Page 128 of Get Me to the Starting Line

Guilt settles in my stomach. It’s been a while since I’ve reached out. But it feels good to slip back into French.

“Hey, Dad.”

“You good, son?”

Right, because the only time I call him is if something is wrong. I think the last time I called was when I dislocated my hip.

“How’s ...” Shit, I forgot the name of his newest wife. “Life?” Nice save, jackass.

My dad huffs a laugh. “Life is good. Mel left me about a month ago.”

The guilt grows. He didn’t call me.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

We both know that’s not the truth. I couldn’t even remember her name. My brain doesn’t bother to register the women in my dad’s life anymore. Anger replaces my guilt. Anger at myself, anger at him. I choke it down.

“How’s your hip?” he asks, steering the subject to safer territory.

“Hip is good, back to normal. I ran a half marathon last weekend.”

“Good for you.”

There’s silence over the line. Not a comfortable one either. The stiffness radiates between us, years of unspoken words and disappointment taking up too much space.

Why did I call him? This was my dad’s fifth marriage. What does he know about committing to someone? Sacrificing for someone?

“Julien?” My dad breaks the silence first.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“I miss you.” Three small words. I don’t know how to feel about them. Before I can formulate a response, he continues. “I hope you’re coming home soon.”

Home.

I think of Montreal, with its long history and people who are a little too snobby for their own good. But also the food, the culture, the rolling hills and the trees in the fall.

I miss the reds and oranges, somehow more brilliant and vibrant than they are here. I miss hearing my first language all around me. I miss the feeling of being in a separate place, of being in Canada but also in our own world we’ve carved out. And it’s on the other side of the country.

The thing is, though there’s been heavy talk of Montreal trading for me, it may not happen. The Whales might want to keep me. I could end up all the way down in Florida if that’s what they choose.

I have no control, and I used to want that. I liked that I didn’t have to be the one to tell my dad I couldn’t come back. It wasn’t on me to make the decision.

But now it is.

I use the courage Leah has given me simply by being a strong presence in my life and ask the question that’s plagued me for as long as I can remember.

“Why did Colleen leave?” I’ve never been able to call the woman “Mom.” Kind of like how Leah refers to Ian as Levi’s sperm donor.

He hesitates and, for a moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer me.

“It was a different time. Even thirty-six years ago, a white woman with a black man wasn’t as accepted as it is now.” He sounds resigned. It does nothing but make me angrier.

“Her family cut her off when she married me. She was devastated,” he continues.

“So she turned around and did the same thing to us?”

He sighs heavily, as though he’s waited thirty-six years for this conversation.

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