Even though my mom and I had never gone swimming outside in the winter on a hotel roof that overlooked a foreign city, the scene made me miss Mom, and I said a quick prayer, asking God to let Mom appear to me in my dreams at least once more.
The man who looked like a younger version of you, Richard Gere—he kept glancing over at us, and it took me a few looks to realize that our staring was starting to make them feel uncomfortable.
Two misshapen, ugly, strange men in out-of-style boots and coats staring at anyone is a recipe for misinterpretation, right?
“Let’s go,” I said.
Max nodded and followed.
He didn’t need an explanation.
Max knew what I knew—probably because he has lived the same sort of life as I have, even if his personal details were and are completely different.
Metaphorically, we—and our stories—are the same.
We went to our respective rooms, showered, and dressed for dinner.
Father McNamee took us to Old Montreal and we dined at a small fancy restaurant. Father asked if he could order for all of us, and when we agreed, he surprised me by ordering in French.
“What the fuck, eh, Frenchy?” Max said, eyes wide, nodding, impressed—like Father had done a magic trick—when the waiter left.
“I hope you will indulge me,” Father McNamee said. “This is a last supper of sorts for us.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Everything will change when you meet your dad tomorrow,” Father said, looking really uncomfortable. “Nothing will be the same afterward.”
I nodded, just to be easy.
It was snowing outside, and we watched the flakes fall through the steamy window.
The waiter arrived with red wine and glasses. Father tasted, approved, and then the waiter poured glasses for all of us.
“To new beginnings, however strange they may be,” Father McNamee said and then raised his glass.
We all clinked and drank.
Baguettes and French onion soup—small round brown bowls covered with bubbling cheese—came next.
Father broke a baguette into four pieces, handed one to each of us, and said, “We four are at pivotal points in our lives. To the miracle of our finding each other and being right here, right now together, which is indeed remarkable.”
Elizabeth and Max didn’t say anything, but bit their bread and began to chew.
“It’s best when dipped into the soup,” Father said and then poked the baguette through the cheese in his bowl until the bread turned brown and began to fall apart.
We all did the same.
“How do you feel about meeting your father, Bartholomew?” Father McNamee said, while examining his soup.
I didn’t know how to answer.
In my mind and heart, my father had been dead for years, and there was a part of me, deep down inside where the tiny man lives, that wanted to keep it that way.
Another part of me still didn’t believe that meeting my father was even a possibility, although Father McNamee seemed very confident, and he had never lied to me before.
“Cat Parliament in two fucking days, right?” Max said.
“Yes,” Father said, nodded, and looked out the window at the heavily bundled people passing by on the sidewalk.
The waiter returned and said, “Lapin.”
Four plates were put in front of us.
Meat covered in tan gravy, peas, and carrots.
“Bon appétit,” the waiter said and then left.
We all began to eat, and the meat was tender and flavorful and seemed to melt like butter in my mouth.
“What is this?” Elizabeth asked after swallowing.
“Rabbit,” Father said. “Do you like it?”
Elizabeth gagged, spit the food from her mouth, and ran out of the restaurant.
I chased after her.
She was retching over the mound of snow piled between the street and the sidewalk, so I held her hair and rubbed her back, just like Mom used to do for me whenever I was sick as a little boy. The entire restaurant watched us through the window.
Max and Father McNamee came out next, and Father said, “Are you okay?”
Elizabeth nodded and said, “I just need some air. Leave me alone, please. Please!”
When she began to walk down the street, Father said, “Follow her, Bartholomew!”
“Me?” I said.
“What the fuck, hey, Elizabeth!” Max yelled. “This is a free meal. Isn’t it time you fucking got over this?”
Father smiled, winked, and said, “This is your big chance. Go.”
It’s snowing in Old Montreal. How beautiful! you, Richard Gere, said. Suddenly you were there, bundled up in a leather coat and a plaid scarf, smiling at me, your eyes twinkling like my new tektite crystal. Use the charm of the moment! Step into the romance of now! You can make The Girlbrarian fall in love with you! Look around. This town is loaded with charm! Use it, big guy!
“She doesn’t like to be called The Girlbrarian,” I said to you as I rushed after Elizabeth.
Doesn’t matter, big guy. What matters is that you’re going to be alone with the girl of your dreams in Old Montreal as the snow falls gently all around you. Love is imminent. You cannot fail. This is your moment. The Dalai Lama says be compassionate and all will work out for the best. Just be kind. It’s time for love. This is the perfect moment. Give her the fairy tale!
“She’s sick! She just threw up in a snowbank!”
That’s The Good Luck of Right Now, right?
The bad that will lead to good!
The flip side of the same coin.
The universe is sending you a sign. The universe has put you in this exact position for a reason. Now is your moment, Bartholomew. The Good Luck of Right Now! Remember your mother’s philosophy. What would she tell you? What would your mother tell us?