Chapter 9
Karan
Inever would have predicted how much joy it brings me to see the two most important women in my life doing each other’s nails, their smiles splitting their faces, both of them nearly out of breath from how much they keep talking to each other.
But it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
Aunt Jocelyne sits next to Mom and Rachel at her worn kitchen table, watching Mom’s handiwork like a hawk.
On the other side of the open-concept room of Jocelyne’s cabin, Dad adds more wood to the fire stove while I’m refilling the plate of Christmas snacks and desserts at the kitchen counter.
Jocelyne has put on some Québécois folk tunes from La Bottine Souriante, music she only plays during this time of the year.
“I have no idea how you keep such a steady hand,” Rachel tells my mother. “You know, with you being ancient and all.”
Mom guffaws. “Careful what you say, or I’ll laugh too hard and ruin these candy canes.”
“If she’s ancient, what am I?” Jocelyne responds, pretending to clutch her non-existing pearls.
“Decrepit?” Mom volunteers.
All three women burst into laughter, and I can’t help but chuckle to myself as I finish up the plate.
I bring it over to them with an infectious smile on my face.
“Here you go, ladies.”
“Are you trying to give me diabetes?” Rachel exclaims, her eyes going wide at the sight of the plate filled to the brim with nanaimos bars, macaroons, fudge squares, marshmallow rolls, and sugar cookies.
“We only make these once a year!” Jocelyne reassures her. “They haven’t killed you yet.”
“Yeah. Yet.” Rachel looks up at me with wide, innocent eyes, her hands still under Mom’s care. “Love, would you mind feeding me a nanaimo?”
I oblige, feeding her a bite of the layered treat. As she closes her eyes to savour it, I take a moment of my own to close my eyes and bask in the moment.
When things between Rachel and me got serious, I was definitely nervous about her meeting my parents. They can be a lot for some people, and not everyone is comfortable with how intensely my mother can love.
But I had nothing to worry about.
Not only did Mom and Rachel get along great at first, but their bond has only gotten stronger over the years.
Yes, Rachel got a bit annoyed when my parents helped us move into our first apartment downtown together once we graduated from CEGEP and got ready for university.
Mom got it in her head to be helpful and unpack all of our kitchen stuff, only, the way she placed things wasn’t how Rachel would have done it.
But she knew Mom meant well, and she waited until my parents were gone to reshuffle everything back to how she wanted it.
Rachel isn’t just the love of my life. She’s everything to me. Having her in my life, from the very beginning, has felt as natural as breathing.
In the moments when all the doubt and guilt threaten to bring me under, she’s there to remind me that I’m on the right path. She’s even kept my involvement in the Ubisoft competition secret from my parents, at my demand.
I graduate at the end of the school year, and soon enough, I’ll have to let my parents know what I truly intend for my career path. I’m not ready yet—I don’t think I ever will be, even when it’s time—but knowing I’ll have Rachel to lean on soothes the terror that’s been haunting my nights.
Speaking of the Ubisoft project, I should check up on our group chat.
I feed Rachel the last bite of her nanaimo bar, holding on to the sound of her laugh, before excusing myself to the guest room area upstairs. I left my phone in our room, at my father’s insistence, but I’ve been itching to check in with the guys and make sure nothing’s come up.
We’re only supposed to reconvene on January 7th, at the start of our final semester, but not working on this project has been leaving me filled with nervous energy.
Once I find my phone lying on my bedside table, I turn it on, and my heart sinks all the way to my feet at the number of missed notifications.
Blood pumping, I read through them all. Every new message sends another pinprick of adrenaline down my spine.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
They want to reconvene before the new year. Derek has just gotten a surgery scheduled in February, which means we need to finish our next prototype earlier than expected.
What am I going to tell Rachel?
What am I going to tell my parents?
I don’t realize I’ve been sitting on the bed, in the dark, nearly hyperventilating, before Rachel slowly walks through the door and gasps. She rushes to my side.
“Karan! What’s going on?” Her soft hand slips under the fabric of my shirt to stroke my back in a calming motion.
In a monotone voice, I catch her up on the situation.
“Okay. Okay…” Rachel nods a few times. Then moves her hand up to my shoulder and squeezes. “What do you want to do?”
“I… I mean, we… have to go. I’m sorry, Rachel.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine, so long as I’m with you, okay?” She leans her forehead against mine. “We’ll go. We’ll change our flights.”
“I can’t lie to my parents.”
“Okay.”
“But I can’t tell them the truth.”
Rachel hums. “Karan. I’m here. I’m always here. And I’m on your side, always. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I allow myself to take in more of Rachel’s touch, more of her presence, before I dare to stand and make my way downstairs with her. Even as we descend the stairs, I don’t let go of her hand.
Mom, Dad, and Jocelyne are all seated at the table by down, drinking tea and chatting. Good. I won’t have to try to capture their attention. I silently sit at the end of the table; Rachel sits next to me, not letting me go.
Mom is the first to notice my somber expression. “Honey, is everything all right?”
Dad and Jocelyne quiet down and turn their gazes to me. A familiar terror sinks its claws into my back.
That scrutiny is the heaviest of burdens when all I want is to simply be myself.
I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.
“Something came up, and we have to leave tomorrow,” I start.
“Wait, what?” Mom exclaims.
“Leave?” Dad adds.
“Oh, no, is everything okay?” Jocelyne asks.
“Everything’s fine.” I take a final look at Rachel, and the comforting warmth in her eyes will have to be enough. “Earlier this year, I joined a competition with three of my friends from McGill.”
The four of us are hungry for much more than the $8,000 prize for best game prototype or $2,000 prizes for some of the other titles achieved at Ubisoft’s annual Game Lab competition.
Every team gets access to a mentor, but, perhaps best of all, creating something great can get the right people from Montréal’s video game industry to notice you.
Last year, over a dozen internships and jobs were handed out, some of them by Ubisoft themselves, so we’ve got our hopes up.
But I can’t tell them any of that.
“A competition?” Dad asks when I’ve been quiet for a moment too long. “That’s my son. You’re planning on winning, I hope?”
“That’s the idea.” I squeeze Rachel’s hand. “But something came up, and we need to get back to Montréal earlier than planned to finish up our… stuff.”
“What are you making? What kind of competition?” Jocelyne asks, stars in her eyes.
She’s not the one I’m terrified of disappointing.
“It’s the Ubisoft competition,” I say, shifting my gaze downward.
“Ubisoft? Who’s that? An important company?” Mom asks.
“Wait a minute…” Dad crosses his arms as he begins to figure it out. “Isn’t Ubisoft that video game company?”
“Yes.”
There’s no point in lying. He’d see right through me. He always has. And I learned from experience that lying only made it worse.
“Oh,” Mom says. “So, wait, it’s a video game contest? You play games and stuff?”
“No, no, we make them.”
That should make it slightly better.
“So let me get this straight.” Dad stands, his voice climbing in volume. “We’re helping you pay your rent, your groceries, all so you can afford tuition at McGill, and you do what with your time? Make stupid games?”
The guilt and shame fully takes hold now. I want to shrink away from Dad’s booming voice. I sink so deep into myself that I barely realize it’s Rachel’s voice I hear next.
“I’ve been keeping him focused,” she explains. “It’s not that big a project. And every night, I make sure he’s done his other homework and studying before I let him focus on the competition stuff.”
That’s partly true, but it’s a bit more complicated than that. Rachel and I have always helped each other stay focused on our studies. But she’s also fully supportive of this project. She knows that I’m holding out for an internship or a job at the end of this.
“Still. Video games?” Dad huffs, but his volume has gone down.
“Won’t that distract you from what you really want to do?” Mom asks before turning her attention to Rachel. “And honey, you have to be careful with yourself. You’ve got your own plate full with your applications to graduate school. I don’t want you to do too much.”
“It’s really no trouble,” Rachel reassures her as she leans against me with a smile. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for your son. I’ve got my eye on him, I promise.”
“Good,” Dad says. “Because I wouldn’t want all of our hard work, all I’ve sacrificed, to go to waste.”
“It won’t,” Rachel adds.
The taste of shame is still persistent on my tongue. The only reason I can still live with it is the assurance that at the very least, Rachel has my back.