“Because I’m walking and don’t want to have to type out a text?”
“You know what voice memos are, right?” She’s being snarky, but I can hear the smile in her high-pitched voice.
“Yeah, yeah, I do.” But I wanted a more immediate connection to her.
Hearing her voice, knowing she’s all right, will always soothe me.
“So… what’s up?”
I stop at a red light and sigh. “Today’s one of those days.”
“Oh.” I hear the rustle of movement on the line as Océane’s breath hitches. “Do you want me to come see you?”
“I’m not home.” The light turns green, and I start walking again. “Just wanted to commiserate with someone. Also, you don’t always need to be the one coming to me.”
I don’t know why she insists. I don’t think I’ve been to her place in over a year, even when her flare-ups would make it much easier for me to go see her there.
“I know, I know.” She pauses. “Want to play ‘Wish they were our parents’?”
I chuckle right as I push on the heavy doors of the metro station, my hair flying out from the gust of warm wind that escapes from below.
“Hmmm… so, Cayce and Corey’s teacher this year is this lovely old lady nearing retirement. She’s the sweetest, patient teacher I’ve ever met. She’s especially patient with the boys’ separation anxiety.”
I pause when I reach the crowded escalators. To my despair, the metro is crowded tonight.
“I wish she were our mom,” I mutter.
“There’s this new guy at art therapy,” Océane continues. “He can’t stop talking while he paints. And he’s weirdly obsessed with painting mangos for some reason?”
She sighs. I wait for her to say the line I know is coming. The line we’ve repeated countless times during these games.
“I wish he were our dad.”
We keep going like this for a few more rounds as I wait for the metro. On days like today, being estranged from our parents feels so deathly lonely. Especially when I see how close Karan gets to be with Surinder and Martine.
But I never regretted my decision to get Océane out of that house. Not for one second.
The metro arrives, and I walk inside, using my free hand to grab onto the support pole. It’s not extremely crowded tonight, but there are enough people that no free seats remain. From thecorner of my eye, I spot an elderly woman sitting in one of the seats, a worn paperback in her hands.
I squint to make out the cover and have to stifle a pleased giggle when I notice the bulging pecs and biceps of the half-naked man on it.
“There’s an old lady reading what seems to be a spicy billionaire romance sitting in the metro. I wish she was our mom.”
“Oh my God. I love that for her,” Océane laughs. “I wonder if she’s reading a spicy scene right now.”
“She’s got a complete poker face. She could be reading anything.”
I can only aspire to reach the level of bold confidence dripping from this sweet-looking old lady.
Soon, the friendly feminine voice of the metro calls out my station. I can finally get out of here.
“I’m almost there,” I say as I make my way closer to the doors. “Talk soon, okay?”
“Okay.” Is that disappointment I hear in her voice? “Love you, Rach.”
“Love you, Ann.”
Putting away my concern for now, I exit the metro station and walk to Crescent Street, which is already alive with foot traffic. By the time I walk into the karaoke bar, my mood is a bit better than it was when I left my condo.
