his BMW SUV and watch a DVD on the screen hanging from the roof, while my mom keeps going on about the brilliant colour of the fall leaves, like she’s seventy years old and this is her first trip out of her home in years. It’s like she’s never seen a tree before.
We stay in our very own little house, with two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a deck. It overlooks the lake. The bathrooms have fancy soaps and shampoos and lotions. My room has its own personal balcony.
“Look at the reflection of the leaves in the water!” I shout from the deck, sounding now like my mom. But it truly is amazing, that watery fire of red and orange and yellow.
We are this instant little family. The Suit’s family. We’re like dolls he’s playing house with. My mom and I go along with this pretend world ’cause we both know it won’t last. We go hiking, mountain biking, and swimming in the indoor pool. My mom and I get facials at the spa while Scott plays squash with some guy. We get dressed up for dinner and walk to the dining room, where we have the fanciest, most expensive meal ever.
I excuse myself to go to the washroom but instead go outside for a quick smoke. When I return, Scott and my mom have ordered another bottle of wine and I get the feeling I should cut out. As I walk back to the table, I see them as if they were any other normal couple in the lodge. My mom looks nice in her black dress and all made up. And Scott, well, he looks like Scott, the way any man in a suit would look.
“I’m gonna go back to the house,” I say, standing by the table instead of sitting down. I like saying that word, “house.”
“What are you going to do?” my mom asks.
“I don’t know. Sit by the water. Watch a movie. There’s a pool table below the restaurant.”
“Okay. Have fun, Hon. There’s stuff in the fridge. But don’t drink the beer. Maybe two, but no more. I’m going to count—”
“She shouldn’t be drinking beer,” Scott interjects, but then is silenced by my mom’s evil glare.
“Relax,” I say to both of them. “I don’t want the beer. I don’t even like beer.”
Scott reaches into his pocket and gives me twenty bucks, but I’m embarrassed to take it.
“What does she need that for?” my mom asks, as if she’s embarrassed too.
“I don’t know. Maybe something from the candy machine.”
“If he wants to give it to me, I’ll take it,” I say, stuffing the money in my pocket and glaring at my mom. It feels good to finally have someone on my side. It feels right.
I wander downstairs to the “teen room,” where some rich guys my age are playing pool with what looks like their little sisters. The second I appear in the doorway, I regret going down. It’s like this depressing games room with a stupid jukebox playing hip-hop. And the nerdy guys think they’re so cool with their backward caps and boxer shorts sticking out of their jeans that are forty sizes too big for them. I just can’t stand guys my age. They’re so boring. Especially the rich ones who try to look all ghetto. I head to the lake to blaze before going back to the house.
I decide to walk across the sloping lawn spotted with iron post lights, toward the water’s edge and along the beach. I don’t have a good mid-season coat, so I’m just wearing my hoodie over the dress I wore to dinner. There’s an older couple down there, wearing matching puffy sport vests like they’re right out of a Gap ad. They smile at me in a way that no old people ever smile at me in the city. It’s a nice smile. Like a look-atthe-sweet-young-girl-taking-a-stroll-in-the-moonlight smile. Like just because I’m in this ritzy place, suddenly I’m not a punk. And I should be pissed off at how superficial they are, but it feels good to be trusted by a stranger. Almost makes me feel like being trustworthy. Almost.
I continue walking. It’s so black and quiet. It’s a little cold, but not so bad for this time of year. I find a Muskoka chair that’s off on its own. I light my joint and sit, just watching the moon and stars shimmering in the water. A loon calls in the distance. It’s the most romantic