Page 83 of The Summer List

“I know, Dad. I know you’re sorry. I just…I just need to think.”

I end the call before I talk myself out of it, and in the next second, I’m bolting for the front door. I shove my feet into a pair of sneakers and lock the door behind me before I take off sprinting down the driveway.

I manage to run a few blocks before I have to slow my pace. My lungs burn and the muscles in my legs ache, but I make myself continue at a jog.

This is what I need.

I need oxygen. I need quiet. I need space. I need the thud of my feet on the ground to be the only sound around me as I listen for that voice again, the one that said, ‘This isn’t me.’

I know it has more to tell me, and for the first time in my life, I think I might actually be ready to listen.

I jog past giant house after giant house until my empty stomach demands I slow down to a walk. Still, I keep moving, not caring what I look like traipsing through the fanciest neighborhood in Ottawa in a pair of pajama shorts and a hoodie with my hair an absolute mess.

After another couple blocks, I reach one of the private schools in the area. The wide green lawn out front is dotted with maple trees and a few benches. I turn off the sidewalk to head for the closest bench, but I end up sprawling out on the soft grass under one of the trees instead.

I close my eyes with my face turned up to the evening sun, and a hundred memories wash over me.

My dad turning his back in the window of our old house in Ottawa when my mom and I drove away for the last time.

The strain in his voice whenever he said ‘I love you too’ on our phone calls, and all the moments of hesitation when I wondered if he’d say it at all.

The first time I had dinner with him, Sandy, and her sons and realized it was the first time I’d heard my dad laugh—really laugh—in as long as I could remember.

I play every single moment like a movie in my head, rewinding and re-watching and rewinding again, looking for proof that what he said on the phone today is true.

I don’t know how long I lay there. By the time I sit up, the grass has pressed imprints into the backs of my legs, and the sky has started to turn orange as the sun sinks lower and lower.

I wonder if Naomi is watching the sunset too.

I wonder if I’ve made her feel the exact same way my dad has.

She didn’t want me to be perfect. All she wanted was for me to try. All she wanted was for me to believe I was enough, but I wouldn’t do it.

I was an absolute idiot. As I push myself up to my feet and shake the pins and needles out of my legs, I realize I can’t leave this city without telling her that.

I don’t even care if it’s too late. I just can’t do the same thing my dad did.

I can’t spend my whole life being afraid.

Not anymore.

I ignore the protests from my stomach and run back to the house as fast as my legs will carry me. When I turn onto my dad’s street, I see there are way more cars parked along the sidewalk than when I left. I can hear the thumping bass of music blasting outside one of the houses.

Another car pulls up and swerves into an empty spot as I jog down the street. A few seconds later, a guy with a purple Mohawk and a girl in an oversized, ripped up t-shirt serving as a bikini cover-up get out and start walking up the sidewalk.

I can’t stop myself from staring. I might be one to talk considering my own outfit, but these people don’t exactly seem like the type to be attending whatever garden party is going down.

They turn down a driveway, and it takes me a couple second to realize it’s my dad’s driveway.

“What the hell?” I mutter before I run after them.

I get close enough to see the gate is open and the whole driveway is filled with more cars. People in bathing suits swarm past the vehicles, most of them lugging crates of beer and liquor bottles. The purple Mohawk is one of the tamer hairstyles I spot. Everyone here looks like they could have walked out of the crowd at a punk rock concert.

And then it hits me.

I know where my phone is.

I also know I did something way stupider than call Naomi last night.

---