Page 93 of You Started It

I cry, and then Dad cries and we hug each other, crying on the ice in front of hundreds of people. “I screwed up too.”

He pulls away slightly, wiping my tears before holding my face in his hands. “You didn’t do anything. None of this was your fault.”

“No. Not with you,” I say, shaking my head, my lower lip quivering so hard it’s playing its own beat. “With Axel.”

“Oh.” He sighs as he brings his hands down. “Well, take it from me. It’s not too late. You can fix things with him,” Dad says like a dad.

“I don’t think that’s true,” I say. “We’re probably beyond help.”

“That kid cares deeply for you. Just give it a little time. And while you’re giving each other space, use that distance to figure out what it is you both need to move forward.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is and it isn’t. You’ll see. One day, it’ll just come to you.”

“What will?” I ask.

“A plan.”

“I think I’m all out of plans,” I say, smothering a grin.

“According to what your mother tells me, I find that hard to believe.” He chuckles. “Anyway, this one will be different. Itwon’t come from here,” he says, pointing to my head. “It’ll come from here.” He places a hand over his heart. “And that’s how you’ll know.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I usually am. When I’m sober.” He winks. “Come on. I’ve got you,” he says, wrapping an arm around me. “And this time, I’m not letting go.”

I put my trust in my father and allow him to guide me farther into the ice rink. My legs keep wanting to spread away from me, either side to side or front to back, like a baby elephant, but Dad keeps propping me up and saves me from falling. After about half an hour, I’m skating upright, while still holding on tightly to my father’s arm. It’s kind of magical once I get out of my head to take in the moment. Skating downtown with my dad while music plays in the background, surrounded by people from all walks of life. Somehow, we all started our days apart and ended up at the same place. There’s something really beautiful about that.

My therapist, Dr. Mueller, calls this mindfulness. She said staying in the moment and focusing on what is right in front of us, by giving it our full attention, stops our brains from fixating on the future and the what-if scenarios we have no control over.

Maybe Mom’s right. Maybe I should meet with Dr. Mueller occasionally to check in and discuss some new ways to manage my anxiety as life ebbs and flows. I can’t depend on another person to be the solution. Nor can I rely on lists and plans. And with Dad being back in our lives and trying to heal and move forward, I think talking to a therapist again might help.

Mom is going to be so thrilled when I tell her.

After I request a time-out, Dad uses it as an opportunity to skate laps around me, showing off his skills. He trips on a bump and falls on his butt. We both crack up: one, because when a six-foot-five man falls hard on the ice, the only way to fall is comically;and two, because I refuse to move from my safe spot on the ice to help him up.

Dad manages to get up and dust the ice shavings off. He leads me around the rink, arm in arm and, shockingly, I finally start to get the hang of it. I nod for Dad to release his grip and I begin skating on my own. Wobbly and slowly, while lacking direction, but still, I’m doing it.

I might not know where I’m headed or what’s in front of me, but instead of being terrified of the unknown, right now, in this moment, I’m hopeful.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The rest of November speeds by, and December is moving just as quickly. Probably because I’ve decided to keep myself busy. I’ve been checking more items off my bucket list by taking myself on dates and sometimes even inviting members of my family to come with me. Not because I need the company, but because I want to share the experience with people I love and care about. That’s something I learned from hanging out with Axel. Looking back, I can see now that spending time with him was never about checking items off a list. It was about the memories we made. Together.

Last week, Mom and I went to the Royal Ontario Museum. She told me how she used to go every year on school trips as an art student. She even showed me where she had her first kiss. Surprisingly, it wasn’t with Dad. Rather, it was with some guy named Angelo in the Gallery of Ancient Egypt section, right by the bust of Cleopatra VII. They got caught by their teacher and were forced to sit on opposite ends of the bus on the ride back to school. They never spoke again, but he ended up running the grocery store in the small town where we lived when I was growing up, and she had to pretend every week that she didn’t know who he was.

Another day, I bundled up and took the streetcar into the city alone. I ended up at Ripley’s Aquarium. There weren’t any linesand I was able to walk right in. It was such a peaceful experience strolling around at my own leisure with my headphones on, tuning out the world around me. At certain points, it felt like I was underwater and just another sea creature. There was one fish that looked like it had a mop of hair on its head. At first, I laughed because it reminded me of Axel, and then I cried, standing there alone, as the fish with the bad toupee swam away from me.

Tonight, Amo Eli and I are at a hockey game with Dad at Scotiabank Arena. Dad has to explain how hockey works to both Eli and me. Turns out it’s a pretty simple sport: puck in net equals goal, but Eli has more questions. Lots of them, like: Why did the play stop? What does “offside” mean? Why did this person just get a penalty? What’s a power play?

I can’t bring myself to care enough to listen to the long (LONG) explanations.

I’m trying to enjoy the experience of being at a game with my dad and uncle, while simultaneously checking another item off my list, but the arena keeps playing songs that remind me of Axel. Which leads me to checking his Instagram page obsessively. And then his TikTok account. He hasn’t posted a new TikTok since we stopped talking. Or a new picture, for that matter. Every time I land on his Insta I hold in a breath, afraid that this will be the moment I notice he’s removed the pictures of me and him. But he hasn’t yet. It’s like I’m playing this cruel game with myself each time I go on there and I don’t know why.

Definitely something to bring up with Dr. Mueller at our first appointment next week.

Mom greets us at the door when we return from the game. “You’re home earlier than expected,” she says as Eli rushes straight for the bathroom. He uncharacteristically drops all his things to the floor. He may have overindulged in nachos and hot dogs.

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