Page 24 of You Started It
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The rest of November speeds by, and December is moving just as quickly. Probably because I’ve decided to keep myself busy. I’ve been checking more items off my bucket list by taking myself on dates and sometimes even inviting members of my family to come with me. Not because I need the company, but because I want to share the experience with people I love and care about. That’s something I learned from hanging out with Axel. Looking back, I can see now that spending time with him was never about checking items off a list. It was about the memories we made. Together.
Last week, Mom and I went to the Royal Ontario Museum. She told me how she used to go every year on school trips as an art student. She even showed me where she had her first kiss. Surprisingly, it wasn’t with Dad. Rather, it was with some guy named Angelo in the Gallery of Ancient Egypt section, right by the bust of Cleopatra VII. They got caught by their teacher and were forced to sit on opposite ends of the bus on the ride back to school. They never spoke again, but he ended up running the grocery store in the small town where we lived when I was growing up, and she had to pretend every week that she didn’t know who he was.
Another day, I bundled up and took the streetcar into the city alone. I ended up at Ripley’s Aquarium. There weren’t any lines and I was able to walk right in. It was such a peaceful experience strolling around at my own leisure with my headphones on, tuning out the world around me. At certain points, it felt like I was underwater and just another sea creature. There was one fish that looked like it had a mop of hair on its head. At first, I laughed because it reminded me of Axel, and then I cried, standing there alone, as the fish with the bad toupee swam away from me.
Tonight, Amo Eli and I are at a hockey game with Dad at Scotiabank Arena. Dad has to explain how hockey works to both Eli and me. Turns out it’s a pretty simple sport: puck in net equals goal, but Eli has more questions. Lots of them, like: Why did the play stop? What does “offside” mean? Why did this person just get a penalty? What’s a power play?
I can’t bring myself to care enough to listen to the long (LONG) explanations.
I’m trying to enjoy the experience of being at a game with my dad and uncle, while simultaneously checking another item off my list, but the arena keeps playing songs that remind me of Axel. Which leads me to checking his Instagram page obsessively. And then his TikTok account. He hasn’t posted a new TikTok since we stopped talking. Or a new picture, for that matter. Every time I land on his Insta I hold in a breath, afraid that this will be the moment I notice he’s removed the pictures of me and him. But he hasn’t yet. It’s like I’m playing this cruel game with myself each time I go on there and I don’t know why.
Definitely something to bring up with Dr. Mueller at our first appointment next week.
Mom greets us at the door when we return from the game. “You’re home earlier than expected,” she says as Eli rushes straight for the bathroom. He uncharacteristically drops all his things to the floor. He may have overindulged in nachos and hot dogs.
“You know Eli. He refuses to use public restrooms,” I say as I remove my boots.
“Besides, the Leafs were getting destroyed. It’s not like we’re missing much,” Dad says, heaving a defeated sigh.
“It’s still early in the season.” Mom smiles, trying to give Dad a sliver of hope.
Even though it’s late, Mom invites Dad in for coffee. Just as they’re about to take their first sip at the kitchen table, Eli’s phone rings.
Mom answers. “Hello?” There’s silence for a moment as Mom’s face scrunches up. Dad glances at me and I shrug. “Let me see how he’s feeling.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask as she rises from the table.
“Shawarma Sitty is slammed with customers and Axel’s there alone. He wants to know if Eli can come in.”
“What about Peter?” I ask.
“He called in sick,” Mom replies, still holding the phone. She leaves the kitchen to check in with Eli. When she returns a moment later, she shakes her head. “I don’t think he’s coming out of that bathroom for a while.”
“I can go,” I say, standing.
“I’ll come too,” Mom says. “There should be an adult there.”
Mom brings the phone up to her ear and tells Axel we’re on our way.
Dad offers to stick around for Eli. Mom shows Dad where the chamomile tea is and asks him to make it for Eli once he’s out of the shower. “I bet he forgot to take his Lactaid today. And on cheat day? He should know better,” she says.
In the foyer, Mom places a hand on my arm as we’re getting our coats on. “Are you sure you want to go?”
“Yeah. Axel needs us.”
“I thought the two of you weren’t on speaking terms.”
“We’re not,” I say, looking away.
“Will this be a problem?”
“No.” I shake my head. “We’ll go in. Help. Then leave.”
“Okay,” she says, sizing me up as if she’s trying to determine how full of it I actually am. “We better get going then.”
Axel wasn’t kidding. There’s a line outside Shawarma Sitty that spills into the parking lot. Apparently, some guy’s house party down the block got busted and we’re the only food joint still open. Customers give me and Mom side-eye as we cut to the front of the line. Mom forges ahead, straight to the cash register, and I remain frozen, watching Axel try to keep this small operation afloat. He’s got his baseball cap on backward, keeping his curls away from his face, a grease-stained apron on, and a look of relief on his adorable face when he sees Mom.
And then it happens. His eyes lock on mine. I swallow, unsure of what to do. He gives me a casual nod and smile. I mirror his actions before heading behind the counter. I tie back my hair, wash my hands, and throw on an apron.
“How can I help?”
“Fill the next order,” he says, putting together a takeaway of chicken shawarma and salad.
For the next two hours, Mom takes orders and payments while Axel and I put together the meals. When I notice we’re almost out of meat, I make the announcement to the remaining customers and turn the sign on the door to “Closed.”
Luckily, we have just enough to serve the last customer a huge chicken shawarma sandwich with poutine. Our Arab ancestors would be proud…or perplexed at this weird Arab Canadian fusion meal.
When the last customer walks out it’s close to midnight. Mom locks the door before leaning up against it and sighs. “That was a lot,” she says. “I better balance the registers. You two clean up.”
I glance at Axel quickly, then swallow. “What should I do?”
“Um.” He stalls, unable to look me in the eye either. For a while there, we were a smooth duo, pumping out meal after meal. We even exchanged multiple smiles, and Axel sang and moved along with the music once things were under control. But now that it’s just us and my mom, it’s back to Awkward City.
“I’ll clean out front. I’ll even do the bathrooms,” I say, like a martyr. Or someone who feels guilty. But I’m not sure why.
“Sure.” Axel nods, without even tossing a glance my way.
I hate this. I hate that we can’t talk to each other anymore. That being around him feels so good but hurts so much. Probably because it does feel so good, but it’s fleeting. And it’s not real.
He turned to Olivia. He could have gone to anyone else in the world. But he purposefully chose her to hurt me. The annoying thing is, I get why he did it. And I’m no better.
I tune everything out and focus on the tasks at hand. Sweeping. Wiping. Mopping. Scrubbing toilets (ugh). I gather all the trash and go out back to toss it. It’s freezing but the sky is clear and a few stars are visible, which is pretty rare. I look up and breathe in and out. I smell like garlic and onions. Or maybe that’s the trash bin to my left.
I miss him.
Even though he’s right inside this building, I miss him.
Maybe I should tell him, or at least initiate a conversation. Get a dialogue going. It used to be so easy to talk to him and now it’s like I’m afraid to do or say the wrong thing. The last few times we’ve been around each other, our words get twisted up in our raw emotions and everything gets messier. The truth is, we’ve both hurt one another. Intentional or not, pain was inflicted and the trust between us has been compromised.
I come back in from outside to grab the last bag. The music is off and Mom and Axel are engaged in conversation. I stay hidden in the bathroom hallway, listening. I can’t help it. I’m thirsty for intel. For insight. Maybe a lead on how I can fix things. If we’re fixable at all.
“It’s fine,” Axel says to Mom. “I sometimes come off a bit too strong when meeting people.”
“It’s not that,” Mom replies. “I judged you for all the wrong reasons. For being a male. An Arab male. For being confident. For embracing who you are and where you come from. It scared me.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Because you’re everything I’m not. I didn’t grow up feeling proud of who I was or where I came from. And I kept my Arab side from Jamie, denying her an opportunity to learn about her culture and roots. Then here you come, showing her how great it can be to be part of a loving Arab family. I knew she’d call me out, and I needed to be called out, but I was afraid of that moment happening. I’d been afraid for years. Because I think deep down, I knew I was wrong. Adults…we’re just adolescents with a few more wrinkles and bad knees.”
Axel laughs. “I get it. I wasn’t always so confident. I’m not always so confident. But I learned to be proud of my culture from an early age. My dad taught me not to try to hide anything about myself because people would see it as a weakness and prey on it. So instead, I’m loud and proud and sometimes…obnoxious. It kind of backfired on my dad though. He wasn’t really into my passion for dancing at first.”
“And now?” Mom asks.
“Jamie helped him see how important it is to me. Figures, I finally get my dad on my side and I’ve lost my drive to dance or perform.”
“Why’s that?” Silence follows Mom’s question. When Axel still doesn’t answer, Mom presses on. “What happened with you and Jamie?”
“We’re not right for each other. We’re too different. She wants something safe and quiet and I want to be with someone who will shout their feelings about me to the world. Take risks. Put down the lists. And that’s not Jamie.”
I lean up against the hallway wall and squeeze my eyes shut. I thought maybe we had just misunderstood each other. I didn’t realize there was more to it.
“Differences aren’t all that bad, Axel. Jamie thinks she wants something safe, but at the end of the day, none of us knows what we really want. We just know how we feel. And when I see my daughter around you, I can tell.”
“You can tell what?” he asks.
I grab the last bag of garbage and toss it in the bin before slamming the door shut behind me. I can’t bear to hear them talk about me for another second. It’s too weird.
“All done,” I say, coming out of the hall all nonchalant-like a few minutes later.
“We’re all done in here too,” Mom says, smothering a grin. “Do you need a ride home, Axel?”
“No, thank you.” He removes his apron. “I rode my bike.”
“You fixed Betty?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He nods. “She’s as good as new.”
“I’m glad,” I say, nodding back.
“Same. Was worried she wouldn’t recover,” he says before swallowing.
“I didn’t think I took her to the point of no return.” I fight the smile that wants to come out.
“Not quite. But almost.”
Mom clears her throat as she stands by the front door. “It’s late, kids. We should head out.” She pushes open the door, making a beeline for her car, leaving me and Axel behind.
“Hey, Axel,” I say, feigning bravery by allowing myself to stare deep into his eyes. My heart rate immediately quickens.
“Yeah?” he asks, hope sparking in his voice.
“I know we’ve both done things to hurt each other, things we can’t take back, but when we walked the halls at school hand in hand, I was proud to be by your side. When we danced at your cousin’s wedding, I was proud to be your date. I’ve always been proud of you and proud to be with you. I just wanted you to know that.”
“Okay,” Axel replies. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t say anything else. He just nods repeatedly and readjusts his baseball cap.
“Okay?” I repeat. “That’s it? Axel, I like you. A lot. So much it scares me. The way I feel about you…it’s unlike anything else I’ve experienced.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Jamie. If it makes you feel better to tell me those things, then fine. But I’m not just some item you can cross off your list. I fell hard for you. I even…” He pauses and shakes his head. “Here’s the thing about telling someone you love them: there’s only one way to say it, but there’s a million ways to show it. And you, Jamie Taher-Foster, have a funny way of showing your feelings.”
Axel opens the door and I follow him out. I watch as he locks up, waiting, hoping he’ll say something else, but all he does is get on his bike and ride away, without looking back.
Maybe we aren’t fixable after all.