Page 91 of You Started It

“At least your room isn’t. Kind of ironic, right?” Eli says. He sucks in his lips before I can shoot him a glare.

“What if you try talking to Axel?” Mom asks. “Maybe if you speak to one another now that some of the dust has settled, you can figure out how to fix things.”

“There’s nothing left to figure out. It’s over.” I rip my covers off and get out of bed. “I’ve decided to take your advice and spend some time alone. I need to stop relying on others to make me feel complete. I’m my own best friend.” Maybe if I say it enough times, I’ll start to believe it.

“So you’re just going to close yourself off to friends and romantic relationships?” Eli asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes.” My bucket list comes into view and I pick it up. “And I’m going to start by completing the rest of these goals. Alone.”

“Hey. I’m all for spending time alone and learning some independence, but don’t do it to make a point. Do it because you want to. Can I see that list?” Mom asks. I pass my notebook to her and her eyes move through the pages quickly. “Maybe you and your father can go to one of these places together.”

“That is a fantastic idea,” I say to my mother before leaning over to plant a kiss on her cheek. The notebook slips from her lap and onto the floor, landing with the contract facing up. Before I can grab it, it’s back in my mother’s hands. The room falls quiet as she reads through it.

“I…I don’t understand. Why did you and Axel have a dating contract?” Mom asks.

I bite on my lip, trying to think of a simple way to explain everything. My eyes plead with Amo Eli to step in. Thankfully, he does.

“You know Jamie loves to read and well, sometimes life imitates art,” he says, looking back and forth between me and my mother. I smile at my uncle before mouthing the words “tell her.” He takes my hand and squeezes it. And then he tells my mother everything, while I sit by, embarrassed and heartbroken.

“That certainly explains a few things.” Mom nods. “You’ll get through this, Jamie,” she says, placing her hand on my knee. “You’re probably the smartest, most resilient person I know. To be honest, I hate how resilient you’ve had to be, but I’m completely on board with this journey to self-discovery. And quite frankly, I’m impressed with the whole fake-dating scheme. You had me fooled.”

A small laugh escapes me. “Maybe there’s an item on the list I could do with the two of you,” I say, allowing myself to continue being vulnerable.

“Let me see that list,” Eli says, snatching the notebook from my mother’s lap. “Watch a hockey game, eh? That’s on my bucket list too. Maybe we can swindle a bro into buying us a couple tickets. Those things don’t come cheap,” Amo says while poking my side with his finger.

“And I know just the bro,” Mom replies.

Later that day, I take the streetcar downtown to meet my father. I thought it would be too weird to sit in a car alone with him. Especially with how unpredictable and crappy Toronto traffic is. Besides, I don’t think we’re at that level of comfort yet. After my chat with Mom and Eli, I sent Dad a photo of my bucket list and told him to choose an activity. He went off-script and suggested skating at Nathan Phillips Square, since it just opened this weekend. Kind of old-school but I thought it could be fun.

The ice rink at Nathan Phillips Square is situated in the heart of Toronto, just in front of City Hall. We used to come here every winter and admire the Christmas window displays at the Hudson’s Bay Company, then take goofy photos by the three-dimensionalToronto sign. After that, Mom and I would rent skates (Dad would bring his own) and we’d try not to kill ourselves on the ice.

I agree to meet Dad by the Tim Hortons across the street from the rink. He’s already there when I arrive, hands in his pockets, trying to keep warm.

“Dad,” I say, observing him in a flannel coat and wet hair. “Seriously?”

“What?” His eyes twinkle.

“I know you’re all about being cool, and excuse me for sounding like an old Arab lady, but you’re going to catch a cold dressed like that. With wet hair to boot.”

“Ah. Said just like a Canadian teta.” He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Winter kind of snuck up on me this year.”

“Let’s go to the Eaton Centre and get you a hat. Maybe some gloves.”

“Hot chocolate too?” he asks, his eyebrows wiggling.

“Sure. It’ll have to be your treat though. I’m broke.”

We smile before we head to the mall on foot. The sidewalks are packed full of pedestrians: young families, twenty-somethings on their own paths of independence, and older couples, strolling slowly and enjoying the view.

“Ever notice that couples these days dress alike?” Dad asks. He nods his head to the thirty-somethings walking toward us. I glance down at their matching Blundstones, cuffed jeans, and military-like coats.

“Those two even have the same haircut,” I scoff.

“Speaking of funny haircuts,” Dad says as we wait to cross the street, “how’s Axel?”

I shrug, watching the crosswalk countdown. The light switches and we make our way to the other side of the street. Neither of us speak as we come to the mall entrance. Dad opens the door andI’m instantly slapped in the face with loud Christmas music and huge decorations dangling from the ceiling.

“A little early for this, don’t you think?” I ask.

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