‘Absolutely. I’ll mail it to you. What’s your address?’ I reply. His grin is hella hypnotic. He doesn’t seem to care that I’m not trained in the art of ice-breaking.
‘Luke, what did you mean when you said your dad disappears?’ The question is out of my mouth before I realize the weight of it. It tumbles down the stairs like a boulder and smashes straight through the laminate floor. I’m flustered; my cheeks burn bright red. I was always going to ask, just maybe not now, when tact is in such short supply.
‘Nice memory you’ve got there,’ he replies, all lighthearted.
I wince. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. When I start thinking about stuff, when my mind gets too busy, more often than not I forget to engage a filter—’
‘Norah, it’s okay,’ he interjects. ‘You don’t have to panic. I don’t mind talking about it. Besides, I think I owe you a little bit of background, right?’ He smiles and I wonder if it’s too soon to suggest we get married. ‘My dad has what my mom calls wanderlust.’
‘Wanderlust?’
‘He likes to travel. Like, he really likes to travel.’ He’s looking at me as though I should understand. I don’t think he realizes how little he’s said, but the puzzled expression on my face clues him in.
‘This is going to sound so messed-up,’ he says right before he jams his thumb knuckle in his mouth and starts chewing on it.
‘Messed-up is kind of my default.’ I smile, can’t help it. Can’t help noticing that he just inadvertently told me he doesn’t see all the things that are wrong with me.
‘So my mom’s been a flight attendant all her life,’ he says. ‘She met my dad on board a flight to Argentina when they were in their early twenties. He’s a traveller. A real home-is-where-I-hang-my-hat type of guy.’
‘The souvenir stickers on his van?’
‘All the places he’s been.’ Wow. There were a lot of stickers. ‘My mom doesn’t think he’ll stop moving until he’s been everywhere there is to be and seen everything there is to see.’ You can tell his mom said that. The words are romantic, spoken by a woman in love. His hands ball into fists; he pushes his knuckles together and they pop.
‘Are you angry at him?’
‘No. Not any more, but I used to be.’ Luke turns his chin and looks at me, his eyes narrow, pain clouding the usually luminous jade of them. ‘It’s a sickness. He tried to stay with us, build a home. Actually, he’s tried it a few times, but he gets so depressed when he stops moving.’
Huh. He’s like me, only in reverse.
‘So, your parents, are they separated?’
‘They’re separated in the sense that there is physical distance between them. But they’re still married. Still madly in love. That is, he’s not trawling the world looking for a new family. He says it’s not about us, that he loves us both unconditionally.’ Luke takes a breath. ‘It’s such a noble word, unconditional. Brave. Blindly committing to situations it knows nothing about.’ He gets lost staring at the space in front of him, focusing on nothing in particular. I don’t know where his head is. I’m not sure he does either. I wish I could lace my fingers through his and lead him back to the safety of my stairs.
‘I used to get mad at my mom because she wouldn’t make him stay. She would tell me I was too young to understand. But what was there to understand? He couldn’t have loved us because he kept leaving us.’ He dusts his bottom lip with his thumb, and for a second, I wonder if he’s going to start snacking on his nails. Because I would. Instead, he stands up, trots down the stairs, and starts pacing. I don’t hold him back. I don’t hold him back or try to make him sit because I hate it when I’m spinning and people try to make me be still.
‘Then, three years ago, the summer I turned fifteen, he comes home, rolls up the drive in his camper, bearing gifts of ice cream cake and a replica Super Bowl ring. There’s something different about this visit, though . . .’ He turns to look at me for the first time since he started moving. ‘I mean, he’s always happy to see us, but this particular time I remember thinking, He’s not just happy, he’s relieved.
‘One week turns into two, two turns into three, and he’s still hanging around eight weeks later.’ His eyes twinkle as he relives the memory. I like this part of the story.