16 Things I Thought Were True

by Janet Gurtler

  “I’m kind of a nutcase, right?” The stress from earlier is gone. “I don’t feel as embarrassed as I should.”

  Amy turns to me. “It got us on the boat. And it’s not like I haven’t seen anyone cry before.”

  “Yeah, but not quite like that!” Adam teases, but he bumps his hip against mine as we head out of the parking area and up the stairs. We go all the way to the top deck and find an empty bench with room for all three of us. The seat gives us a great view of the dark water in front of us. It’s spraying and chilly, and I’m glad I have the windbreaker on top of my hoodie.

  Amy starts up a conversation with a little boy with auburn curls sitting directly behind us. He’s sitting beside a woman I assume is his mom. Amy and the boy are debating whale sightings. I smile, listening to Amy’s animated conversation.

  “Have you ever seen a whale?” he asks Amy.

  “Lots. Never a Canadian whale. But I will today,” she tells him. “And so will you.”

  “A Canadian whale?” the boy says. “Whales don’t have nationalities.”

  “When I see it in Canada, it’s a Canadian whale.”

  “There’s no guarantee we’ll see a whale,” the mom says. “It’s best to go on an actual tour if you want to see whales. And we’re going to visit Grandpa, not whales,” she says to the boy, patting his arm.

  “My grandma died and my grandpa moved to the island with his girlfriend,” the copper-haired boy tells Amy. “This is our first visit. My mom doesn’t like his girlfriend. She was Grandma’s nurse.”

  “TJ,” the mom says. “We don’t have to tell everyone our family’s business.”

  “She’s my friend,” TJ says and smiles at Amy.

  Amy nods as if the two of them have known each other for years. She smiles at the mom and shrugs. “My dad always says the same thing.”

  “I don’t have a proper set of boundaries,” says the boy. “It’s going to be the death of my mom.”

  “Mine too,” says Amy.

  The mom frowns at Amy, clearly not as charmed as her son is. “We won’t see a whale from this ferry.”

  “Oh. We’ll see one,” says Amy, her voice full of conviction.

  I lean back on the bench and stare off at the ocean, tuning out the boy and Amy. Even though there are people on almost every free space on this boat, with the huge ocean stretching out ahead of us, I feel alone. I’m getting closer. I tilt my head back, and chilly sprays of water land on my face.

  “You okay?” Adam says softly.

  I open my eyes but leave my head tilted back and nod once, not really convincing myself. I look into Adam’s eyes, and I’m consumed by a huge rush of desire. I close my eyes again so he won’t see it. Unrequited love may be my specialty.

  “This is a huge deal,” Adam says quietly.

  “I know.” I press my lips together. My courage is slipping as the ship takes us closer to the island.

  “It’s gutsy,” he says.

  I open my eyes, my misplaced lust dulled by the reality of what we’re approaching. “Not gutsy. I’m scared shitless,” I admit. “It’s stupid. What if this is the wrong way to do this? Confronting him in person? The signs seem to say maybe I should have called.”

  “I think the signs are saying it’s the right thing to do. You knew how to change that tire. You got us on the ferry on time.” He glances toward the ocean. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all.”

  The ship horn blasts, and Amy screams and then giggles hysterically with her new little friend.

  We sit quietly and stare out at the water.

  “Look! A whale!” Amy yells.

  There’s a flurry of yelling and pointing around us. I stare across the water. There’s no whale in sight.

  “No fair. I wanted to spot the first whale.” The auburn-haired little boy starts to cry as the cool wind blows his hair around.

  Amy turns to him. “Oh dear. I think I made a mistake. You keep looking!”

  He sits up taller, and his mom’s expression softens a little. He intensely scans the water and I watch with them, inhaling gulps of moist fresh air into my lungs. We’re all quiet as we watch the ocean in front of the ferry, even Amy. There’s nothing except waves. Once in a while, something catches my eye, but when I peer closer, there’s nothing.

  “LOOK!” the little boy yells. It’s the most gleeful sound I’ve heard in a long time. “WHALE!”

  My eyes scan the water, and there he is. A giant whale breaks through the surface, as if he’s performing for us, and executes a turn in the air, and while my eyes widen and my mouth opens, he flips around and is back in the water.

  “Wow!” Adam’s the first one to recover his voice and he shouts and then laughs. The sound is as joyous and free as the little boy.

  I smile, staring at the water, wishing I’d been able to get it on camera to post to my friends. The boy’s mom claps her hands together while he bounces up and down, talking a million words a second. I glance at Amy. She’s still. A tiny smile turns up her lips, and when she catches my eye, she grins. “I knew it,” she says. “I knew we were going to see one, but I had no idea he was going to show off so spectacularly.”

  Her gratitude warms my shivering insides. I forget the picture I could have posted and realize that it’s a gift. Real life doesn’t always need to be posted online. I can remember this moment without a photo.

  In some crazy way, it feels like this is exactly what Amy planned. “Thank you,” I say to her and breathe out. In that second, I realize that even if my dad turns out to be a colossal asshole and a huge disappointment, this will not be a wasted trip. I’m going to make it through this.

  Amy smiles as if she understands me, and I stare at her, drinking in her true beauty. It shines from inside all the way through the bright yellow hood she has pulled over her head. She’s brave enough to be who she is. She embraces her inner weird and flies her freak flag with all she’s got. And for once, I’m smart enough to see what a wonderful thing it is.

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Adam says.

  I nod, knowing we’re talking about different things, but knowing he sees what I saw too—Amy, wide-eyed and optimistic, exuding wonder and joy, and able to shamelessly be herself.

  Everyone around us settles, and Amy turns to the boy and shares more whale facts from her head. I relax against the bench, allowing the views and the smells as we pass by the Gulf Island to fill some of the holes inside me. In spite of myself, in spite of the thoughts racing and competing for attention in my head, I am calm.

  I don’t speak again until the ferry lands in Saanich. Amy hugs the little boy who’s staying on deck to catch a bus into Victoria. We stand to begin our rush to the car, back to real life.

  “Bleck. It stinks in here.” Amy opens her window to let air inside.

  “It does,” I say. My serenity floats off into the air outside the car. “Like junk food and feet.”

  Adam and Amy debate whose feet smell worse as we drive off the ferry and bump over the grated dock. My heart thuds hard when the car touches Pat Bay Highway. Amy’s GPS announces that we have a twenty-minute drive to the hostel, and my stomach jumps and breaches and twists, like the humpback whale in the ocean.

  Amy is talking, but I can’t tune in or focus on what she’s saying. My head is spinning and trying desperately to avoid where we are, yet at the same time, I look around me, drinking in the breathtaking beauty. The sun is shining and welcoming. Fresh air blows through the open windows of the car. It’s visually and fragrantly delicious.

  “We made it,” I whisper. And once again, I’m a little girl looking for her daddy—a daddy who vanished on purpose and doesn’t want to be found.

  My phone bings that I have a new text.

  I really need to talk to you. Please text or call.

  My mom again.

  I text Jake.

/>   How’s Mom?

  He texts back a minute later.

  Fine. Ignore her.

  I turn off my phone and tuck it under my leg. Jake said she’s fine. This isn’t about her, I remind myself. This is about me. Finding my dad. Seeing him in person. Whatever she has to say can wait until I get home.

  Amy picks up my mood and stops talking and turns the radio to a local station. An Eminem song comes on and I reach for the volume and turn it up. Under his anger and aggressive rapping, I feel his desperation and hope, and it feels similar to mine. The song works with my mood. I lean back, staring out the window as we zip past colorful, vibrant flowers sprouting from green grass on the side of the highway. It’s fragrant and lush. The island throbs with life. The cuss words contrast with the sweetness. It’s perfect.

  Eminem screams to a finish, and the car is silent with dead air.

  Amy turns down the volume button as the DJ breaks into the silence with a falsely cheery voice tinged with panic.

  “We’re here,” she says.

  Reality crashes back.

  chapter thirteen

  8. You can tell by looking if someone has their black belt in karate.

  #thingsithoughtweretrue

  We’re in front of the hostel. It’s an old house, painted burnt yellow and squished up beside a church. A Canadian flag sticks out the front along with a blue flag I don’t recognize.

  “It’s small. No Hilton or Marriott,” Amy says, peering over the steering wheel.

  “Welcome to budget travel. It’s cheap. And it’ll be clean,” I say. “It had great reviews online. I promise.”

  “You got great reviews online,” she mumbles.

  “I got a lot more bad ones than the hostel,” I say. “It’s really cute. It’ll be fine.”

  “There’s a parking lot at the back,” Adam says. “Turn left.” He’s looking out the window, reading a sign. Amy finds a spot right away and turns off the car.

  “Awesome driving,” I say to Amy. “We made it!”

  I have a sudden urge to forget about my plans, forget why I’ve come to the island. We could sightsee and be tourists and live for the moment. I could forget I have a dad who dumped me before I was born and a mom at home recovering from heart surgery. Forget both of them. I’ve been good at ignoring her texts. I could ignore him completely.

  I choke on my own breath. My forehead beads with sweat. I can’t ignore him. After eighteen years, I’m here to confront him. I’m about to meet my dad for the very first time. A huge, embarrassing sob explodes from my chest as loud and delicate as the foghorn on the ferry.

  Amy reaches across, opens her glove box, takes out a box of Kleenex, and shoves it at me. “I get a lot of nosebleeds,” she says.

  I nod, swallow, hiccup, and use the Kleenex to wipe up my face. “Sorry,” I say again and sniffle. Adam’s sitting on the hood of the car. He escaped as I was losing my grip.

  “I don’t usually cry. I think I freaked Adam out.”

  “I think you did,” she agrees. “But that’s okay.” She nods toward Adam. “He’s a boy. They can’t handle emotion. I, on the other hand, with all my lady parts, am good in a crisis. Jake says hi by the way. He’s worried about you.”

  Her whiplash-quick ability to change the subject lightens the mood. “Amy.” I wipe under my eyes and blow my nose. “You are awesome. Never change.”

  “Why would I change?”

  “Why indeed.” I put my hand on the door. “No wonder Jake likes you. Should we go and check in?”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m totally fine,” I lie.

  “And Jake and I may become friends, but you came first.”

  I push the door open before I start blubbering again.

  Adam jumps up when Amy and I climb out of the car.

  “I’m fine,” I call to him. “Fine.” I put my hand up to cover my eyes from the sun, but mostly to block myself from him. “Let’s go check in.”

  The hostel is clean inside and smells like fresh laundry detergent. An older lady greets us at the check-in counter and asks for ID. She checks it over while she explains the house rules. When she hands us back our ID along with a fresh set of sheets for each of us, I giggle at the shocked expression on Amy’s face.

  Adam glimpses at her too. “You don’t make your own bed at the Hilton, Amy?” He laughs.

  The woman ignores us and comes around the counter to take us to our four-person dorm room. She walks ahead of us and points out the community kitchen. Amy’s eyes get even rounder. “We’re not going to cook for ourselves, are we?” she whispers to me.

  “Not if you don’t want to,” I whisper back.

  Some of the heaviness on my heart lightens and floats off into air. “We haven’t even talked about what we’re going to do now that we’re here,” I say.

  We plotted our route, looked at maps. I booked the hostel, and Amy bought an army load of car snacks, but we never really discussed the order of what we’d do once we arrived.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Adam answers. Amy’s too busy scanning the place with bugged-out eyes to answer.

  “We have to share a washroom?” she squeaks.

  I pat her on the shoulder. “Communal washrooms. You’re roughing it, girlfriend.”

  We walk inside the bedroom. There are two bunk beds across from each other. Cheery paintings of different flags hang on the wall. There’s a small window at the end of the room that looks out onto the street. The lady tells us a few more rules about curfew hours and then leaves. I glance outside, surprised it’s still light out. It feels like it should be dark. It’s been a long and eventful day.

  I make up the nearest bottom bunk bed. Amy throws her expensive-looking luggage bag on the bottom bunk on the other side.

  “Seriously. I have to sleep on the top?” Adam scowls but plops his gym bag on the bunk above Amy. I breathe a secret sigh of relief. I don’t think I would get much sleep if he were right above me.

  “You snooze, you lose,” Amy says.

  “Is your girlfriend going to meet you here?” Amy asks as she and Adam tuck in their sheets.

  “My girlfriend?”

  “Yeah. That’s why you came, right? We don’t have time to stop in Vancouver, so how else are you going to see her?”

  “Uh.” He glances at me as he tucks in the top sheet on his bed. “Not sure. Haven’t figured it out yet.” He presses his lips into a frowns and adjusts his blanket.

  “You and your girlfriend have a fight or something?” Amy asks Adam as she unzips her suitcase.

  “No.” He pushes his glasses up his nose and throws his gym bag on the blanket.

  “So? Do we get to meet her? I’ve already got her pictured in my mind.” Amy makes a face.

  “She looks nothing like that face you just made.”

  Amy ignores him and walks over to the window. “Hey, check out this guy.” Amy points out the small window of the room. I follow her finger. Adam looks too.

  A guy about our age is walking a black lab without a leash. He’s shirtless and his chest is dark, smooth, and very defined. His face is beautiful, and he’s smiling.

  “Wow. I think that’s the guy you’re supposed to marry,” Amy tells me.

  I laugh. “Me? He’s too perfect. Why not you?”

  Amy shakes her head back and forth. “Nah. I don’t really see myself getting married.”

  “Well, I do. You picked him. You get him.”

  “Yeah. ’Cause it’s that easy,” Adam says.

  Amy takes out a cosmetic bag from her luggage and holds it up. “I need to go to the washroom. Do you think it’s safe? Should you come with me?”

  I cross my arms and glare at her. “You can handle it.”

  “This is so weird. There are other people here using it too. I saw a group of boys in
the room down the hall.”

  She starts walking toward the door and then stops. “Wait, where do we leave our stuff if we go out?” she asks. “This is almost dangerous.”

  I pull a padlock from my backpack and hold it in the air. “We’ll get a locker. Didn’t you see them by the entrance?”

  “Ugh,” she says. “I didn’t realize we were staying at a prison.” She disappears out of the room.

  “Too much?” I ask Adam.

  “She’ll survive. She may be a little pampered, but I sense she’s very adaptable,” he says.

  I laugh again and take out my phone, realizing I’ve hardly had it out in the last few hours—and surprisingly, I didn’t miss it. I snap a few photos of the room to post to Twitter later. I point the camera at Adam next. Instead of striking a muscle pose or something, he stares back at me, his face serious.

  “Hey, Morgan,” he says softly.

  Goosebumps travel up my arm, and I lower the camera.

  “That was not the guy you were supposed to marry,” he whispers.

  The blush starts at my toes and swoops quickly all the way up.

  Amy walks back in the room then, her eyes on us. She narrows them and puts her hands on her tiny hips. “What’re you two up to?”

  “Nothing,” Adam says, yanking his gym bag off the top bunk. “Want to go for a walk? Check out downtown?” He tosses the bag on the floor with a thunk. “You guys hungry?”

  “Not even a little,” Amy says. “I have enough Cheezie calories to keep me fueled the whole weekend.” She plunks her little butt on the bunk she’s sleeping on.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “I’m full of junk food too.” Deep breath. “Plus, you know…I should figure out what I’m going to do. About my dad.” I grin but hold it in place for about one second before it disappears.

  “Yeah. What’s the plan? You haven’t said,” Amy says.

  “I have an address.” I sit on my bed and search my backpack for my ChapStick. “For the dad guy.” I try to laugh, but it comes out flat and fake, and neither one of them even smiles.