Chapter One
I’m bottlenecked.
If you’ve ever gotten so lost in a song that you came out of it in a daze, unable to pinpoint how much time has passed, you’ll understand the intense fugue state that gamers fall into. A good video game will envelop you in its soothing arms the same way a good piece of music would.
But in a game, if you let yourself fade out of the illusion—if you let yourself remember that none of this is real, and thus lose your focus—you die.
Of course, that’s okay. At least, at first. You come back to life.
That’s the beauty of games. You get to try over and over again.
You get better at it a little bit each time.
But when you’re bottlenecked like me, you’ll also die, again and again, little by little, every time you remember what your real life looks like.
Life is supposed to be like a video game. You’re supposed to build over time. Get better at things. Find your purpose and get closer and closer to it. But not for me. I’ve reached the limit of how much progress I can make. I’ve hit the bottleneck.
Yeah, this is as good as it gets.
‘This’ being quite literally staring at the bottleneck of the empty twelve-pack from last night.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
My father leans back against his worn leather armchair, the same one he’s had even before Mom died. In other words, an eternity ago. The twelve empty bottles are lined next to said chair in a crooked formation.
It’s 1 pm, and yet, there’s a half-empty beer bottle stuck in his grip. Surprisingly, it’s only his first today.
I blink a couple of times to fade back into reality.
Another tiny death.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
The last thing I want is to make Dad nervous right before I leave him alone for the entire weekend. I’m already worried for him enough as it is; I don’t see why it’s necessary to make him sick with worry, too.
Muffles rubs against my leg. I bend my knees and give his short tuxedo coat a good rub. From the worn suitcase leaning against the apartment door, my cat can tell I’m going somewhere.
Not that it happens all that often, but still. He’s soaking in all the love he can get while he still can.
“You remember where his food is?” I ask Dad.
“Yup.”
“And that he gets his portions three times a day.”
“Yes, Dom.”
“It’s really important.” I straighten my spine and cross my arms, facing Dad full on.
To his credit, he’s paying attention. His eyes are on me, and they’re not glazed over yet.
“And you have to remove the leftover food after one hour,” I add. “Two max.”
“I got it.” He raises his bottle to me. “Seriously, Dom. Muffles and I will be just fine. Weren’t you supposed to leave five minutes ago?”
I stomp over to the fridge one final time. Dad is right, but I’d rather that Karan and Logan be just a tad upset with me for making them wait a few extra minutes in the car than leave without being fully certain Dad is equipped to survive on his own.
I almost never leave this apartment overnight. Let alone for over forty-eight hours.
The fridge looks no different than it did when I checked it five minutes ago; it’s still fully stocked to the brim with fruits and veggies I’ve chopped up for him, plus individual plastic containers with ready-to-eat meals that Dad can heat up in the microwave.
There’s almost no space for the beer bottles lining the bottom row, but he managed to make them fit.
Satisfied—or, at least, as satisfied as I’ll ever be—I close the fridge door and turn to face Dad again. He’s peering at me with a bittersweet smile.
“I wish you wouldn’t worry so much, Dominique,” he says.
I resist the urge to scoff. Instead, I walk over to him and bend over for a hug. His longish, greasy hair tickles my neck, and when I feel his arms tighten around me, I shut my eyes and hold my breath.
I should have taken some time to pressure him into showering before I go. Too late now.
“Try to enjoy yourself, at least,” he whispers in my ear. “Keep your mind off your old man for a weekend.”
I wish it were that simple. The truth is, I’ve been looking forward to this game jam for months now. Two days of pure creation with my friends.
Yet, the anticipation is a two-sided coin. One cannot exist without the other.
On one side, the yearning for a few days of escape. Of freedom.
On the other, a clawing fear that I won’t be there if catastrophe befalls him.
It could be so many things. Dad could go overboard again and choke on his own vomit.
He could slip and fall, bump his head, with no one here to find him.
He could take it upon himself to ignore the cooked meals I’ve prepared for him and try his hand at cooking, only for him to forget in a drunken haze and set this apartment ablaze.
I pull away from him, more than a little reluctant.
Deep breath in.
“Okay. I’m going. But don’t hesitate to call or text if there’s anything.”
“I love you, sweetie,” he replies, his deep brown eyes, so dark they’re nearly black, just like mine, crinkling with his smile. “Now go.”
He shoos me away with a gesture of his liver-spotted hand.
I bite my bottom lip, take a final look at Muffles staring at me from his seat on the kitchen chair, and nod.
“Love you too.”
When I open the apartment door, my small suitcase in tow, the sun’s rays hit my skin and fill me with a momentary delight.
Their warmth across my face and bare arms gives me a taste of the weekend to come.
Sure, game jams aren’t known for being outdoorsy.
Stick a handful of game developers in a building, give them a theme, and let them come up with a complete, functional video game from scratch in forty-eight hours; that’s usually how it goes.
This jam is different, and it’s why Karan, Logan, and Sammie’s hounding finally got me to accept to come along.
From the rickety metal balcony, I spot Karan’s Toyota parked across the street. Karan waves at me from the driver’s window, a goofy smile lighting up his round face. He’s sporting his usual look; long black hair pulled back in a bun, and a matching beard neatly shaped and combed around his jaw.
I head to the back of the car and open the trunk to drop my suitcase inside. I’m about to head to the passenger’s seat, but I interrupt my own stride when I see Logan has already claimed that spot.
Seeing Logan seated next to Karan is almost comical.
Logan isn’t just a head shorter than Karan.
He’s also got the complete opposite build.
While Karan is built like a bear, broad-shouldered and solid, with a frame that carries both strength and softness, Logan is lean and angular, his frame almost wiry.
Their contrast doesn’t stop there—Logan’s pale skin is already starting to turn bronze in the light of June, while Karan’s warm complexion has begun to deepen into a rich brown tone.
“Hey, boys.” I slide into the back seat, not allowing the nervous energy to creep into my voice.
Logan turns in his seat to face me.
“I’m pinching myself over the fact that you’re actually here, Dom.” He smiles, then presses his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and turns back around.
“Right?” Karan echoes, putting the car back in drive. “It’s about time we got her out.”
I force a small giggle. The truth is, Karan, Logan, and Sammie are my closest friends. Yet, they know nothing of my home situation. All they know is that I live with my dad.
I’ve always come up with excuses for why I don’t like leaving my place for too long. It’s not too difficult to blame it on anxiety. They’re just clueless as to the true origin of said anxiety.
“It’s been a long time since the four of us have worked together on the same project,” I say, looking out the window to see the city of Montréal whiz by. “I missed it.”
“Uh. About that,” Karan starts.
“What?” I ask, my attention now pulled away from the outside sights.
“Sammie called when we were on our way to your place,” Logan says, and my stomach sinks as I can already see where this is headed. “She’s not gonna make it this weekend.”
“Is she okay?”
Thoughts of her recent surgery pop into my head. If she weren’t okay, like, truly not okay, we wouldn’t still be headed outside the city to this game jam, though, would we?
“She tore through her stitches,” Logan explains. I wince. “So traveling is a no-go.”
“Shit.” My heart goes out to Sammie, who was so nervous about this surgery in the first place.
But an additional nagging thought comes to join it immediately.
“Wait, so it’s just the three of us?”
I’m not just going to this game jam to make a cool game in forty-eight hours. I’m going to win.
And winning’s going to be impossible without an artist.
My mouth goes dry. Breathing becomes just a tad more difficult. As nervous as I am to leave Dad on his own, I need this. I’ll suffocate without it.
And I need that prize.
Just the idea of not winning feels like a chokehold at my throat, squeezing all the air out of my lungs. A dark cloud looms over me.
“Oh, not at all,” Karan says, interrupting my rumination. He merges onto the highway to exit the island. “Logan called up a guy we know.”
“He’s really good,” Logan reassures me. “His name’s Nick. We hired him a while back to help Sam with rigging and skinning. He specializes in that, but he’s also a great modeler and texture artist.”
A jack of all trades who also masters one of the most difficult aspects of video game animation? Looks like we lucked out after all.
“And he had nothing else to do on a nice summer weekend except to jump on this last minute?” I ask, incredulous.
Whoever this guy is, his social calendar must be sparse.
“I don’t know. He didn’t hesitate at all.” Karan chuckles. “He’s taking his own car, so you’ll get to meet him once we arrive in Sainte-Agathe.”
“Think we’ll get along?” I can’t help but ask.
“I do,” Logan says, looking back over at me. “On top of being an artist, he’s a huge audiofile, so I’m sure both of you will geek out over music theory and all that shit.”
“You mean the shit that makes your eyes glaze over when I go on a rant?”
“Hey, listen, I love music as much as any other guy,” Logan defends himself with a smile. “But I’m self-taught. All that theory goes way over my head.”
“Says the programmer.”
“Software engineer.”
“Same shit.”
“Is not!” Karan calls out, and we all laugh a little.
Both of them are software engineers, but it was Karan who founded the game studio that has quickly become my favourite to freelance for.
I peer through my window and watch the cityscape slowly transform into the blue and green mountainous expanse of the Laurentides.
The verdant, breathtaking peaks. Homes nestled between the trees at dizzying heights.
Lakes scattered across the landscape aplenty, like a thousand blue mirrors reflecting back the surrounding beauty.
I quickly snag the moment, cradle it lovingly in my chest, take a deep breath to truly feel it all, and put the moment away in my pocket, just in time before an intrusive thought crashes through to interrupt my rare moment of joy.
Working with Karan, Logan, and Sammie was nothing like the first few paid audio design gigs I did. By then, I’d done a few other unpaid gigs to build up my portfolio, and even swallowed the fact that one team didn’t credit my work at all.
The first paid gig I ever landed was cool overall, but there was this guy. A guy who, unfortunately, shared my name. And who seemingly couldn’t stand me.
Dominic Kaczmarek nitpicked every single one of my songs and sound effects at every sprint review. Even at points when no one else had anything to say about my compositions, he’d bring at least one bit of criticism, if not more.
To add insult to injury, he sat as far away from me as possible for lunch and at group outings.
It did wonders for my self-esteem. Add to that the fact that this guy was my type—good-looking in a scruffy kind of way, taller than me (which is a rarity with my 5’11) with sandy curls, long black lashes, and honey-colored eyes that reflected the light in the most tantalizing way—and the way he seemed to hate my guts felt like utter rejection.
I shouldn’t have taken it so hard. After all, it’s not like I’m in a position to date anyone.
But Karan’s studio was different. I felt utterly at home there. Even though I’m not a full-time employee, they’ve since then hired me to do the audio for every project they do, and the four of us have become fast friends.
I can only hope that Nick’s arrival doesn’t disturb the sense of family I’ve come to love about this group. Not when I need this so much.
Having left before the rush of traffic that overtakes the greater Montréal area every Friday, it only takes us an hour and a half to reach Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts.
Karan navigates through the small town and finds the smaller roads that lead to the lakehouses, and when he pulls into our destination, I catch the first glimpse of sprawling windows reflecting the afternoon sun off the lake.
And then it hits me:
For the first time in years, I’m somewhere my father can’t reach me. There’s still a deep bubble of anxiety at that thought, but there’s also a jubilant excitement.
It’s just going to be me, my music, and forty-eight hours to pretend I’m the kind of person who gets to want things for herself.