you’d turn to me for advice.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t come only for your advice. I came for you. I love you, Mom.”
“Oh my darling girl, I know you do. And I love you. And tonight you’re going to sleep in this bed—”
“I can’t! If I don’t go back, Evan will think—”
“Who cares? He deserves a bit of discomfort. And tomorrow, you can go and work it out. In what way makes sense to you. But tonight, please, just stay here and rest. Think. Think about what he said. Think about why he feels the way he does and then decide what you’re willing to work on, and what he just needs to accept as part of who you are. You’ll know what’s what.”
She takes the cup from my hands, kisses me again, and as I drift off to sleep, much easier than I thought possible, I can’t help but wonder if she didn’t slip me a sleeping pill.
Memorial Day. July 1. The day the rest of Canada calls Canada Day.
T he sky is somewhere between navy blue and rose when I wake. It’s not even six am. I quietly slip into the clothes that Mom has left in the room. It’s pure comfort clothes. Loose black yoga pants and a long-sleeve red cotton shirt. It’s good to get out of the dress and into something soothing. In the bathroom I find a new toothbrush and enough hair paraphernalia to tie my hair up in a loose bun.
The scent of coffee lures me downstairs. I’m expecting Mom. Instead, I find Dad.
“Mom told me you were here. I figured you’d sleep in later than this.”
I shrug.
“I’m going to the sunrise ceremony up on Signal Hill. Want to come?”
“I thought you boycotted Canada Day until noon?”
“Oh, I’m not going to participate. I’m going to peacefully protest.”
I notice then that he’s wearing a forget-me-not, the traditional Memorial Day flower in Newfoundland for July 1. The poppy is a November 11 symbol.
I won’t bore you with the history too much, but here’s what’s happening right now. Back in 1916 during the Great War, the battle of the Somme was about to begin. The Royal Newfoundland Regiment awaited orders in the trenches of Beaumont Hamel. Of the more than 780 that went over the top on the morning of July 1, only 110 survived. It was a devastating loss for Newfoundland. So when we joined Canada in 1949, it was a bitter pill to swallow that this was also the day of the year when the rest of the country celebrated the formation of Canada. There’s about a million layers of complex politics here that you don’t need to know, but suffice it to say, for some people, my father included, this is a day fraught with internal conflicts.
That’s how I find myself fifteen minutes later standing with my father, back to the ceremony, overlooking the narrows of the harbour, contemplating loss and peace and forgiveness.
“I thought I’d find you here.” Evan lays a tentative hand on my shoulder. “Morning, sir,” he says to Dad. Sir. Sure fire sign he’s wondering if my father is going to shove him over the ledge we’re standing on.
“You want me to go?” Dad looks me in the eye. Who knew I had such a fierce protector? Maybe I am spoiled.
I nod.
“You went to your parents’?”
“Yea. Are you mad I didn’t come home?”
“No. Sad.”
“I think Mom drugged me. For real. I’m not exaggerating.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her. She was an angry bear when I called there last night.”
“You might be right about them, and me. They are a bit indulgent, aren’t they?”
“I wasn’t right at all. I was a dick.”
“A bit.” Let’s call a spade a spade, after all. “But I wasn’t much better.”
“Can we go home and talk?”
“Only if you can give a spoiled princess one thing.”
“Jill.” He rakes his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean—”
“One thing.” I’m doing a classic Dr. Laura Carew hand in the air.
“What?”
“Marry me on Saturday.”
The rehearsal dinner.
I hope you don’t think that was the end of it. We had a lot of talking to
I shake my head. “I didn’t come only for your advice. I came for you. I love you, Mom.”
“Oh my darling girl, I know you do. And I love you. And tonight you’re going to sleep in this bed—”
“I can’t! If I don’t go back, Evan will think—”
“Who cares? He deserves a bit of discomfort. And tomorrow, you can go and work it out. In what way makes sense to you. But tonight, please, just stay here and rest. Think. Think about what he said. Think about why he feels the way he does and then decide what you’re willing to work on, and what he just needs to accept as part of who you are. You’ll know what’s what.”
She takes the cup from my hands, kisses me again, and as I drift off to sleep, much easier than I thought possible, I can’t help but wonder if she didn’t slip me a sleeping pill.
Memorial Day. July 1. The day the rest of Canada calls Canada Day.
T he sky is somewhere between navy blue and rose when I wake. It’s not even six am. I quietly slip into the clothes that Mom has left in the room. It’s pure comfort clothes. Loose black yoga pants and a long-sleeve red cotton shirt. It’s good to get out of the dress and into something soothing. In the bathroom I find a new toothbrush and enough hair paraphernalia to tie my hair up in a loose bun.
The scent of coffee lures me downstairs. I’m expecting Mom. Instead, I find Dad.
“Mom told me you were here. I figured you’d sleep in later than this.”
I shrug.
“I’m going to the sunrise ceremony up on Signal Hill. Want to come?”
“I thought you boycotted Canada Day until noon?”
“Oh, I’m not going to participate. I’m going to peacefully protest.”
I notice then that he’s wearing a forget-me-not, the traditional Memorial Day flower in Newfoundland for July 1. The poppy is a November 11 symbol.
I won’t bore you with the history too much, but here’s what’s happening right now. Back in 1916 during the Great War, the battle of the Somme was about to begin. The Royal Newfoundland Regiment awaited orders in the trenches of Beaumont Hamel. Of the more than 780 that went over the top on the morning of July 1, only 110 survived. It was a devastating loss for Newfoundland. So when we joined Canada in 1949, it was a bitter pill to swallow that this was also the day of the year when the rest of the country celebrated the formation of Canada. There’s about a million layers of complex politics here that you don’t need to know, but suffice it to say, for some people, my father included, this is a day fraught with internal conflicts.
That’s how I find myself fifteen minutes later standing with my father, back to the ceremony, overlooking the narrows of the harbour, contemplating loss and peace and forgiveness.
“I thought I’d find you here.” Evan lays a tentative hand on my shoulder. “Morning, sir,” he says to Dad. Sir. Sure fire sign he’s wondering if my father is going to shove him over the ledge we’re standing on.
“You want me to go?” Dad looks me in the eye. Who knew I had such a fierce protector? Maybe I am spoiled.
I nod.
“You went to your parents’?”
“Yea. Are you mad I didn’t come home?”
“No. Sad.”
“I think Mom drugged me. For real. I’m not exaggerating.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her. She was an angry bear when I called there last night.”
“You might be right about them, and me. They are a bit indulgent, aren’t they?”
“I wasn’t right at all. I was a dick.”
“A bit.” Let’s call a spade a spade, after all. “But I wasn’t much better.”
“Can we go home and talk?”
“Only if you can give a spoiled princess one thing.”
“Jill.” He rakes his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean—”
“One thing.” I’m doing a classic Dr. Laura Carew hand in the air.
“What?”
“Marry me on Saturday.”
The rehearsal dinner.
I hope you don’t think that was the end of it. We had a lot of talking to
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