Emergency Medical Dad

LV: present, late august

edit: ch title
JORGEN

It was all I could think, sending him to school for the first day, packing the rest of my stuff, making a final work email, checking my plane, waiting for him to get home, getting into clothes to wear to the airport, saying a final goodbye to the guys at the barn, to the team at Chicago East, to everyone before disappearing back up north.

    Come with me to Canada.

    But it couldn't happen, it shouldn't happen. It was too much relying on a relationship barely three months old between Jessie and I, it was too quick, it was banking too much on two people that aren't long term tested with each other. It's too much on Connor's mental health. It's a huge deal to try to find visas, it's years of work.

    I have the room. Come to Canada with me. We'll figure it out from there.

    It wasn't smart. Of course it wasn't a smart move. It made so much sense on the surface but we can't.

    It seems like it would make sense but I wouldn't know what to do with them once we're up there. How to go about getting them into the country permanently in a legal way, how to get Connor enrolled in school in a country he's not a resident in, how to manage losing one of out methods of income, how to get Jessie a job without her being a citizen, how to do anything outside of moving them in.

    And then he comes home and drops all his stuff in the door, finding me in the kitchen, Jessie walking in behind him.

    He's never asked me to pick him up before, he's seven, he's not small. I do it anyway, the second he lifts his arms.

    "Hi buddy," I mumble, setting down the rag I was drying dishes with. "You alright?"

    "Kids are mean," he responds. "And you're leaving."

    I look over at Jessie who's bringing his bag into the kitchen, she looks back, a slight grimace on her face.

    "I know," I rub his back. "But I'll call all the time. And you'll find kids that you like."

    He shakes his head into my neck, "I don't want to. And I don't want to go back to St. Bs."

    I wince, "I know, buddy."

    "Did they do this to you, too?" He keeps his chin settled into my shoulder. "Because you look like me?"

    "They did," I sigh. "And I'm sorry you have to experience it too, it's... it's not fun."

    He hugs a little tighter, "it sucks."

    Normally I'd tell him not to say things like that, to hold out hope, but I know. I know too well.

    He clings to my side for the last two hours, watching me pack things, talking a tiny bit more about what happened with school, even holding my hand at one point.

    It's killing me. It's killing me. It hurts worse than anything I've ever been through and I've been shot, gone through years of shit from my leg, screamed in pain on bathroom floors for fuck's sake and Connor grabbing my wrist on the way out of my bedroom is the worst thing I've ever felt.

    I really fucking hate Chicago O'Hare. It's going to be worse by association now but I really hate Chicago O'Hare.

    And I really really hate the part right before I enter the building where I drop to my knee and hug Connor one last time. I really hate the part where he pulls back and looks at me, a little watery around his eyes and asks, quietly, in the weird back corner we're in as to not gather any attention, "when will I see you again?"