“The one you didn’t want to be caught dead at?”
“Yeah, I’ve changed my mind. Will you come with me?”
“I guess I could get out of work one night on time.”
“Dad, another one!” I pointed to the star dropping out of the sky.
Dad nodded and smiled. I smiled too. A whole fourteen years I went without seeing any and that night we saw three.
Chapter 6
SMELLS LIKE HEAVEN
Long after Dad agreed to come to the parent and student barbeque I lay back on the deck, staring at those stars. I wanted to stay up all night and all day, every day. Sleep was a waste of time when I had so little left.
“I’m going to bed,” Dad finally said.
“I’m not tired,” I answered.
“Uh huh. Want to stay up till your birthday, do you?” He shook his head but went inside and came back out to drape a comforter over me. He kissed me on the forehead. “Good night, Jade.”
I love you, Dad, I wanted to say. I only had one week left. I should have said it over and over while I still had the chance but I didn’t. We’re not the kind of family that ends every conversation with “love ya”; it’s a big deal to ever say it at all. I closed my eyes and imagined I had told him instead.
Sometime later I awoke to a hissing sound. “Oreo?”
Eyes glowed at me. Not Oreo’s. My own quickly adjusted to the dark. Another animal scampered past my feet. The green food compost container tumbled over. Rattle, rattle, scritch! A couple of animals double the size of Oreo dug through the mess. I stood up and backed toward the sliding door, opened it, reached inside and flicked on the outdoor light.
Two raccoons sat on their haunches chewing pizza crusts.
I should have shooed them away. This might become a nightly habit if they could enjoy our food scraps undisturbed. But the pair was cute, with their bandit masks and pointy ears, and I just watched, smiling, enjoying the sight of them like I never would have before. They had these incredible hand-like paws and held their finds with dark bony fingers. Shiny black eyes watched me even as their mouths continued to nibble.
Suddenly, something knocked against my legs.
Oreo slipped past me and made a dash at one of the animals. The other one waddled away. Hissing and pawing at the remaining raccoon, Oreo cornered it against the wooden rail. The raccoon showed his small pointy teeth. I hesitated. Did it have rabies? Would I spend my last week getting treatment?
Then I dashed out and grabbed Oreo from behind.
Mreow! He turned and raked at my bare arm with his claws.
“Ow!” Not fair! I was dead and I could still get hurt.
In that moment the raccoon scrambled up and over the rail to make his getaway. Oreo tore off. I stared down at four bloody lines on my arm. It would be ironic to get sick from my own cat instead.
Now I had a choice to make. I could just go to bed, pretend I’d never seen it all, and let Dad deal with the mess before he went to work. Perhaps before he even made my birthday celebration breakfast. My eyes felt heavy and my legs and arms ached for sleep. Or I could clean up the spilled scraps although chances were he might not ever realize I’d done it.
I love you, Dad, I hadn’t been able to say it but I meant it.
I got a broom and dustpan. The potato peels and coffee grinds stuck and smeared across the deck and the scraps smelled vaguely of rot. I swept them up as best I could, breathing through my mouth. Then I stashed the container inside so the furry garbage bandits wouldn’t be tempted to return.
“Oreo. Here kitty, kitty.”
From out of the darkness the cat scooted back onto the deck. He looked up at me.
“I forgive you, don’t worry. C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”
He followed me in slowly and I closed the door. Then I brushed my teeth, changed into boxers and a t-shirt and got under the covers. I felt his weight land on the bed, felt this hot furry lump lean against the top of my head. I reached up and patted him as he purred me to sleep. I’d always loved his buzzy lullaby. Good old Oreo. I was going to miss him.
When I woke, there were fewer than seven days left in my life. I heard the rattle of raindrops against the roof. On my birthday! Rain! This hadn’t happened the first time either. Odd. How could I have done anything that would alter the weather? I took a deep breath. My room was still dark. Between the cracks of curtain panel on my window, the sky looked grey. I wanted to experience my life differently, more intensely. And yet no sunrise-watching was possible today. Too bad.
I flipped around under the covers. Then I lay back listening for a while. The cars driving through the puddles of the wet street made a soft swish sound. Nice.
After a while, I heard Dad shuffling in the kitchen, grinding his coffee beans, searching in the cutlery drawer. I dozed for another bit and awoke to the ding of Dad’s fancy Belgian waffle maker. He bought the coolest gadgets when his clients sold off their display units. I could smell coffee and vanilla and it smelled like heaven. What did heaven really smell like, anyway? Would I find out soon?
Despite the classic Monday morning weather, my birthday had to be great. I scrambled out of bed and took a long shower. Then I threw on some jeans and a blue tank top and scrunched up my hair for a curly effect. No use fighting its natural inclination today. I walked to the kitchen.
“Happy birthday, Jade!” Dad said, pulling out a chair for me. “Devon! Get out here.”
Rubbing his eyes and groaning, my brother drifted in, still in his Ironman t-shirt and boxers.
After Devon slumped into his chair, Dad returned to the counter and brought my special breakfast over to me. Two round waffles topped with strawberries and whipped cream and a lit birthday candle.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” Dad sang and Devon droned along like a human bagpipe.
They both leaned in close, ready to help me blow—a family tradition. Looking at their faces set aglow by those tiny flames, I made my silent wish. Oh please let me fix this all up for them. Then I blew hard. Two remained lit until Dad and Devon joined in. I felt their breath, a warm wind sending in a better fortune. Only one breath was missing.
Happy birthday, my dearest daughter, said her voice inside my head again. I smiled.
Dad handed me a box which I knew held the latest smartphone—all surprises were pretty much ruined by this second lap around the week. Dad knew about the coolest technology and managed to score deals. It was a terrific gift that I knew I wouldn’t get to use enough.
I unwrapped the plain white box full of Styrofoam, Dad had been working on the smartphone display for a couple of weeks and I had admired this unit for all that time. “Wow, thanks Dad. Did you keep the receipt?”
His smile fell. “Don’t you like it?”
“I love it. I mean just in case something happens.”
Watch it, I heard Mom whisper.
I backtracked. “You know, like if I drop it in the toilet?” Or have a fatal skateboarding accident.
Dad still looked confused.
This was going all wrong. I stood up and hugged him. “Dad, really I love it.” I squeezed him tightly.
Chapter 7
KILLING TIME
While Devon went to his room to get me his present, Dad handed me Grandma’s envelope. She was my mother’s mother and unfortunately lived all the way in Calgary. I opened it, knowing I would find a card and a cheque for $300, not because I was reliving time but because she did this every year since I had turned ten. Dad stopped trying to buy me clothes around then, so the idea was that I could use the money on a back-to-school shopping spree with Hailey.
“Dad, I want to do something different with this money.”
“Like what, Jade? You know Grandma likes you to use that for clothes.”
“Well,…I’d like to buy a special experience…for all of us, together.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. A family adventure. Skydiving?” The idea of jumpi
ng out of a plane seemed like just the kind of thing to get our family out of its rut.
“That’s ridiculous. The money wouldn’t even cover one person and besides that…” Dad thumb-keyed into his smartphone for a moment and passed it to me, “See for yourself!”
I looked at the tiny screen set to a sky jumping website. There, in small print, was a question on minimum age requirements. The answer in black and white: You must be at least 18 to skydive.
“Not even with a signed consent form,” Dad said triumphantly. “That’s how dangerous it is.”
Not money enough, not old enough, not in control of what short destiny I had left. I frowned as I passed back his phone. “Well, it doesn’t have to be skydiving, I just thought we could do something a little different, something out of our comfort zone as a family. It could even be fishing.”
“Here’s my present.” My brother returned from his room holding Aiden’s skateboard.
“Wow. It’s beautiful. I love it!”
Dad appreciated Devon’s gift even less than last time. His face set as he clenched his jaw. “You have a death wish and now you’re passing it on to Jade.”
“Who, me?” Devon sputtered. “Hey, I’m not the one who wants to skydive. I mean, I’d go if the birthday girl wanted me to but…”
“You know what I mean.” The argument had changed. There was more of an edge to it this time. Dad seemed angrier.
“Skateboarding is a death wish?” Devon asked.
“Extreme sports in general. Now she wants to throw herself from a plane.”
“She just wants to experience exciting things,” I told him. “With you guys, I might add. As in family bonding.”
“Well, skateboarding may bond you to your brother but not to me. I don’t like it when Devon jumps around on concrete either,” he grumbled.
I didn’t answer him. If I had to die skateboarding then at least I would not make that promise about always wearing a helmet.
“Promise me that you won’t take any unnecessary risks.” Dad looked directly into my eyes.
So here I was caught in the same place with a different promise that meant the same thing. I chewed at my lip. “I promise.”
“Good enough for me. You doing something with Hailey today?”
“No, she’s up at her cottage, remember? I’ll be hanging with Scratch probably.” Last time around we’d skateboarded together but it hadn’t been raining and he hadn’t had a concussion.
“Well, enjoy the rest of your day. That phone’s all charged up. I’ll call you later. And in case I don’t make it home in time for dinner, here’s my credit card so you can eat out.”
“Thanks, Dad. I love you.” There, wow, I’d said it. All in a rush that Dad hadn’t heard. He was out of the room, down the hall, out the door.
“You are so weird,” Devon said as he got up from the table. “I’ll put your stuff in the dishwasher. Seeing as it’s your birthday and all.”
“I love you too, Devon.”
His eyes widened in panic. “Yeah, well, I’m going back to bed now. When I wake up maybe the real Jade will be back.”
The clock on the microwave read 8:30. Way too early to call Scratch even if he hadn’t broken his wrist. Passing by the bathroom, I remembered the argument Dad and Devon had last time about the mess in there. Since my skydiving suggestion made Dad even more annoyed with Devon, I picked up the towels and dirty clothes from the bathroom floor and started a load of wash in order to help save them from yet another argument.
Then I drifted into my bedroom. My least favourite job in the world was making my bed, but I needed an orderly room so that I could get my own head straight. Five minutes killed doing something boring versus a day of feeling mildly off every time I walked into this room: I decided to kill the time.
Killing time. I never realized there were so many expressions revolving around death.
I quickly pulled up the sheets, straightened the duvet, and plumped up the pillow. I also picked up some clothes from the floor and threw them into the dirty hamper, remembering at the last second to pull my to-do list from the pocket. I frowned at the top line.
Get Dad a girlfriend.
Hmm. I had suggested to Dad that he should turn to the Internet for help. He was never going to do that so I went into his office and tried to remember the name of the online dating service I’d heard advertised on TV. Light Up? I googled dating services and got it: Glowing Ember. Close. I clicked on the name thinking I’d just pre-screen some of the possibilities. Of course the service wouldn’t let me unless I created a profile.
No cost trial. Did I dare? With less than seven days left, I had to try. The first thing I needed to fill in was a nickname. I frowned and typed: Good Guy.
Next I had to write an opening line. The instructions said to just pick the first thing that came into your mind; you could always change it later.
I love what I do.
That was what Dad said anyway. He was one of the few people he knew who enjoyed his job. The next task was to fill in an About Me section with at least 100 characters. I clicked on the suggestion bar. Be positive. Think of three things you love, something a previous date loved about you, your favourite experience in the last year and say why you loved it. Be specific.
Dad loved us, Mom, his work, the cat, his techno toys— none of those passions seemed like chick magnets or he would have met someone by now. I wrote quickly “from the heart,” the way our English teacher once told us to, hand thumping against her chest.
Sometimes I work too hard but there are lots of perks to my job. And I want to share those with someone.
My fingers felt sweaty on the keyboard. Dad had only had one girlfriend in his life that I knew about. What did Mom love about him? I kept typing:
I can be a good friend as well as a thoughtful romantic.
What kind of things did he do on dates with Mom? Family things were all I remembered—Canada’s Wonderland, Confederation Water Park. I fudged something.
I prefer active dates but enjoy live theatre too. My favourite movie was Avatar because people should come in all colours.
Well, that was flakey but Avatar was the only event I remember him going to in a long time. Last three questions only needed short answers: his idea of a fun date was bowling, he liked to talk about technology, and his friends would call him—I chose from a drop-down menu—dependable.
I checked over my answers. The site claimed Dad would have ten times as many hits if he submitted a photo. I’d use my telephone to get an image of him next time I saw him.
Done. Swallowing hard, I clicked submit. Dad would kill me when he found out. Still how many times could a person die anyway?
Apparently someone would check over the profile before it would be officially uploaded. In the meantime, I could click on an age category and start screening some candidates. So I did.
The first woman that popped up was a blonde who showed a lot of cleavage and whose nickname was Me Free Spirit. Ugh! Too much! I scrolled down. The next was another blonde who called herself The Lyrical One. She was an adventurous dreamer seeking a man with a plan. My heart started to race. What had I gotten Dad into? I closed the site quickly. It was okay I told myself. I’d only given them my email address. Anyone who wanted Dad would have to go through me first.
I had to find some way to calm myself down. Where was Oreo when I needed him? What time was it? 9:30—still a little too early to call Scratch. Maybe I’d cook something. Something as a get-well present for him. Fudge! I’ve never been able to make it properly but this one last time I vowed I would get it right. I quickly searched candyrecipes.com.
Tons of recipes came up. Most called for different kinds of milk—sweetened condensed, evaporated…hmm. That recipe was called Never Fail Fudge and if I just let our regular two percent milk sit awhile, it would evaporate. I left Never Fail on the screen and poured out the milk that it called for. I dumped the butter, brown sugar, and white sugar in a pot, but then couldn’t be bot
hered to wait for the milk so I poured it in. You were supposed to boil it to “soft ball stage” anyhow, so I figured I’d just boil it longer and the milk would evaporate then.
It didn’t take long. With every bubble that popped from the boiling sugar and milk, a buttery sweet smell released into the air. I used a cold cup of water and dropped some sugar liquid in. Nope, it barely formed a string. I boiled some more, stirring with a big wooden spoon. Next test, I got a blob, more the shape of a parachute than a ball. Ah, if you could only sky jump from a caramel parachute.
The phone rang and I picked up. “Happy birthday.” It was Scratch, at home. He didn’t sound like himself. “Are you okay?”
“She’s driving me nuts,” he whispered.
“How?” I asked.
“She makes me stuff to eat, pancakes, cookies. Asks if I want a drink, hot chocolate, tea anything. Just now she offered to help me go to the bathroom. Seriously!”
“That doesn’t sound bad to me.” I didn’t get enough fussing in my life. Sure Dad draped a blanket over me last night, and made me waffles this morning. But he had to go to work and if things went as they had last time, he’d call to tell me some client found an error in a wraparound. He had to stay late on my birthday. Dad did his best. But there was only him. And hey, maybe Dad wanted fussing too.
I didn’t know if Me Free Spirit or The Lyrical One might do that for him. I sighed. Since Scratch’s father had left, there was only one parent in his family also. Wait a minute. That gave me the idea. It was too late for me but maybe I could still get some extra fussing for Dad without going through the Internet.
“What do you want for your birthday?” Scratch asked. “Sorry, we’d planned on shopping last night but with the accident…”
“Honestly, Scratch, I would like to have your mother.”
Chapter 8
DONE TO DEATH
I couldn’t really explain everything over the phone and besides the fudge was starting to boil so I just told Scratch to come over.
“Sure. Mom will drive me. Right?” he called to her. A voice in the background grumbled. She seemed to want Scratch to stay home and rest, at least for the first day. Scratch argued back and she gave in but I heard her yell out, “Make sure you leave your skateboard behind!”
Dying to Go Viral Page 4