Saturday
Sophie
Faster than I expected when I first asked Boyd out. But in the five weeks since our first date, he’s leapfrogged other people in my life as the person I want to confide in. I love my brother, but he’s not understanding when it comes to my tolerance for our father. Caleb doesn’t know how much his leaving to pursue his dreams impacted our family. Impacted me. And I’d never tell him, because I don’t want him to regret his choice. I’m proud of him for everything he’s accomplished, but that doesn’t mean I can pursue the same path—not culinary school, but the path to a different dream. Running McNamara Enterprises has always been my dream. I have a different threshold for when I’m ready to walk away, and I haven’t reached it.
When Boyd left here on Tuesday, I felt like I had suffered a loss. My feminine sanctuary turned into an emotional prison once he was gone. A transformation from a place where I could bare my soul to one where my walls keep my secrets and don’t confess to anyone that the Sophie I show to the outside world isn’t the one present here.
Sophie behind these doors is lost. Conflicted. Defeated.
But I’m also determined and focused. I just don’t know if my focus is in the right place.
Like I said: conflicted.
I do my best to shove down my flip-flopping thoughts and focus on getting ready. I haven’t seen Boyd since Tuesday, and the pathetic part of me that doesn’t prioritize a social life is sitting home alone on a Saturday, desperate to see him. He’s working tonight, so I’m going to surprise him.
The drive takes nearly twenty-five minutes to go six kilometres. Moments like this, I miss life in the small town I grew up in. You could drive from one end of town to the other in ten minutes. Not to mention, before Henry relocated McNamara Enterprises to Toronto, he was often gone on work trips, which made life more peaceful. That might be the real reason for my feelings on the matter.
Regardless of my thoughts on my current postal code, walking up to the front door of Just Add Coffee gives me a new feeling of home. I swing the door open and spot Boyd and Monica standing behind the counter, having an animated conversation. There’s one teenage boy at a table toward the back, but the café is otherwise empty.
Boyd turns my way, smiling as soon as his eyes land on me. “Hey! I didn’t know you were coming.” He walks over to the edge of the pickup counter, pulling me in for a tight hug.
Admittedly, his friendship with Monica makes me a little insecure, but part of that is because I’ve never taken the time to get to know her. Boyd eases that insecurity when he kisses just above my ear, then grabs my hand to pull me toward the young guy sitting at the table with his headphones on.
“Captain.” Boyd taps his shoulder, waiting to continue until the kid acknowledges him. “This is Sophie. Sophie, this is Phoenix, Monica’s son.”
A pair of grey eyes focus on me, then light up with a bright smile. “Hi.” Phoenix stands to an impressive height that surpasses me by an inch or two, and reaches out a hand to shake mine.
Again, my insecurities ease a bit more, because that doesn’t seem like the reaction of a young kid whose mother is being two-timed.
“Hi, Phoenix. Nice to meet you.” I offer him a smile—partly because I am happy to meet him, and partly because I’m grateful he helped the fist around my heart relax.
Boyd elaborates on his introductions, telling us each a little about the other. It’s obvious Phoenix is important to him. “Do you mind keeping Sophie company for a bit, Captain? I’ve got a bit of work to do and need to finish chatting with your mom.” He waits for a nod from Phoenix, sends me a wink and a promise to bring me a non-caffeinated drink, then disappears back behind the counter.
I take a seat across the table from Phoenix. “What are you listening to?”
“Old stuff.” He turns his phone to face me so I can look at his playlist.
“Fall Out Boy? You listen to them?”
“Yeah, the coach on my soccer team says he’s a reformed emo kid, but can’t let the music go. Whatever that means.”
I chuckle at the accuracy of that statement. There’s never been anything outwardly “emo” about me, but my musical preferences are another story. “Fall Out Boy is my favourite band ever. I’m not one to gush over celebrities, but I’d spontaneously combust if I ever ran into Patrick Stump.” I lean forward to whisper, “Don’t tell Boyd.”
Phoenix laughs as he fiddles with something on his phone. Suddenly, Dance, Dance is playing through the speakers. “My mom hates when I do that.”
Sure enough, Monica’s head peeks around the corner that leads into the employees-only area of the café. “Child, what have I told you?”
Before Phoenix can open his mouth—and likely dig himself a deeper hole—I reply, “Sorry, Monica. I love Fall Out Boy. I asked him to.”
She looks at her son with a skeptical stare. “Well, good. Next time they play a concert, you have a new chaperone.” Then she disappears back behind the wall.
I’m surprised by how easily she let it go… and how willing she is to trust me with her kid. Whether it would happen is a different story, but it eases my insecurities a bit more, to the point they no longer exist.
“So, soccer, hmm? What position do you play?”
“Centre forward. I was the captain of the middle school team this year, but next year I’ll have to try out for the high school team… start at the bottom again. I play in a league, too.”
Boyd’s nickname for him makes sense now.
“Sounds like you’re a busy guy.”
He shrugs. “I guess. You should come watch sometime. We don’t start again until April, but Boyd sponsors the team, so he tries to come when he can.”
Two things about that surprise me. One being that Phoenix must be more familiar with me than I am with him if he is comfortable enough to invite me to an event nearly five months down the road. Two, Boyd never ceases to amaze me with the secrets he keeps. Not illicit drugs or illegal vices, but things he should be proud of—brag about—and he doesn’t say a word.
“Want to hear a cool story?” I ask, veering away from my internal gushing. “Well, it’s kind of tragic, but cool.”
Phoenix’s eyes widen as he leans closer. “Okay.”
“My family is Irish… well, my dad’s family. My mom’s family is mostly Greek. But anyway, my great-great-grandfather lived in Belfast in the early 1900s and was part of the crew who worked on the Titanic.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound like a claim to fame. No offence.”
I laugh at his bluntness. I like this kid. “That’s not the cool part. After they were done building the ship, everyone was so excited about it because it was cutting edge at the time, right? My great-great-grandfather, Thomas, bought a ticket on the Titanic, wanting to come to America for greater opportunities.”
“Oh no.” Phoenix’s lips tilt downward and all excitement in his eyes disappears.
“You have to hear the whole story. Patience. So he bought the ticket, made all his arrangements to make the move, quit his job as a shipbuilder—but who could blame him, because the conditions were terrible? Everything. He was set to sail across the Atlantic.”
“What happened? Please don’t tell me he was one of the guys who left women and kids behind and made off with a lifeboat.” He glances over at the opening to the employee area. “My mom and I watched the movie.”
“Oh.” I pause for a moment, recalling how old Caleb and I were when we watched it behind our parents’ backs. I distinctly remember having just turned thirteen. Feels like forever ago. “Well, no. He never even got on the boat. His mom got sick two days before he was set to leave, and since he was her only son and he knew he’d likely never see her again, he stayed to take care of her.”
“Wow.”
“I know. Lucky. But that’s not even the end of it. He missed the boat. Obviously it sank, but his mom passed away a few months later, and he still wanted to come to America. So almost two years later, he bought a ticket on the Lusitania and left Europe only weeks before the First World War. Then a year after that, the Lusitania sank too.”
“Luck of the Irish, eh? So what did he do when he finally got to America? Win the lottery or something?”
I hear a deep chuckle behind me and turn to find Boyd leaning against the wall, apparently listening to our conversation.
“No, he moved to Detroit, where he stayed for a while, then, for some reason, decided that wasn’t quite cold enough. So he packed up and headed north until he made it to Muskoka. Have you been there?”
“Yeah, my friend has a cottage in Port Carling. I went there for a week last summer.”
“Nice. That’s where I’m from… well, from Bala. My grandparents and aunts still live there, but I don’t get to visit them much.”
He smiles, but it’s marked with a sadness in his eyes. “You should. Family’s important.”
I stare at the young sandy-haired kid, soaking in his wise words. “Yeah. It is.” With a deep breath, I refocus to finish my story. “Anyway, Thomas got married to a woman from the area, then they moved down to Toronto. And you’ll never guess what he did once he got here.”
“This is going one of two ways. His luck continued, or it ran out.”
“He was recruited to play for Canada’s professional soccer team, and spent the next ten years as a footballer. After that, he was a team manager until he retired.”
His bright eyes and upturned lips return at the mention of soccer. “That’s so cool. That’s my dream. Minus the sinking ships and dying mom part.”
I figured. “It’s important to have dreams.” I just hope his dream works out better than mine has, because all too often, the dream is a lot better than reality.