Page 17 of Hate You to Love You

chapter seven

then

I tape up the last box of my belongings, looking around my childhood bedroom one more time to make sure everything is ready for the move. It’s September, and my final semester at university has finally wrapped up. It was well and truly time to move out of my parents’ place. So, while applying for freelance writing jobs, positions at different publications and starting a part-time writing course, I took as many shifts at Dusk Studios as I could in order to save up. Most of my days were spent assisting with setting up studio lights for photographers with Jones, who had just started renting a house in Sydenham.

The old terrace house was located on a street where it didn’t quite look like it belonged. The neighbourhood was full of huge industrial warehouses, but The Terrace, as we came to call it, was narrow and seemingly always on the verge of toppling over, and there was an old-school charm to the place. When we weren’t at The Henson, Sal, Laney and I would join Jones back at The Terrace for wine-fuelled nights of board games and rewatching old seasons of Friends or Will & Grace.

‘You’re over all the time, you might as well move in,’ Jones had suggested one evening as I’d hugged him goodbye.

‘I get it, I come over too much,’ I’d replied, only half joking.

‘I’m serious. Ana wants to spend what’s left of her working holiday visa travelling around Australia.’ Jones had been living with George, a fellow student at NIDA, and Ana, who was on an extended gap year from Poland, ever since he moved into The Terrace. ‘And why would I want to live with a stranger when I could live with my best mate?’ he added. ‘We’d be like Joey and Chandler in Friends.’

‘Just without rent control,’ I teased.

So, we were taking the leap and moving in together. Would it always feel like an episode of Friends? Probably not, but I was looking forward to this new chapter of my life, even though I knew I’d miss Mum and Dad.

‘The Blockbuster down the road is closing this weekend.’ Dad peeks his head into my room as I push the last box of my belongings up against the door. Even at forty-eight, there’s still a youthful energy about him. His face is boyish, which suits the spritely way he bounces around whenever he moves. He’s a child at heart, which is why I think he loves that video store, with its aisles filled to the brim with an eclectic selection of movies, a poster of the 1999 American remake of Godzilla on the wall.

‘They probably heard that I was moving out and realised how much business they’d lose,’ I say to him, trying to suppress a smile.

Despite my attempt at a joke, there’s sadness on Dad’s face. The store means a lot to him. Once upon a time, there had been multiple video rental shops in our neighbourhood. And while Civic Video became a vacant shopfront and Video Ezy had turned into a Domino’s Pizza, Blockbuster had somehow managed to hang in there. Every Friday, Mum and Dad would take me there and we would each select a movie. Mum always picked out a direct-to-DVD B-grade horror movie with terrible acting and cheesy special effects. And Dad could never resist a rom-com.

‘He wants to go the closing down sale,’ Mum calls from the living room. ‘Beats me where he’s going to fit all the DVDs, though. The shelves are already double-stacked.’

‘If we don’t get a move on, all the good ones will be gone,’ he warns.

So, I put aside my packing and we head down to the sale together.

‘Check it out,’ Dad says as he hands me a copy of Notting Hill.

‘Don’t you already have this one?’

‘But this is the collector’s edition,’ he explains. ‘The director’s commentary isn’t available on the standard edition.’

‘He still hasn’t forgiven me for not letting us stopover in London the time we travelled to Switzerland,’ Mum says while cradling a copy of the live action 101 Dalmatians. The DVD pairs well with her vintage Disneyland Paris shirt. If there was an item of clothing with intellectual property on it, Mum was bound to wear it.

I laugh. ‘Why?’

‘Because it was our one chance to visit Notting Hill,’ she says.

‘I wanted to see the blue door from the film!’ Dad holds up the DVD above his head.

‘Was that the trip you did the river cruise or the one with the alpine train rides?’

Mum places both hands over her chest, looking at Dad wistfully. ‘That was the time your Dad took me on the Glacier Express.’

‘Ah yes,’ Dad nods. ‘Word of advice, son, don’t travel with more than one suitcase when catching trains around Switzerland. How many times did we almost miss a connection?’

They continue to reminisce over their travels while I scan the shelves. I gravitate towards a copy of Treasure Planet, a criminally underrated Disney film. I begin to hum a tune from the movie while the crackly audio of ‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls plays over the speaker. The store is packed. People snatch box sets from shelves, and there’s a line up at the counter. There’s nothing like the idea of saying goodbye to something forever to make people show up.

‘Do you know that boy?’ Dad says to me as we browse the Disney section. ‘He keeps looking this way.’

I peer over my shoulder and feel my eyes go wide at the guy that’s standing at end of the aisle. It’s him. The Hugh Grant lookalike. I haven’t seen him since he swiped Fortunate Discovery away from me, but the frustration of our interaction is still fresh in my memory.

‘I’ve got no idea who that is,’ I say, turning away and brushing Dad off.

‘Are you sure?’ he asks. ‘Because now he’s coming this way with a big smile on his face.’