We pull up to a small two-story house. It looks plain, even a bit gloomy against the dark sky. The stone walls are weathered, and the paint on the window frames is peeling in places, but overall, the place seems decent enough. The yard, though, is a mess. Near the garage, a few old, rusty tools are half-buried in snow. Worn-out summer tires are stacked like a lopsided Leaning Tower of Pisa, and the trees and bushes clearly haven’t seen a pair of pruning shears in years.
— You’re home, — Dad says, and for some reason, it sounds like a sentence.
I step out of the car, clenching my teeth against the cold, and wait for Dad to grab my suitcase from the trunk. Then, to prove how independent (or stubborn) I am, I drag it into the house myself. My first impression? This place needs some fresh air. My nose wrinkles at the stale smell of leather and sweat. It’s the exact same odor that hung in the air at the roller skate rental place my friends and I used to hit up after class. Soon, I figure out the source: a pile of ice skates stacked in the corner of the living room. Gross.
— Took them from the guys to sharpen the blades, — Dad explains.
The interior is bare-bones: dark wooden floors, nearly empty walls with just a few team photos on the shelves. In the corner, there’s a small, old couch with worn-out upholstery. Not a single hint of coziness or care for comfort. Honestly, this is pretty much how I pictured a bachelor pad.
— Not a bad… den, — I say, trying to hide my disappointment.
— Yeah, something like that, — he replies with an awkward smile. — I’m hardly ever home, you know.
It feels impossible to live here. This house looks more like an extension of a coach’s office. The tables are buried under stacks of papers. A crooked calendar hangs on the fridge, with game dates crossed out in marker. A laptop sits right on the floor, humming loudly as if begging its owner to clean the dust-clogged fan.
— But I did my best to get your room ready, — Dad adds. — Come on, I’ll show you.
When I step into my room, the contrast hits me hard. It’s clean and cozy. There’s fresh bedding on a small bed, a soft rug underfoot, bookshelves, and a comfy-looking armchair by the window. But what really melts the ice around my heart is a clear vase filled with live sunflowers. I didn’t expect a bouquet like this. I’m guessing he picked these flowers on purpose to remind me of home.
— What do you think? You like it?
— Yeah… it’s nice, — I say, sitting on the edge of the bed. Only now do I realize how exhausted I am from the flight. — I want to take a shower.
— Sure, — Dad nods. — Go ahead and settle in. I’ll… probably order us some pizza.
— Sounds good.
Left alone, I flop onto my back. The bed is soft as a cloud… I’m pretty sure I’ll spend the next month right here, wrapped up in every blanket I can find. Good thing I brought a few books with me. At least I’ll have something to do.
I pull out my phone, ignoring all the texts welcoming me to a new country and giving roaming instructions, and call my best friend right away. Poor thing must be going gray worrying about my trip. She’s such a scaredy-cat that she ranks flying to another country on the same danger level as one of those extreme expeditions to Peru or the wild jungles of Africa.
— Hey! — I say, relieved when she picks up. — I’m alive.
— Glad to hear it! How’s Canada? First impressions?
— Cold… No, scratch that. It’s freezing. I should’ve listened and packed wool socks instead of trying to look cool.
— And how’s it going with your dad?
— With Dad… it’s chilly too. We’re like strangers.
— I don’t like the sadness in your voice.
— I’m just tired. I really need to sleep.
— Then rest up, and tomorrow, with fresh energy… Wait, what are you planning to do tomorrow?
— With fresh energy, I’ll try not to freeze to death.
— I’m sure your dad’s team has plenty of hot guys who’d be happy to warm you up. You can’t leave there without at least hooking up with one of them.
— Here we go… Don’t project your steamy fantasies onto me, girl. Keep it together, — I laugh.
— These aren’t fantasies; they’re valuable life tips. I’m sharing my wisdom with you for free, while other people pay big bucks for this kind of advice.
I roll my eyes. Solomiya graduated with a psychology degree and thinks she’s some big-shot expert. The only place that’s recognized her skills so far, though, is a preschool.
— Who’s paying you? The toddlers?
— Okay… no one’s paying me yet, but they’ll grow up and come back to me to work through their childhood trauma.
I yawn.
— I’ll call you tomorrow once I get the Wi-Fi password. For now… goodnight.
— It’s four in the morning here.
— Oh… and you didn’t tell me to go to hell when you picked up?
— I was waiting for your call. But next time, check the clock and add seven hours.
— Deal. Talk tomorrow!
— Tomorrow.
I don’t even make it to the pizza. Completely wiped out after a hot shower, I don’t even notice as I drift off to sleep.