Page 70 of His Sound
“That’s the question. Shayla wants me to start in January, so I have until the end of term to decide. I’d have to leave school.”
“I mean...you can always go back,” I point out, “if the job doesn’t work out. McGill isn’t going anywhere.”
“I know.” She sighs. “It’s just scary, giving something up like that. My whole life, I’ve been told university is like, the key to a secure and successful future. It’s always been my path. If I take this job, I’ll be striking out on my own into the unknown.”
I reach for her hand where it’s resting on her seat between us. “Wouldn’t be the first time you went off your ‘path.’ It didn’t go so bad with us.”
She gives my fingers a squeeze and jokes, “Not yet, at least.”
Yeah, not yet.
“If I’m honest, the hardest part isn’t even making the choice,” Molly continues. “The hardest part would be telling my mom. She...I don’t even know what she would do. I just know it would be catastrophically bad. What was it like for you, when you dropped out of UQAM? Did you ever fix things with your parents after?”
I slip the hand that’s not holding Molly’s into my pocket and flex it around the familiar shape ofmon truc.
“Well, ah, I think tofixthings, they have to work in the first place. Things with my family have never been all that great. They aren’t...what did you call it?Catastrophicallybad—they aren’t that, but they aren’t great.”
She shifts a little closer to me. “Why not? You’ve been cryptic about your family. What exactly am I walking into here?”
She stares up at me with those big, round eyes, and I think about telling her right here. Right now. I could let it all slip out on the backseat of a bus. I want to tell her about my medication, the doctor visits, all those years spent in detention at school. I want to trust her with the knowledge—with my biggest secret. My biggest weakness.
That’s what it is: a weakness. That’s why my dad always told me to hide it. That wasmypath. I want to follow Molly’s lead and step into the unknown with her; I just don’t think I can do it right now.
So I’ll start with baby steps, although introducing her to my family feels more like a giant leap.
“Well, you knowmon pèreis a member of the Parti Québécois. He was actually elected as an MP one term when we were kids. Whenever Sherbrooke Station plays a show in Trois-Rivières, the guys all joke that I must be the most popular guy in town because everybody knows me, but really people know me because of my dad. He’s like a superstar in Trois-Rivières. He really like,believesin it, you know? In the city. In Quebec. In our culture. He raised us to feel the same way.”
“Do you?” Molly asks. “Feel the same way?”
I nod. “I’m proud to be Québécois, sure. We’ve been treated like shit a lot by this country, and I think it’s important that we hold onto our culture. We’re more than a national joke. We’re worth some pride. My dad’s just... extreme about it. He always had these expectations for us, that we go off and become important, impressive people to prove that French Canadians can do anythingles anglophonescan.”
“So...being in a platinum selling rock band that’s sold out shows all across North America isn’t important and impressive?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t involve business or politics, so I guess not.”
“Should I be worried?” she asks, laughing a little to cover up how nervous she actually is. “About you bringing ananglophonehome with you?”
“Nah,” I tell her, swiping away that strand of hair that’s always falling into her eyes. “It might be a little awkward, sure, but it will be fine.”
I really hope I didn’t just lie.
“Oh by the way,” she says, jerking her chin towards a seat a few rows ahead of us, “that girl there has been taking photos of you the entire time we’ve been on this bus.”
I crane my neck to get a look at the person she’s talking about. “No, she isn’t. She’s just taking selfies.”
Molly shakes her head. “That’s what she wants it to look like. Trust me, this is an established technique. I can tell she’s averybig fan.”
“Takes one to know one.”
She plants a kiss on my cheek. “I guess that’s true.”
* * *
“Doyou always stay at a four star hotel when you visit your family?”
Molly’s gaping at the polished lobby of the hotel in downtown Trois-Rivières. I take our key cards from the receptionist and lead the way over to the elevators.
“Not usually,” I admit. “I just wanted to treat my girl.”
