with in Cape Breton.
While there’s a clear path up the mountain, the trees alongside it are thick and a deep, lush green. Spending my childhood bouncing around Vancouver Island, I’m no stranger to the open expanse of wilderness. But the woods in Cape Breton feel different to what I’m accustomed to—younger, almost playful.
We’re shaded by the trees, thankfully, from the sun that’s rising higher in the sky now. We seem to have the trail to ourselves.
Not far ahead, there’s a crackling of branches. Finn stops abruptly, jutting out his hand in front of me. For a split second, I think he wants to hold my hand. But I realize he’s only wanting to pause my walking, too. The disappointment is sharp and immediate.
There’s something over there, Finn says, his voice low. But before I can ask him what the hell that means, he asks with a tone of awe, What is that?
I put aside my momentary devastation that he wasn’t trying to hold hands, and look through the clearing at the tall creature walking slowly through the bramble of trees.
It’s a moose, I whisper to Finn. I’ve actually never seen one in the wild before, we don’t have them on Vancouver Island.
