Page 4 of Ruin My Life
“You’ve got most of it bunched up beside you, and you’re not even using it,” Amie grumbles, digging her fingers into the weave as she yanks the blanket toward herself.
“You’re so full of shit!” I snap, pulling it back over my now-exposed right foot.
From the kitchen, Mom lets out a long-suffering sigh that still manages to sound amused. “Youknow, I don’t think your Nana would appreciate hearing that all you two do is fight over her gift.”
I pop up on my knees, leaning over the back of the couch. “Mom, let’s be honest—if Nana were here, she’d be taking bets on who’d win.”
Amie’s voice rises immediately. “Yeah, and she’d bet on me.”
“Tolose,maybe,” I toss over my shoulder.
“Brie’s been home less than six hours, and you two have already pushed so many buttons, I’m shocked a bomb hasn’t gone off,” Dad calls from the sink, drying the last of the dishes. “God help the men who ever dare to cross either of you.”
“Good riddance to them,” Mom says as she takes the plate from him and stretches to reach the upper cabinet. “Any man stupid enough to stand between a strong woman and her fire has a lesson coming.”
Dad grins. “Believe me, I know that all too well.”
He pulls her in by the waist, suddenly dipping her low like they’re on the dance floor instead of kitchen tile. Her laughter fills the space as her wavy brown hair sweeps the air, her hands clutching at his neck to steady herself.
Even after twenty-five years, they still look at each other with thatI-can’t-believe-you’re-realkind of love—the kind you only ever see in movies.
I used to think it was dramatic—the idea of roses on the counter just because, or slow dancing in the light of the refrigerator at two in the morning. It always felt ridiculous. Romanticized.
But not impossible.
Not when you’ve seen it lived—every single day.
They met on a film set in Alberta. Dad was directing his first big-budget movie, completely out of his element, surrounded by wilderness he couldn’t name and equipment he barely understood.
Enter Mom—Allison LeBlanc—the local groundskeeper assigned to keep the overpaid city crew from accidentally wrecking Banff’s pristine beauty.
A few days on the lake, hours of bickering, and late nights under Albertan stars, and Dad was already in free fall.
But Mom didn’t believe in love at first sight.
She made him prove it. Made him earn it.
Long-distance calls. Red-eye flights. Thoughtful dates stitched into stolen weekends.
Eventually, he won her over. And the rest became what we now call the greatest love story ever written.
Happily ever after. Roll credits.
Amie scrunches her nose as they twirl together by the island. Dad dips his fingers in the dishwater and blows the bubbles into the air, watching them float like glittering stars around the room.
When I was younger, I used to cringe too. There’s something unsettling about seeing your parents act like people—romanticpeople. It’s weird. Awkward. Borderline gross.
But now... I just watch them and hope that someday, maybe, I’ll find something evenhalfas real.
The only thing that finally separates them is a soft knock at the front door. Both of them glance over their shoulders, still breathless with laughter, before Dad reluctantly lets go of Mom and heads for the entryway.
I watch him disappear around the corner, trying to refocus on the movie—but curiosity prickles beneath my skin like a bed of needles.
Who could be knocking at nine in the evening?I wonder
It could be a fan who found Dad’s address online, eager to pitch a script, or maybe a neighbour dropping by for a favour. Probably not a salesman—but then again, some are bold enough to peddle high-speed internet at all hours.
“Hello, fellas, how can I—”
