Rise and Fall

Dina

Now I understand what Holden was talking about all those months ago. This limbo between finishing your mammoth tasks and waiting for results. If I fail either the written or oral portion of my thesis, I’ll have six months to make corrections and try again. If I fail a second time, I’ll be “excused” from the university. All of my hard work would be for nothing. That cannot happen. I did not survive on ramen and processed cheese for the past three years just to fail.

The waiting game is torturous, so I’ve been occupying my time by taking Nacho to observe other dogs at Coronation Dog Park, since the one at Red Canoe Landing has been tainted forever. I can’t look at a red canoe without feeling the crushing weight of heartbreak all over again. Based on the assumption I passed and I’ll be able to start a job in the near future, I even purchased a few new toys for Nacho to replace his deceased squirrels.

Happy chihuahua, happy life. Right?

Aven and I have become fast friends, but it’s been less than two weeks since we met, so I’m still treading lightly. We went out with Hollis, Angel, and a couple of Angel’s friends this past weekend for a girls’ night, and the break from my own nagging thoughts was nice.

Today, though, I’m lounging on my sofa watching a mini-series on YouTube. Of all the choices, I settled on War and Peace. The entire series is a little over six hours, and I’m halfway through, with no plans of pausing between episodes.

I hear a knock at my door, which sends Nacho scurrying across the wood flooring to let the person know their presence is unwelcome. I assume it’s some dumb kids who got into the building and think it’s a funny April Fool’s prank, so I don’t pause my show. Except a few seconds later, another softer knock sounds, along with a quiet, “Dina?”

My heart leaps into my throat at the voice. I rush to shut off my laptop—because I’ve never had the budget for a real TV—then grab Nacho and close him in my bedroom. I smooth my ratty house clothes as I walk to the door. There’s no hope of making this outfit presentable, but a girl can try.

I peek through the peephole to confirm I’m not imagining what I heard. Nope, I’m not losing my mind. When I open the door, I see one person I never expected to see at my door.

“Hi.” I’m stumped on how to proceed from here. ‘How can I help you?’ No; too formal. ‘How do you know where I live?’ No; that’s irrelevant right now. Or ‘What do you want?’ No; that’s rude. I settle for a blank stare.

“Can I come in for a minute?” Boyd asks with a shy smile.

“Sure. I… don’t have anything to offer except water.”

He steps in slowly, scanning the small space. “That’s fine. I won’t stay long.” He doesn’t move any farther inside than necessary, tucking his hands in his pockets. “My brother loves you. I know you doubted that after the fire, but I don’t doubt it at all.”

Of all the awkward conversations Holden and I ever had, talking to his brother about our relationship is a hundred times worse. Once upon a time—a very short time—I didn’t doubt Holden’s love either. I had no questions about whether what I felt for him was reciprocated. But that backfired.

“Maybe he thinks he does or thought he did, but he doesn’t.”

“He does.” Boyd runs his hand over his hair that looks like Holden’s would if he cut or styled it. “There was more to it than you know, and he’d probably punch me if he knew I was here, but I can’t let him live with regrets forever.”

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that ‘more’ is their mother. “I respect his decision. He chose his mother over someone he barely knew, and I can’t blame him for that.”

“You know?” Boyd’s hazel eyes widen as he backs up into my living room until his legs hit the edge of the sofa and he drops on a cushion.

“I assumed it had to do with your mom, yes. Our dinner was so awkward, people in Iceland probably felt the tension.”

He shakes his head, but not one single hair shifts. “It’s not… I get why he didn’t want to say anything, but he can’t move on. He can’t forgive himself. And it’s not even his fault.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. At the end of the day, it was his choice. But, like I said, I respect his decision. As someone who doesn’t have parents, if they were around, I’d take their opinion seriously.”

Boyd leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and sinks his face into his palms. So many seconds pass, I’m convinced the conversation is over, until he blurts, “Our mum told him to break up with you because of your skin colour.”

For some reason, that never occurred to me. I drop in one of my wooden dining chairs and stare at the artwork Angel created hanging above the sofa, wrestling with a slew of emotions. Anger, upset, dejection, resentment, outrage. They all make an appearance.

It’s not a new concept for me. Being raised with my aunt, Angel and I were too brown to be white, but too white to be brown. As if being a hybrid of two skin colours makes a person unwelcome in their own family. Before our parents died, my heritage never crossed my mind. I was just Dina. But suddenly, being without parents who loved us unconditionally, Angel and I faced a world where we weren’t welcome.

After I process Boyd’s confession, I drone on, explaining my previous experience with the same mentality. Turns out, along with their United Kingdom roots, Imogen and my aunt have a lot in common. Not good things.

“I’m sorry, Dina.”

“It’s fine. It’s really not your fault, and it won’t be the last time I deal with it, I’m sure. I’ve been pretty lucky to see a fraction of the discrimination a lot of people do.” I choke on my words because even though that’s true, it has caused a lot of heartache.

“Holden is a mess. His proposal for his thesis is due in a few days and he can’t string a sentence together. I looked over his shoulder yesterday, and under methodology, he wrote, ‘I’ll read stuff.’”

Romance novels never told me that love comes with so much fear. You’re no longer held captive by your own fears, but by worry and concern for those you love. When Nacho was missing, I experienced a fear more intense than I’ve ever felt. Riding in a car was nothing by comparison. But hearing that Holden is struggling to complete his thesis proposal is another kind of fear. Because I love him and I don’t want him to fail.

Still, I try to dismiss the truth because it’s done me no favours thus far. “We didn’t even know each other that long. He shouldn’t be hung up on me.”

“Are you hung up on him?”

I freeze. “That’s irrelevant.”

“No, it’s not. Holden isn’t hung up on you. He’s in love with you, and that has never changed. The only reason he broke up with you is because our mother has some narrow-minded way of thinking, which was made infinitely worse by the division in the Royal Family. I kid you not; the woman is obsessed with royal drama.”

“That’s ridiculous. For one, there are two sides to every story, so whatever drama people have is theirs to deal with. No one outside of that relationship can truly grasp what’s happening. Two, last I checked, Holden wasn’t sixth in line for the throne.”

“Trust me. I know. It’s silly, since whoever is sixth in line will never be at the top of the list, anyway.” He chuckles, and I get the impression that was meant to be a joke, but I can’t laugh.

I sigh, long and intentional. “The best I can do is let him know I forgive him. I know after he found Nacho, emotions were high, and I was harsh with him. I’ll apologize and tell him I don’t hate him.” Despite his initials, I don’t feel that way toward him at all. I still love him, but it hurts too much to hold on to something that can’t happen.

Boyd pushes himself to stand, straightening his apron. “That’s not the outcome I was hoping for, but I understand. I’m sorry you were ever put in this position to begin with.”

“Again, it’s not your fault. But thank you for explaining it to me.”

“I’ve got to get to work, but if you ever want to stop in at Just Add Coffee on Queen Street, I’ll make you a flat white that’ll knock your socks off. My treat.”

I smile at Boyd and walk him to the door.

Fear may prevent me from pursuing the relationship I want, but it won’t stop me from making sure Holden is able to pursue his dreams without me holding him back.

My chat with Boyd left me a combination of sad, surprised, and determined. With emotions all over the map, I confide in my sister about how to proceed. She is justifiably angry with Imogen for dredging up wounds we’d both long buried, but she’s supportive of my decision.

The least I can do is put the past to rest and move on with my future. Even if I can’t do that with one person I wanted there.