Chapter 14 #2
“Doesn’t look like nothing…” Dad says with a raised eyebrow as he takes a bite.
“Does he work at the university too?” Mom asks, practically bouncing in her seat.
“I can’t believe you actually like another person,” Darren chimes in with a chuckle.
“Can we just stop?” I say sharply, looking between Mom and Dad.
Everyone falls silent. Mom slowly drops her gaze to her dinner, and Dad intently watches me like he’s trying to see through the exterior into something deeper. So I look down and keep him out.
“Sorry,” I say quietly. “I just… I don’t want to get into it.”
“It’s alright,” Darren says carefully, and Mom gives me a small, forced smile.
I know I hurt her, and I hate that.
But I also hate how they see me as fragile and treat me like I might break if they push too hard. They should be treating me like the asshole I am.
I exhale and glance at the phone. “How are the kids?” I ask, desperate to just get the attention away from me.
“They’re good,” Darren says. “Hunter is at a friend’s and Sophie is out with Claire for a walk.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Dad nods. “So they’re obviously still alive, despite the hoverboards.”
Everyone chuckles, and I release a breath.
“For now,” Darren laughs.
I sit back and listen while they talk about the kids, the yard, and Mom’s book club.
No one asks me any more questions, and they don’t try to pull me into the conversation.
And while part of me is relieved, it also pisses me off.
Because they’re trying not to rock the boat.
They’re being careful and tiptoeing around me.
But I can’t blame them. I made it this way.
I shift in my seat, my mind briefly wandering to last night, when nothing was careful or gentle. When I wasn’t floating above my life… I was dragged right into it. There were no thoughts or pretending. It was just… me. And him.
I drag a hand over my face, snapping myself out of those thoughts.
I need a fucking drink.
Once there’s a lull in the conversation, I lean forward. “I should go.”
Mom turns to me with a soft smile. “Ok, honey.” Then she nods toward the kitchen. “Can you wait just a second? I’ll pack you up some food.”
I give her a smile and nod. A real one, because even though I know I don’t treat my family the way they deserve to be treated, they still love me, and they keep trying.
I wish I could be better for them.
She heads into the kitchen, and I stand, grabbing my plate.
“Thanks for calling, Darren,” I say.
“Any time, bud,” he replies. “I should go too. I need to pick up Hunter soon.”
“Looking forward to seeing you guys,” Dad says, reaching for the phone as I carry my plate into the kitchen.
Mom turns when I enter, holding a couple containers of food. But she just sighs as she looks into my eyes. “Cade…”
“I’m fine,” I say, shaking my head.
“Cade,” she says again, firmly this time.
“Mom, really,” I say, gently taking the containers from her. “It’s just a stressful month. I’m at a difficult part in my research, my student is publishing, I have a conference to judge this week, final exams are coming up…” I shrug. “It’s fine.”
She eyes me for a moment, long enough to let me know she doesn’t believe a word of it. But she sighs again and nods. “Ok, then.”
Dad steps into the kitchen as he hangs up the phone, and I move towards the door, not wanting to keep this conversation going.
“Thanks for dinner,” I say, flashing a quick smile at Mom. “It was great.”
“Thanks, honey,” she says softly, smiling back. But I sense the sadness in it.
So I quickly look away.
“You’re coming when Darren visits?” Dad asks as I reach the door.
I nod, pulling the door open and trying not to make my movements look too eager. “Yeah.”
“Good.” His hands slide into his pockets as he watches me with that quiet, searching look he’s been wearing all afternoon.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
“Ok, well… talk soon,” I say, stepping outside.
“Love you,” Mom calls after me, and I wince as those words cut deep inside me.
I pause and glance back to see them both standing in the doorway, watching me with the worry they probably think they’re hiding.
I swallow hard, trying to summon something, anything, to say that would make this feel normal, honest, and real.
I love them. I really do. But that feeling lives with everything else, behind a wall I can’t seem to break through. I know it’s there, but I can’t reach it, and I can’t feel it the way I should.
All I can do is nod and force a smile.
Then I turn and get in my car, put it in drive, and leave without looking back.
But I don’t take the exit to Fredericton.
Instead, I head south on Highway 114 and drive until I reach Hopewell Rocks Provincial Park.
The parking lot is mostly empty since it’s Sunday evening, and the air is cool now that the sun is going down. I park and reach under the passenger’s seat, pulling out a half-empty bottle of rum.
I slip it into the front pocket of my hoodie and get out of my car, shoving my hands into my jeans pockets as I walk the path towards the shore. The cool breeze coming off the water grows stronger the closer I get, cutting through my clothes and pulling a shiver from me. But I keep walking.
I take the first side trail that opens up into a clearing, and step out into a wide view of the rocks.
Massive stone formations rise from the sand below, carved by time and tide into towering shapes that look almost otherworldly. Their bases have been narrowed by centuries of water wearing them down, the long, slow erosion leaving them standing like ancient sentinels on delicate legs.
Above them, the setting sun casts a warm, low light across their upper edges, with soft gold and dusky pink catching on the rock, casting long shadows across the wet sand.
The sky above the Bay of Fundy is painted in layers with lavender near the horizon, deepening into cooler blues as it stretches upward.
Flecks of orange burn along the scattered clouds, reflected back in fractured streaks across the water.
The tide is quickly coming in, lapping at the bases of the rocks, covering more with each passing minute.
I sit on the damp grass and pull the bottle out of my pocket to unscrew the cap.
I take a long drink, letting the rum burn a line down my throat, then another until the fire sinks into my chest. Then I let the bottle hang loosely from my fingers between my knees as I watch the tide creep in, slowly swallowing the towering rocks.
And isn’t that the perfect fucking representation of my life.
Being swallowed whole by the rushing monotony of it all. Emails, deadlines, perky, overachieving coworkers who speak in buzzwords and think productivity is a personality. The pressure to stay ahead, to respond, engage, and attend meetings I don't care about.
Talking to my family as if I’m still in the room with them, even though I left a long time ago. And watching the flicker of hurt in their eyes every time I shut them out. I know that I’m doing it… and I hate that I am.
But I keep doing it anyway.
I just keep chipping away at the base of everything that holds me up. The people, the structure, the version of myself I built so I could pass for fine.
Letting the tide wear it down, again and again, is easier than swimming back against it.
I take another long drink and let the warmth spread through me before I lie back in the grass and stare up at the branches above me. Buds dot the limbs as they tremble slightly in the wind, and I catch myself wondering what kind of tree it is.
A quiet breath escapes me, part sigh and part laugh, and the corner of my mouth twitches.
The highest tides in the world rise and fall here, carving the earth and swallowing the shore…
Yet it’s a fucking tree that gets me.