Page 72 of Hate You to Love You

But I can’t shake the awful feeling that this is it for us. Who will I be when they’ve all moved on? What will my life look like without them?

I get that answer as soon as Laney moves out. Even with Jones still throwing his parties, and Sal strumming along to Powderfinger and Thirsty Merc on his guitar, The Terrace feels empty. Different. And because we can’t bring ourselves to replace Laney, the three of us are stuck paying much higher rent than we were before.

But soon Jones announces his own plans to move out. He’s found a cheaper room, much closer to his uni. The cost of The Terrace was bleeding him dry.

While a big part of me would have loved to keep living at The Terrace with Sal, an even bigger part realises that we will need new housemates to make it work – and living with strangers in that house just didn’t sit right with me. Instead, I make the call to go back to where I’d always feel at home.

‘Thanks for letting me come home,’ I tell Dad over breakfast. ‘It’s good to be back.’

Dad steps out of the kitchen and takes a seat next to me at the dining table. ‘You’re always welcome here. But what you said about moving out because of the rent – I think we both know that’s not true, is it?’

If there is one person who can always read me, it’s Dad.

‘I thought I had my happily ever after,’ I admit. ‘With Elliot, living with the gang at The Terrace, the trip to America. The movies always told me that life was building up to that perfect moment before the credits roll and I don’t know… I guess the past few months have felt like the deleted scenes no one wants to see.’

Dad sighs. ‘As much as I love those movies, they are only movies. And just because you might not have your happily ever after now, doesn’t mean it’s the end. You keep going. You keep trying.’ He puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. ‘Happiness is fleeting, which can feel cruel but it’s also a blessing. Because you never know when it might come back around.’

I let Dad’s advice sink in. Within the space of a few months, my life now looked so different from what I thought it would be. I was supposed to be coming back from the whirlwind end of The Great Rom-Com Pilgrimage with Elliot and my parents. But I’d never even made it to Disneyland. And life at The Terrace, which had once felt so stable, had ended more quickly than I ever could have imagined.

But if all of that can happen in the blink of an eye, maybe I can build my life back into something I was proud of just as fast?

Dad’s advice lights a fire in me that I put towards my articles at work. I keep myself busy by practising my writing skills, and reading books on the topic. I sign up for a few short writing courses as well to help keep my skill level up. Before I know it, Tamara lights up with eager questions about what ideas I bring to pitch meetings whenever I walk into the office.

If there was one thing that was keeping me anchored while everything else slipped away from me, it was the trance I fell into while writing. Maybe Dad was right. Even if the happily ever after I had built up in my head was nowhere to be seen, it didn’t mean my life was over.

On the way home from work one autumn evening, I take in the little things around me that feel like magic. There’s the crunch of yellow and orange leaves as I walk along the street. Plus the cool chill in the air, which is the perfect weather to curl up under the covers with a good book. And then there’s the street library that has popped up a block away from our house. The cover of a DVD behind the glass grabs my attention and I pull it open. Inside, among a tattered copy of The Da Vinci Code and some children’s picture books, is a DVD of Roman Holiday.

I can’t recall if Dad already has this in his collection, so I’m buzzing with excitement to show him my latest find. But when I get home, the expressions on my parents’ faces stops me dead in my tracks. Dad looks unhappy, his usual smile wiped from his face. Mum’s eyes are red.

‘Mum? What’s happened?’

She steps forward and places her hands on my shoulders. When she opens her mouth, I can sense that she wants to tell me something big. No, that she needs to tell me something. But she can’t get the words out. I turn to Dad, who is sitting in his usual spot at the kitchen table.

‘What’s going on?’ I demand.

Dad sighs, clearing his throat. ‘Your mum finally convinced me to see a doctor about the pain in my stomach. They did some tests.’

‘And?’

‘I’m sorry, Carlos. I have cancer.’

chapter thirty-four

now

On the early morning flight to Edinburgh, I dream. Dad is still sitting in his seat at the kitchen table. He doesn’t speak to me this time, just sits and watches me. I call out to him from the other end of the table, desperate to hear his voice one last time. But he doesn’t make a sound.

As my eyes blink open, the rapid beat in my chest starts to feel out of control. I go to grip the armrest, but the touch of someone’s hand distracts me. It’s Elliot’s hand on mine.

‘I thought I was the nervous flyer,’ he says. The tenderness in his voice is enough to calm me back to reality.

‘Bad dream,’ I tell him. The low buzz of the plane engine that whirs through the cabin helps me stay grounded.

‘Tell me about it,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘Tell me about the bad dream.’