March 13, 2014
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington
"So, is Chloe excited to go camping next week?"
"She sure is. The only thing she would've liked better was to go on her actual birthday, but she got all stern with me when I joked about skipping school. She even insisted I get all my homework done before we leave."
Playing Chloe up as a 'responsible adult'? Really, Max? What is this? Amateur hour?
"I still can't believe it. Abandoning your home country to camp among those northern savages. My own daughter."
"Pretty sure Canadians aren't savages, Dad."
"Excuse me? Have you seen that so called 'bacon' of theirs? Savages, all of them."
"Didn't you raise me to be tolerant of other cultures or something?"
Ooh, subtle parental complement drop. Well played, kid. That's more like it.
"Hm. That does sound like something I'd say." I shrug, peering into the pot of spaghetti sauce and adding a little garlic powder. "You two just stay safe, okay? And make sure Chloe doesn't overdo it."
"It's just camping, Dad. As long as we don't make ourselves sick eating s'mores, we'll be fine."
Okay, now she's just walking right into it.
"Really? That driver's license your mother found on your desk would suggest otherwise, 'Mackenzie'." It's a second before I hear Max's fork hit the floor, then there's only silence. I give the sauce another slow stir before glancing over my shoulder. "Trying not to panic?"
"Yeah," she croaks. Understatement of the year. I've seen actual deer caught in actual headlights that didn't have as much of a 'deer caught in the headlights' appearance as my daughter does now. It's like her brain was given a choice between fight or flight and picked 'nope'.
"How's that working out for you?"
"Not great." I almost laugh at the way her eyes keep darting between me and the door, like she's considering trying to make a break for it. The longer it goes on, though, the less funny it gets. Freaked out is one thing but she actually looks a little scared, and scared daughters are basically dad kryptonite.
"Hey, it's okay." I step closer and pull her into a hug; she practically collapses against me. "It's alright, sweetheart. You're okay."
I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. Vanessa and I talked about this sort of thing that first night, after the girls had gone to bed. It'd been a long conversation, and by the end of it we'd been forced to accept three terrifying things. And what I've managed to step in right now is terrifying thing number one:
In some ways, our little girl never came back from Arcadia Bay.
I sometimes forget how different Max is compared to the person we sent off to Blackwell. She's still our daughter, and nothing could ever make us love her with anything less than everything we have, but that doesn't change the fact that what happened to her has changed her forever. She's got scars we might never fully understand. She isn't always going to react to things in ways we expect, and stuff I could've done before – like tease her about having a fake ID – isn't really gonna fly anymore.
And that's all I was doing; teasing her. Because short of turning her over to the police or something, there isn't a lot else I can do.
That's part of terrifying thing number two: Max doesn't actually answer to us anymore.
If I wanted to punish her for having a fake ID, how exactly would I do that? Threaten to ground her? Cut her allowance? Send her to bed without dinner? Of course not. Our daughter is eighteen years old. Two days ago, her girlfriend turned twenty. They're adults, whether we like it or not.
The only thing we could actually do is kick them out, and that's so far outside the realm of possibility that there's almost no point mentioning it. We could never do that to them, and I say 'them' because there's no way that one of them goes and the other doesn't follow.
That's terrifying thing number three: As heartbreaking as it is to think about, Vanessa and I aren't the most important people in Max's life anymore.
We saw it in their eyes that first day, and we've seen it every single day since. I don't even think they get how strong the bond they have is. What I do know is that if Max were ever forced to choose between us and Chloe, she'd pick Chloe. Every single time.
"You're not in trouble, Max. I was just teasing."
"I...I'm not?"
"No, you're not. I mean, I'm not exactly jazzed that you lied about going camping."
"We didn't..."
"You think I don't know the legal drinking age up there is nineteen? C'mon."
"...sorry"
"Look, you're an adult, as much as your mom and I hate to admit it. It gets to the point where we have to trust you to make your own decisions."
"Really?
"Really. But please remember to use your real ID at the border, because if you get arrested by the Mounties, your mother and I will disavow all knowledge of you."
Her eyes go wide for a second, then she laughs so hard that she snorts. Mission accomplished.
"Wow, dad. I love you, too."
"Oh, Max. If you really loved me, you wouldn't have suggested being tolerant of the devil's bacon."
"Dad!"
"They ruined bacon, sweetheart. Bacon."
Chloe: american text...
Nando: Okay?
Chloe: CANADIAN TEXT!
Nando: Careful, dude. You don't wanna get caught sneaking American texts over the border.
Chloe: never happen
Chloe: im a pro
Chloe: the ultimate sms bootlegger
Nando: What?
Chloe: like during prohibition
Nando: What are you talking about?
Chloe: when the gov banned booze
Chloe: and all those guys made mad bank sneaking it in from canada
Nando: Oh, right. Wasn't that back in the 50s?
Chloe: no it was the 20s
Chloe: wait
Chloe: dude!
Chloe: its my b-day weekend!
Chloe: how dare u make me remember school!
Nando: Exams are just around the corner, Clo.
Nando: See you when you get back.
March 15, 2014
The Cambie Hostel
Vancouver, British Columbia
Throwing the hostel room's curtains open, I watch with no small amount of amusement as my girlfriend throws an arm up to cover her face. "Ugh," Chloe groans, refusing to open her eyes. "What is wrong with you?"
"Love you too, babe" I laugh, moving to sit on the bed beside her. Chloe opens one eye to peer at me coolly, then lets out an indignant huff and rolls away. I gently take hold of her shoulder and turn her back. "Alright, that's enough of that. Time to wake up."
"No," she responds as she tries to pull the blanket over her head. "Too fucking early."
I don't comment on her sharp tone as I gently brush a hand over her vibrant blue hair. "A little hung over, are we?"
"I feel like garbage," she moans. "I am hot, burning garbage."
"Hmm," I nod. "Sounds like you're dying. I guess I should go call Mom and Dad, so they start planning the funeral."
"Cute."
"I can see the headstone now. Here lies Chloe Price. She died as she lived, surly and hung over."
"Maybe I should die," she mutters over the edge of the blanket. "That'd show you."
"It sure would," I try to sound as annoyingly cheerful as possible. "You feel up to eating anything?"
"Bacon. With extra bacon. Mama needs grease." She frowns. "Real bacon. None of that 'Canadian bacon' crap."
"You've been talking to my Dad, I see."
"He knows what's up."
"Right. I'll be back soon." I kiss her gently on the forehead, and I'm just at the door when her voice warbles out from beneath the covers again.
"Max...? You still there...?"
She sounds so pitiful. I can't decide if it's sad or cute. "Yeah, babe?"
"Make sure the toast has strawberry jam." She peeks over the blanket's edge again. "None of that raspberry bullshit."
"No raspberry bullshit." I confirm, turning away so she won't see me rolling my eyes. "Got it."
To my credit, I manage to hold my laughter in until I'm out in the hall. It's not that I don't feel bad for her; I do. That doesn't change how funny it is to see Chloe, who'd spent the previous evening touting her own invincibility between shots of who-knows-what, practically crippled by the resulting hangover.
Not that she hadn't had reason to celebrate. We both had plenty of cause to celebrate. Honestly, I think Chloe spent as much time bragging about how I got accepted into UW as she did telling people it was her birthday.
I emerge from the stairs to see one of the hostel's employees, a cheerful woman in her mid-twenties named Jesse, sweeping the floor of the hostel's bar. She looks up with a smile. "Heya, Max."
"Hi, Jesse."
She, along with a couple other staff members and several of the people staying there, had been pulled into Chloe's orbit the night before. "How's the birthday girl holding up this morning?"
"Kind of a train wreck," I laugh, pausing at one of the tables to give the hostel's cat, Oreo, a gentle scratch between the ears. "I think I've seen healthier looking zombies."
Jesse nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, that'll happen when a 120-pound girl goes shot for shot with a bunch of 250-pound rugby players."
"She still drank two of them under the table," I counter, defensively.
"Whoa. Down, girl." She raises her hands. "I'm not saying it wasn't crazy impressive."
I feel an embarrassed warmth bloom in my cheeks. "Sorry. Chloe brings out my inner mama bear."
"Such is young love." Jesse lays a hand over her heart with a dreamy expression. "Much beautiful. Very romance."
My face only gets warmer and I try to change the subject. "So, are you feeling alright after last night?"
"Oh, don't you worry about me, hon. Wasn't my first pub crawl," she laughs. "By the way, that fake ID of yours is pretty spot on."
"W-what?"
"Lemme guess. You're just a few months from your actual nineteenth birthday?"
"Um..."
"Relax, I'm not gonna turn you in or anything. And most of the bouncers can't tell the difference. I've just seen enough of them to have a pretty good eye. Anyway, what's got you braving the cold light of day?"
"I...uh...I've been sent on a quest for breakfast."
"Ah, the time-honored morning-after grease bomb. I know it well."
"Any good diners around?"
"A couple decent cafés." She glances at her wristwatch. "Tell you what, though. Our kitchen technically doesn't open till eleven, but the guys are already back there doing prep. I'll get them to whip up some eggs and bacon for you guys."
"Oh my god, that'd be awesome." Though I don't feel nearly as bad as Chloe, I still hadn't been looking forward to braving the outside world. "You are legit my hero."
"Aw, I bet you say that to all the girls," Jesse winks, waving a hand as I reach for my wallet. "This one's on me."
"Really?"
"Sure, why not? Last night was a good time." She shrugs, leaning the broom against the wall as she heads into the kitchen. "Shouldn't take too long."
Wandering over to the nearby patch of sunlight where Oreo is dozing lazily, I pass the time by giving the fluffy cat some very much appreciated attention. Purring loudly, he stretches out in that super comfortable looking way that only cats are able to pull off, making an unhappy little noise when Jesse reappears ten minutes later and the petting stops. I'd feel bad, but I only have eyes for the pair of cardboard containers in the woman's hands. Both of them smell deliciously of fried eggs, toast, and bacon. Accepting them, I deeply inhale the wonderful scent and give Jesse a grateful look.
"Seriously, thank you so much. You're awesome."
"I know. Now, go feed your poor suffering girlfriend."
"If I can resist eating it all on the way up. Do you guys have any of those little single-serving jam things?"
She points to a side table near the bar. "Right over there."
"Thanks. Chloe needs strawberry jam." I roll my eyes. "Apparently it's a whole thing."
Grabbing the jam and some cutlery on the way out, I hurry back up the stairs and let myself into the room. I'm not surprised that the only sign of Chloe is a large lump in the middle of the bed. Sitting down, I gently poke the lump's side. "Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey..."
It shifts slightly, murmuring, "...food?"
"Food," I confirm.
Emerging from under the covers, Chloe awkwardly sits up and accepts the cardboard container I offer with a grateful smile. "I love you so much. You're an angel."
"Darn tootin'. And I ran into Jesse downstairs. She actually bought us breakfast."
"That's awesome. She's awesome."
"She knows. Feeling any better?"
"Not really," she admits, shoving a large piece of bacon into her mouth as she speaks. "I used to be able to shrug off a hangover like it was nothing."
"Oh, yeah. Keep talking with your mouth full. That's super hot."
"Is this what getting old is about?" Chloe continues, ignoring me. "Is it all downhill from here?"
"Says the 20-year-old. Maybe you've just lost your tolerance. You've barely had a drop of alcohol since October."
"Don't remind me," she groans, dropping her face into her hands. "Ugh...this is bullshit."
"Is it really that bad?"
She peeks out between her fingers. "Feels like someone drained the contents of a week's worth of used diapers into a Big Gulp cup and force-fed it to me."
"Okay, first off? That's incredibly gross. But on the bright side..."
"There is no bright side," Chloe interrupts, her voice muffled slightly. "There's never going to be another bright side ever again."
"...the more creative your descriptions get, the better I know you're feeling."
"Not feeling better," she grumbles. "Everything is ruined forever."
I shake my head, laughing. "Eat your breakfast. You can sleep on the drive home."
"I feel hot. Do I have a fever?"
"You do look a little flushed."
"I knew it. I've got the plague."
"Oh, cut it out, you big baby. At worst, you've just got a cold," I smile. "And since you're the one who decided to jump into a fountain at two AM, you've got no one to blame but yourself."