Way to Go (18 page)
I reluctantly traded knives and cutting boards for pencils and paper and got back to the grind, waking up early and catching the school bus, pushing through homework, worrying about grades. Within a few days of school starting up again, it felt like I'd never left.
But I missed the Sandbar. Every math equation I struggled through or short story I analyzed just made me wish I was back in the kitchen, melting chocolate for ganache, or watching JP whip up a new seafood sauce.
Jay had asked Maisie out on a romantic picnic, of all things. I'd gone over to his house and showed him how to make fried chicken. We'd even baked a pie. Now the two of them were officially a couple. They were crazy about each other, and not only had Jay made a major effort to quit smoking, but he'd also allowed Maisie to start tutoring him so he could take a couple of correspondence courses and still graduate with us in June. He had plans to go to the local community college and take a landscaping program.
Being honest about myself with Maisie and Jay made me feel a lot less lonely, and better about life in general. I didn't feel as crazy anymore, and as Maisie put it, if you took Ferris and his buddies seriously, you might as well expect to feel shitty about life. Jay seemed to think that my family would be cool with it when I got around to telling them. I figured he was right, at least about my mom. Dad would need some time to get used to things, but I had a feeling that he'd come around in the same way he had about cooking school. As for Alma, I started to think that having a gay older brother might be one of the best things that ever happened to her.
Mom and Alma were going to come with me to Montreal for my interview at Atwater at the beginning of November. I was pretty excited, but also kind of nervous. I didn't know what I'd do if I didn't make the cut. In the meantime, the three of us were really starting to look forward to the big trip.
“I can't wait to get to Montreal,” Alma said. “ âThis town just ain't big enough for me.' ” Dad had planned to come with us, but right after school started, his old boss had called to say that he'd landed a big contract and there was a job waiting for him in Alberta. It sucked that he had to leave again so soon, but I knew my parents were relieved. He'd be gone all fall, and though we hoped he'd be home for Christmas, it was hard to tell with these things.
The day before Dad left, my whole family went for a walk on the beach.
“Man, I hate to leave this place,” said Dad as we strolled along the sand. Alma was down on the edge of the waves, trying to skip stones, although the water was too choppy for that.
“At least you know it's always here to come back to,” said my mom, taking his arm and leaning into his shoulder.
“You kids don't know how good you have it,” he went on. “You have your whole lives to look forward to. Anything could happen.”
I remembered Lisa's mom saying almost the same thing. Would I feel that way when I was their age? Was everyone just bound to end up feeling sad about their younger days? It didn't matter. All you could do was roll with it.
Alma ran up and gave me a shove. “Wanna race?” she asked.
“Why not?” I said. “Count of three. One. Twoâ”
She took off, not waiting for three.
“Hey, no fair!” I yelled, laughing. But I chased her anyway. I caught up and passed her. The wind was pushing against me in big erratic gusts that whipped my hair back and forth across my face and pressed my shirt tight against my chest. I stopped, finally, and turned around. Alma had given up and was walking back to meet my parents. Beyond them I could see Deep Cove, perched on the cliff over the water. It was an image I could have drawn from memory.
I had all the time in the world to be somebody different, somewhere else. For now, the way I saw it, I was right where I was supposed to be.
A huge thank-you to my parents for their love and support, and for choosing to raise their family in the wilds of Cape Breton. Thank you to my brothersâwhen you're a kid growing up in the country, four minds are so much better than one. Thank you to Frank Macdonald, “the godfather,” for setting such a great example. Thank you to my many wonderful friendsâtheir enthusiasm and encouragement is the fuel in my tank. Thank you to the whole gang at the Casual Gourmet, where I learned that I loved food and Nina Simone and that I hated washing dishes. Thank you to Wheeler, the best companion a frustrated writer could ever ask for. Thank you to Robin Stevenson, for her kindness, guidance and lifesaving beer breaks at the Fernwood Inn. Thank you to Deborah Wills, whose words of encouragement are still with me after all these years. Thank you to everyone at Orca, for being so great to work with. Finally, a special thank-you to my editor, Sarah Harvey, for taking a chance on me and for helping me find the story in the middle of all the words.
TOM RYAN
was born and raised in Inverness on Cape Breton Island. After high school, he studied English at Mount Allison University and then moved to Halifax, where he studied film production at Nova Scotia Community College. He currently lives in Victoria, British Columbia, with his partner and dog, and dreams of eventually moving home to beautiful Nova Scotia.
Way to Go
is his first novel.
