The Café Vanellas

4: on springtime

// Toriv

I hate winter. I feel like I need to say that again. I HATE winter. Witness, by my conspicuous use of all-caps, just how much I hate it.

Where some people see a winter wonderland, I see only the slushy sidewalk that ruined my favourite pair of lace-up boots. Where most city-goers look forward to downhill skiing and other winter sports, I can only think of my poor pent-up motorbike, forced to hibernate for almost half the year in a cold and lonely garage, unridden. How tragic is that?! Some creatures just need to be free, yo.

Plus in the winter you can't go anywhere without suffering from the cold at some point. Montréal has plenty of underground malls and subway stations and things, but no matter how well you time your travels you're going to end up shivering at a bus stop eventually, or accidentally stepping into an ice-cold slush puddle (RIP boots), or getting snowed on so hard you can't see across the street. Winter is balls, is what I'm saying.

So you can understand if I spend maybe more time than is strictly necessary standing at the window to the café and gazing wistfully up at the grey winter sky, sighing as I try to will the seasons to take that final turn into springtime. I guess the end of February is still a bit early for it, but a guy can dream.

"I need a vacation," I said this afternoon to no one in particular. "Somewhere warm. Tropical, maybe. I'll go to Puerto Rico. Mom, let's go to Puerto Rico."

From the table closest to the counter, my mom put down her paperback and said, "What?"

"I said let's go to Puerto Rico. To visit the motherland, you know."

"Ay, caramba. You don't even speak Spanish. I don't even speak Spanish. I've never even been."

"So let's go. Rediscover our roots."

"Our roots are here, baby," she said sagely. "Anyway, I was trying to convince your father to go for our fortieth wedding anniversary."

I turned around and put on my most Scandalized Son face. "That's in ages! And I can't go with you if it's your anniversary!"

"Well that's not on me, is it? Get a rich boyfriend and get him to take you."

"Problem solving," I sighed. "Just like my daddy taught me."

"If I'll have managed to teach you nothing else," my daddy said as he very inconveniently walked in.

It was just lucky Loriev was in the back doing dishes, because it is really annoying when my dad makes a jab like that in front of other people. As it was, all I had to give him was a face. You probably know the face. A kind of "how are you even my dad" face. He gave me a kind of "how are you even my son" face in return. That's me and my dad in a nutshell.

"I seem to recall you forbidding me from ever touching the solderer for the rest of my life."

"I seem to recall you declaring you'd never be a jeweler anyway."

"Didn't want to make any competition for you," I said, which made my mother smile and my dad roll his eyes.

I abandoned the window to go fix my father's coffee, while he kissed the tip of my mother's nose and sat down with her. My parents are the kind of couple who have somehow managed to remain stupidly in love despite being together for over half their lives. And I mean disgustingly in love, the whole renewed wedding vows thing and everything. I'm pretty sure they would willingly kill a man for each other. I'm pretty sure they would kill a man together. They would for me too, I guess, but they kinda have to considering I'm their kid. When you're with someone, it's usually because you choose to be. You chose them out of a potentially infinite number of people. It's a lot more charged, somehow, if you ask me.