Toby whimpered in his sleep, startling himself awake. He sniffed the air, climbed out of his bed and went to look for comfort in Mike's lap.
"Sorry, old chap." Mike pushed the wet nose away from the body parts he rarely enjoyed sharing with others. Sitting cross-legged with ease was a perk of slimming down, but it had its disadvantages too... "I'm nearly done."
He snapped the last handful of LEGO bits into their places. After placing each, he picked a small slice of melon from a bowl sitting on the floor next to him, carefully chewed and swallowed it. Finally, out of both LEGO and melon, Mike leaned back to enjoy his handiwork.
"What do you think?"
The dog shook his head, sending the silky ears flapping.
"Oh, I see. Well, you have to know the story to appreciate it."
Mike fished out his phone and snapped pictures of Winterfell from every angle. Toby, who had never taken a selfie before moving in with him, developed a taste for it right away. So much for not being able to teach an old dog new tricks, Mike kept chuckling to himself. The downside of proving the adage wrong was that Toby photo-bombed every shot.
Mike scrolled and scrolled until he found a few that had at least 60% of Winterfell to dog ratio. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and typed with stiff fingers...
I fixed it.
He stared at the words, wondering if he should add more... and he didn't. He hit send.
The jittery anticipation roiled the melon in his stomach... He relaxed, counting down from thirty, the way they taught him, fighting the gag reflex.
He would see Daya soon... just a few days to go. And then... well, it was up to her.
"Come on, Toby, go get your leash. Let's go say hi to auntie Carol, you're going to visit with her for a few days."
Toby whimpered again and gazed at him with soulful eyes. Mike hardened his heart. "Come on, Toby, she adores you, so don't give me the lip." But he couldn't leave on this harsh note, so he had to drive straight to the airport after dropping Toby off, and floor it.
Part of him welcomed the rush, because he didn't have time to worry about what was to come.
In every human lives a nomad and a homesteader, the raider and the lover of peace, it's the genome, and the ancestral memory as basic as the fear of snakes. We carve the best of history with a sword of change, and every life is history in miniature, hence...
Strapped in his seat 35 thousand feet high in the air, he grimaced, thinking of so many examples to the contrary, when upheavals destroyed everything.
It'll be all right. I have help. After all, this woman was his natural ally. And their relationship was thawing. And blood was thicker than water.
The airplane, oblivious to his unfinished inner struggles, pointed its nose to the runway of Vancouver International.
***
"Honey!" Juliana exclaimed, first drawing him to her chest, then setting him at arm's length for an inspection. A worried wrinkle creased her perfect brow. "How are you?"
This was not just a polite greeting, so Mike pushed hair out of his face and smiled.
"Better, thank you. Sorry, I didn't join you for Christmas."
"Nonsense," Juliana said firmly. "It's dreadfully awkward for everyone involved. Now shopping... well, that's something we haven't done together since you've turned twelve. It should be... interesting."
Mike managed a weak smile. "Yes, Mom. Fun too."
While the mood of the excursion might have been subject for a later debate, Juliana was an expert in the area where he needed all the help he could get. She also had an enthusiasm for the task, barely letting him change after the flight at her downtown Vancouver penthouse. But she hid her impatience to hit the frou-frou shops of Robson/Granville, while he consumed a plate of quinoa salad.
Outside, it drizzled just enough to open an umbrella. There were quite a few of them blooming in the wide, soft-hued avenues, intermingled with stoic citizens who merely put a hood up or downright ignored the rain moistening their hair. Mike blew out a sigh.
Am I doing the right thing moving forward, not back?
He expected his mother to weave in and out of boutique shops, but she made a beeline for De Beers. That put an end to the meanderings of his mind as surely as the descending airplane. Yes. Yes, I'm doing the only thing that I truly want.
"I don't want it to be a diamond." Mike stirred her away from the doors by the elbow.
"Ah," Juliana said. "What do you want then?"
"A vibrant colour," Mike replied right away, then paused, collecting his thoughts.
They strolled toward Canada Place at the Harbour. The familiar breath of the ocean touched Mike's nostrils, reinvigorating him like a prune soaked in water. His hair would give a comb a workout tomorrow, curling up tighter in the coastal air.
"Something old and real, fit for the heroes of Mahabharata."
"An old gem? The rubies, the emeralds, the sapphires, the topazes, the jacinths..." Juliana ticked it off on her already bejeweled fingers, as she ushered him into Cartier building.
Mike shivered. The names sounded familiar, but not in the context of shopping. He shopped for celery or cookies, not jacinths. "I thought about rubies. It goes with her fiery nature, but her brother gives her all kinds of things in red. I don't mean to be fraternal."
His mother squeezed his elbow. "I certainly hope not."
She greeted a smiling Asian sales associate by name and answered insipid questions about the loveliness of the day they were having.
Mike fidgeted until his mother's resident best friend, Rosalind, showed him to a cushioned seat before a glass-covered counter. The women's chatter bounced over Mike's head. Yes, that's exactly how I felt going shopping with mom when I was twelve.
The subdued light in the store gave way only to the back-light on the velvet shelves holding the glittering products. The last time he had seen this many jewels in the same place was in a museum. But when his mother said, "Can we see your emeralds and sapphires, Rosalind? Yellow gold, I should think..." he straightened. He needed help, not someone making choices for him.
Rosalind moved shelves in and out, laying out shiny, pretty things in front of him. He picked a few and held them up to the light. For a second he forgot his purpose—the magic of the gems did not diminish from prehistory just because the public displays of them in quantity became so rare, and imitations—so common.
The deep green and blue cut crystals reflected light at him, tempting him to touch them. His mother leaned forward, picking through the bounty with shiny eyes. Even Rosalind had a misty-eyed look, though he didn't know if it owed to the pricey beauty or to the thoughts of someone somewhere getting married.
After getting used to the sight, Mike imagined the gems against Daya's skin, and suddenly the task didn't feel insurmountable. He rejected the lighter shades; the square cuts, and the deceptively simple looks.
The bright blue oval with its rim made of tiny flowers or butterflies, sprayed with inescapable diamonds, was what he wanted. He scoffed when his mother asked if he was sure and received a nod of approval for his troubles.
Rosalind assured him that Cartier would be ecstatic to perform resizing, engraving and thirteen other things he had not thought about at any location worldwide — and he stepped outside for a gulp of much-needed sea air.
He grew up without a care, but the indifference his mother showed the price tag, equal to a significant portion of his annual salary, was unnerving. Yet, over the summer, he chipped away a lot of plaster to find the woman who gave him birth underneath. He wanted to be comfortable around her again. And Don. He wanted his family back, even if it was no longer the one of his memories.
"When will we meet the incomparable Daya?" his mother asked, as if guessing at his thoughts.
Mike stammered, despite expecting the question since forever. "Mom, I don't know. I don't even know if she'll have me. Long-distance was hard on us, we were arguing."
She squeezed his shoulder — better than pinching his cheek like some ravishing take on Miss Marple, he supposed. "Darling, a girl who turns down a combination of this ring and my son is an affront to good taste."
Mike could not help but smile. How I wish I had your confidence.
She dug up a plainer jewelry box from her Gucci handbag. "In case you need it."
He snapped the velvety lid open, though his eyes saw what was inside before his fingers acted. A familiar slim band with the initials JD and LW engraved on it—he had no idea dad left it with her. That relationship had too many black holes in it... or maybe every relationship did.
"Lloyd would have wanted you to have it," Juliana said.
In the street that belonged in a Monet's landscape, Mike hugged his mother, not caring that this public display of affection was more appropriate for a twelve-year-old.
"You have changed so much over the last year..." Juliana whispered into his ear. "Not just the looks. Everything."
Mike shook his head. "I am how I always was, Mom. I'd just... I had finally buried Dad."