Page 129 of Get Me to the Starting Line

“She loved you.” The words hold no meaning for me. Especially now that I’ve seen what a mother’s love can look like. Maggie and Leah have shown me what the word means.

“Not enough to stay.”

“Sometimes even love isn’t enough. People are not black and white. Excuse the pun.” He chuckles at his own joke.

And isn’t that the crux of the matter. I love Leah. I love Levi. And I haven’t made the decision to stay.

He stays quiet, as if he knows I need to process.

“And she’s never reached out?”

“I told her not to.” His voice is now hard, pained.

That makes two of us. “Why the hell not?”

“I grew up with a flighty mother. The woman would breeze in and out of my life, taking pieces of my heart with her every time she went. The hope damn near broke me. I didn’t want that for you. A clean break had to be better than living the way I did.”

When he puts it like that, I can understand. My anger shouldn’t be directed at him anyway. It’s for the woman who didn’t love me enough to stay. But he wasn’t perfect.

“But you ended up doing that to me anyway, Dad. You married woman after woman. When I was little, I thought each one would be my mom. And they left, they always did.” I feel the accusation hit him and I try to ignore the pressure of it.

“I’m sorry.” He’s so quiet, and I hear the frailty in his voice. A reminder of his age. Another reason to go back to Montreal.

“That wasn’t fair of me, Dad, I’m sorry.” Even though he and I both know it’s true, I regret saying it so harshly.

“No, you’re right, Julien. I tried to fill a void and ended up in the exact same place I’d been.”

“But they never stayed long enough to be my mother, so it’s not the same as what you went through. I had just hoped.” Am I reassuring him for his sake or mine? Probably both.

He laughs sadly. “Hope is the worst part of it, isn’t it?”

“Why did Mel leave, Dad?” I force myself to be kind, to say the words with empathy, even though I don’t quite feel it.

“The same reason they all do. Colleen.” I hear it. In the way he says her name. Even after all this time, he loves her.

“Did you ever try to find her?”

“I did. And if you ever want that information for yourself, I have it. When you’re ready.”

“I don’t want it,” I say automatically.

“And that’s fine. But if you ever change your mind, all you have to do is ask.”

My throat swells with emotion. Pity, hurt, anger, shame, confusion. I’m still the little boy who would sit and daydream about his mom being a secret agent, forced to stay away for his own safety.

I’d picture her coming back for me and showing me the letters she wrote to me every single day.

When I was a teenager, I would dream of the police coming to our door to tell us she was dead. Only so I could stop hoping and wishing. So I’d know for sure she was gone and never coming back.

Because she couldn’t, not because she didn’t want to.

In each phase of my life, I wished for something different. Until I was a grown man who couldn’t hold a serious relationship, unable to trust the women in his life, always expecting them to leave.

I never felt that way about Leah. I wonder if that’s because of Levi, because she was the parent who stayed. If, in some part of my mind, that proved she wouldn’t abandon the people she loves.

But does she love me?

“Who is she?” My dad breaks into my thoughts, reaching in to find the real reason I called.

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