Page 91 of About to Fall

“Bàba and I would like you to come spend it with us. I’ll book you a first class ticket, naturally.”

“To Vancouver?”

“God, no.” She laughed like I’d said something absurd. “The Maldives. We’ve rented the most beautiful villa. You’ll love it.”

“I have training, Umma.”

“You’ll be back in time for that.” Dismissive. The way she always was about skating—like it was a hobby I’d eventually outgrow, not the thing I’d built my entire identity around.

“It’s a day and a half of travel. Each way. I need to be sharp for trials.”

“Bàba hasn’t seen you in ages.”

I almost laughed. My father wasn’t interested in seeing me. He hadn’t called or texted once since I moved to Toronto. The last time we’d spoken was at my birthday dinner in Vancouver, where he’d spent the entire meal on his phone and then handed me a cheque like that was a substitute for conversation.

“I can’t leave Cam by himself for Christmas. I’ll try to come back to Vancouver the next time you guys are in town.”

“How is Cam?”

Her voice shifted—slightly tighter, the warmth cooling by a few degrees. Cam was the wound she couldn’t dress up for company. The six year old she’d left behind when she’d chosen my father’s money over his father’s love. Every conversation about him carried the ghost of the life she’d walked away from—the man she’d actually loved, the son who looked exactly like him.

Cam never said it out loud but he didn’t need to. He kept her at arm’s length which was more than she deserved. I would have slammed the door in her face years ago.

“He’s good. Working on his next album.”

“That’s… nice.” The pause said everything she never could. She had never quite figured out how to acknowledge that Cam had built something real and successful entirely without her—without her connections, without her money, without the Zhao name opening doors. It didn’t fit the narrative she’d constructed about her choices being worth it. “And Toronto? How’s the city treating you?”

“Same as always.”

“You know, you really should get your own place. Bàba and I are happy to pay for it. Something in Yorkville, maybe. Or the Distillery District—I hear that’s very trendy now.”

“I like living with Cam.” He was hardly there but she didn’t need to know that.

“Well, if you change your mind…” She trailed off, and I could hear someone talking in the background—my father, probably, or one of their staff members. “I should go, darling. Think about Christmas, won’t you? And good luck with your little competition in January. We’re so proud of you.”

Little competition. The Olympic trials. The thing I’d been working toward my entire life.

“Love you, Adrian.”

“Love you too, Umma.”

I hung up and stared at the phone in my hand for a long moment.

The Maldives. First class tickets. A rented villa that probably cost more than most people made in a year. And none of it—not a single part of it—was about actually wanting to see me. It was about appearances. About being able to post photos of the happy family on her WeChat. About checking a box that said good mother when we both knew the truth was more complicated.

My phone buzzed again. Not my mother this time.

Nicky: What are you doing right now?

Just hanging out at my apartment. You?

Nicky: Christmas shopping. It's a disaster. I need backup.

Where?

He sent me a pin. The Eaton Centre. I was out the door in less than ten minutes.

I found him near a bookstore, a stack of books cradled in one arm, frowning at his phone. He was wearing a camel coat over a cream sweater and his adorable glasses, his hair slightly mussed from the wind, and something in my chest went soft at the sight of him.