Page 122 of Breaking Away

Dmitri, the first time he saw me edit in the dark, pushing and asking if it was my dream. Pushing again, making that bet of ours. Taking me so seriously, bargaining that he’ll invite everyone over for barbecue if I believed in myself enough to photograph his team. Always treating my camera with such respect.

“I’m a photographer,” I repeat to my mom. “And I have to go.”

Her eyebrows slant. “So soon? For your interview?”

“No, I need to do something I’ve been putting off. Something I’ve been afraid to try. I need to contact Tim.”

“Who is Tim?”

I reach out and hug her. “Hopefully, my new boss. But if not, I’ll keep trying.”

“Will you come back for dinner?” my mom asks, clutching me.

“Not today. I have to fly back to Vancouver.”

She pulls back. “Back to him?”

I’m gathering my stuff. “Yup. He needs me, too.”

Something happened to Dmitri’s dad. And I know he’s not used to opening up and sharing his burdens, but I want to be there for him like he’s been there for me.

My mother walks me to the door.

“What are you going to do now?” I ask.

“Um, knit.”

“Hey,” I wonder randomly. “Did you ever want to make clothes for real? To have your own fashion line. I remember… when I was really little, I might have heard you say that.”

“I haven’t—I mean—it’s too late for that. In another life.”

“Are you happy, Mom?”

“I’m good, Kavi.”

I don’t want to project onto her. She’s not a mirror of me and my dreams. It’s rude to think I should tell her how to feel, so instead I whisper other words.

“Then I’m happy for you.” I smile softly. “Thank you for cooking for us growing up and keeping the house so clean even on days you were exhausted, and thank you for always being so happy whenever you saw me, especially when dad was too busy to be present?—”

“He’s sacrificed so much for you—us?—”

“Iknow. But this isn’t about him.” My vision blurs a bit until I rub my eyes. “I want you to know that if you ever decide you want to do anything else or try anything else, I support you. And I’m sorry for not taking your calls, but I needed some time away. This isn’t goodbye. I just have to go.”

We give each other another teary hug before I leave.

On the way to the airport, I send Dmitri an audio message, asking him if everything is alright with his dad. I know their relationship is complicated. I tell him he can talk to me. That he doesn’t have to hold back his problems, but can share them with me. That he should. I insist. I’m here. I’m thinking about him and miss him.

I also remember what my mom said about my dad looking at old videos of me as a kid. I try calling him, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. And by the time I land in Vancouver, he hasn’t tried to call me back. He might have meant to, but knowing him, something hockey-related came up. To him, it must have felt critically important.

But where does it leave me?

A daughter who feels like her dad doesn’t think she’s worth fighting for. Well?—

Iamworth fighting for. And I don’t want to keep trying only for him to give me less than a fraction of that effort back.Instead, I hug this new truth and let it fill my heart. I’m going to turn towards all the things in my life that spark joy and growth, not persistent doubt. That’s where my happiness is.

48

DMITRI

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