Page 65 of Two Friends in Marriage
The question is awkward, but I appreciate it nonetheless.When HPV vaccines became available in Canada, Dad looked into how I could get one, and he asks about pap smears every few years now.
Other than giving me money, it’s his only attempt to show he cares about me.He’s not like Evan’s parents, who talk to him regularly and load him down with food whenever they see him.Dad was so uncomfortable when I got my period that he couldn’t even go to the feminine hygiene aisle with me, but I guess he feels an obligation to ask this question on occasion, given my mom died of cervical cancer.
“That’s good,” he says briskly.“The reason I’m calling is that I’m coming to Toronto for work.”He gives me a date later this month.“I thought I could visit you at your new house.It’ll be nice to catch up.”
Nice to catch up.As though he’s a not-so-close friend, rather than my goddamn father.
But I don’t express my irritation.
“Sure,” I say.“I can make us something for dinner.”
We talk for a couple more minutes.
“I should go,” he says.“By the way, Peyton asked for your phone number and address.I gave them to her.I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine.”Though I’m confused, as she and I don’t have a sisterly relationship.
After ending the call, I walk to my bedroom—where I slept last night for the first time in ages—and regard myself in the mirror above my dresser.Then I examine the photo of me with my parents, trying to figure out if I look much like my mother.Every time I do this, I conclude that I do.But maybe it’s wishful thinking.I wonder if the similarity will fade as I age, as I become (hopefully) ten and twenty years older than she ever was.
I study my father in the picture.The man who, for a brief period of time, made me the center of his universe.But I no longer have that.
Could something similar happen with Evan?
Once again, I find myself wondering how different things would have been if my mother’s cancer had been caught earlier.If she were still alive—or, at the very least, had lived until my twenties.I also wonder how much that shaped my feelings about being a woman.I say I’m a woman because that’s what I’ve been told I am and I don’t feel strongly about it, but it’s not an important part of my identity.Would that be different if I had a mother?Or if my father hadn’t pulled away when I went through puberty?Or does it have nothing to do with that?The rare times I speak to my father, I always end up pondering these sorts of things.
I pull my hair into a ponytail and head downstairs just as Evan comes in from his walk.
“Hey,” he says.“I saw Skylar and Deena outside—they’re heading to the hospital.Deena wanted me to thank you again for looking after Skylar.Also, I checked the mail.”
There’s a community mailbox at the end of our street.Evan is responsible for checking it, but he doesn’t do it every day.We don’t get much mail.But today, he passes me an envelope with a handwritten address.
“It’s from Peyton,” I say.Funny this arrived today.
I open the envelope as I head to the kitchen.I pull out a card with a pun about toast, and it takes me a moment to understand what I’m seeing.
A card to congratulate us on our wedding.
My first thought is that I’m surprised Peyton even knows how to send mail.I wasn’t aware Gen Z ever did that.To be fair, it’s not something I do much, either, though I remember being taught how to address an envelope in school.
But then I smile.Peyton took the time out of her day to do this.It’s the only tangible acknowledgement of my marriage that I’ve received from my family, unless you count the check my dad gave me at Christmas.
“What is it?”Evan enters the kitchen.
In response, I hand him the card, and he chuckles at the pun.
“Should I hang it on the bulletin board?”he asks.
“Sure.”
He tacks it up next to our calendar.Yes, we have calendars on our phones, but I like having a paper one as well.
“My dad called while you were out,” I say.“He said he gave Peyton my contact info.”
Evan pours himself a cup of water.His skin is glistening with sweat.“How is he?”
“Same old, I guess.He’s coming to Toronto for work soon and wants to have dinner.”
“When?”
