I feel horrible that I’m not able to hide anything from him, but I fess up after I’d cringed from that alert. “My father texted me. Wants me to call him. There is a property he wants, and he isgiving me the opportunityto purchase it with him making the monthly payments. ‘Free land,’ he calls it. So typical. He has alwaysbeen obsessed with accumulating land with all these big plans of developing this and that. Always a scheme to make some obscene profit. He had some success for many years. Until he didn’t. Then nothing happened. Land just sitting there. He was maxed out at the bank—no more financing, no more extensions. Yet he continued to travel and somehow make money. Cash. My mom and I never asked questions.”
“And this morning, he wants what exactly?”
“The house he grew up in is for sale, along with the surrounding land. He makes it sound like he is offering a way to invest in some stupid shit. Like, I’ll make a down payment for the purchase, and the loan will be in my name—so it will bemyland—but he will make the monthly payments. Which he won’t. Like I’m too stupid to know that. When I tell him no, he will get angry and yell at me like I’m an ungrateful child.”
My dad was intelligent and successful. A degree in engineering. I have no clue how he made such a fortune and then managed to lose it all. But I don’t care anymore. I understood when my mom divorced him. I began to understand that she’d spent my entire life in survival mode. Trying to keep up appearances and continue the illusion until I was able to escape the insanity. It was her way of taking care of me. But that is hard to remember. The resentment over the absence of nurturing and affection is still powerful.
While she was barely a mother, maybe—I realize now—staying with my father was the one thing she did to protect me. She waited until after I was out of the house to leave him because she never wanted to leave me alone with him. She was afraid his anger could become too much. Physical maybe.
My phone rings. My dad is calling.
“Don’t pick up,” Patrick warns as I start to move. “Diana, seriously, don’t pick up.”
So, I don’t. But I do listen to the voicemail.
“Hey, kid! You got my text? I’m doing you a favor by basically giving you this free land. You get that, right? It’s a family home. One you should save.”
Maybe I should buy it. And I can afford it.
Yet, I silently scream over this gross ask.Fuck you! Fuck you!
Instead of replying, I just block him. It never occurred to me to do so, but it’s such a damn relief.
Patrick swings on his leather biker jacket. “Diana, I don’t know everything, but I have a feeling that maybe you hate your parents.”
He’s not wrong.
“Rightfully so,” he continues. “Is there some kind of legacy land that’s worth keeping? Doesn’t sound like it.”
“There’s not. And I do hate them.”
What an awful admission. But it’s true, and sad, and real. I am so tired and so fed up, yet I smile with relief because I have my best friend with me as I finally acknowledge what I’ve never wanted to. What’s so gross, and awful, and sad. But what’s always been there.
“My father has clearly never had any emotional investment in me. Nor would he have had any in any child. It’s a good realization to have. I have no interest in communicating with him at all. I’m at peace with being done with him. I’m at peace with my chaos. My weird trauma.” I want to cry with relief over this admission.
My familiar disasters have been true for so many years, and while I couldn’t identify them until now, they’ve been settling into my system for ages. They are a part of me that I unknowingly sculpted into my being.
“Patrick?” I smile. “It’s a good day now. Really. Because I am here with you in this spectacular place.”
“Itisa good day,” he agrees.
“I just want to see the polar bears. Can we do that?” I ask.
“We can. Small flight tomorrow night to Churchill, but we may even see bears when we land.”
“Fine.” I feign sulking because I know the itinerary like the back of my hand. “Days three and four are on the Polar Rovers.” I manage to stop myself from jumping up and down on the couch like a child. “Like, we’re going to be nose to nose with them.”
And sure as shit, that’s what happens. It’s hard not to tear up when our Rover stops near the loveliest creatures I’ve ever seen. The other passengers gasp as much as I do.
God, these bears are gorgeous.
I can hardly breath in the mostly wonderful way. “Did you know their fur is not actually white? Every single hair is hollow, each bouncing light and looking frosted.”
“I did not know that.” Patrick sets his hand on my back to steady me.
This ride on the Rover could never be long enough, and I’m entranced by the bears, touching my hand to the window so often, although I know it’s stupid and impossible to touch these loves. The bears are majestic and walk so stoically.
“We’re doing this ride again tomorrow,” Patrick reminds me.
