32. Emma
EMMA
I was just finishing up a chapter and having trouble with a particular passage that didn’t make sense no matter how many times I read it.
The words were right in front of me, but I couldn’t get a grasp on them.
I needed to take a break, and it was almost time for my Zoom call with Mum and Dad, which was a perfect excuse to step away.
I closed the document and stretched. My back made that satisfying little crack that said, ‘Yes, you’ve been hunched over for too long.
’ The familiar ping of Zoom rang through the living room a moment later.
I clicked accept, and there they were: my parents’ faces popping up on the screen, filling my laptop with home.
“Hi, Mum. Dad…” I laughed. “What on earth are you wearing?”
Dad held out his arms like he wanted to show off. He looked like a cross between a fisherman and an astronaut. His raincoat was dripping heavily and his trousers were tucked into his boots.
“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “I just came in from the shop and it’s raining cats and dogs here. Hence the ridiculous outfit: I know it’s not stylish, but it keeps me dry.”
Mum rolled her eyes. “Well, it works, even if you do look absurd.” Then she leaned closer to the camera. “So how’s Toronto?”
“Really good,” I told her, and I meant it. “I’m beginning to love it here. The city is alive, and I feel like this neighbourhood is mine now. Even the snow doesn’t feel as intimidating anymore.”
Before Mum could reply, the doorbell rang. I frowned at the laptop. “Hold on a sec. Someone’s at the door. I’ll just take a quick look to see who it is.”
When I opened the door, Max was standing on my porch, with a little bit of snow on his shoulders and a lazy, irresistible smile on his face. “Hi, beautiful,” he said, and then leaned in and kissed me slowly and softly, as if he were tasting me for the first time. My stomach did this stupid flip.
I pulled back just enough to look at him. “Hey. I thought we were going to meet up after the game tonight?”
“We still are,” he said, his accent curling around the words. “But I missed you.”
Before I could even think of a reply, a muffled shout came down the hallway. “Emma, who’s at the door?” That was Mum, nosy as ever.
I groaned, half laughing. “Do you… want to meet my parents?” I asked, immediately wondering why I’d said that out loud.
He paused for half a second – not unwilling, just surprised – before he smiled. “Of course.”
So I gently pulled him inside, my hand slipping into his as I dragged him towards the laptop. My parents were waiting expectantly, Mum practically bouncing.
“Max, these are my parents: Helen and George Dawson.”
He straightened up a little, but not in that stiff, uncomfortable way. Just respectful. “Nice to meet you both.”
Mum’s smile widened until she looked like a Cheshire cat. “Max, so lovely to finally meet you. Emma has told me a lot about you.”
The moment she said it, Max turned to me with a slow, knowing smile that made me blush.
Mum just kept going, not realising how embarrassed I was. “But she didn’t say how handsome you are. And apparently, you’re also a very talented hockey player.”
Max chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I do my best.”
I sat there, not sure whether to cringe or just stare at him in admiration.
He talked to them like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Dad wanted to know about his team, Mum asked about surviving Canadian winters, and Max answered both without missing a beat.
That calm, steady charm of his? Oh yes, it was on full display.
Eventually he glanced at the clock on the wall. “I should get going. I gotta head back and get ready for the game.”
“That’s too bad,” Mum said.
Dad smiled. “Good luck tonight, lad.”
“Thanks.”
I walked Max to the door. The air was sharp outside, filled with a faint smell of woodsmoke.
He leaned in and kissed me again. “I’ll see you tonight,” he whispered, his breath warm against my cheek.
I nodded. “See you.”
And then he was gone, striding down the path. I stood in the doorway, feeling this stupid smile on my face, until I closed the door and went back to the laptop, still glowing.
When I sat back down, Mum was already leaning toward the camera, her eyes wide with barely contained delight.
“Well,” she said, drawing the word out like a verdict, “he’s lovely.”
I laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Mum…”
“Don’t you ‘Mum’ me, Emma Dawson. That man has broad shoulders, manners, and a job that involves teamwork and cardio. What more could you ask for?”
Dad chuckled, wiping his glasses. “He definitely seems like a good man. Confident without showing off. You can tell he’s got his feet on the ground.”
“Exactly!” Mum said, triumphantly. “See, even your father agrees.”
I tried not to smile too much, but it was hard not to. “You’ve talked to him for five minutes.”
“Five minutes was plenty,” Mum said. “He looked at you like everything else was background noise.”
That one landed right in my chest. I dropped my gaze to my mug, smiling into it before I could stop myself.
Dad’s tone softened. “You like him, don’t you?”
I hesitated. “I do. Maybe more than I should.”
Mum’s voice turned gentler too. “Then just let yourself, love. You’ve earned it.”
I nodded, and for a moment the three of us sat in a comfortable silence – them on one side of the world, me on the other, and yet somehow the distance felt smaller.