It was a beautiful summer morning when we set out for the long drive. We’d have to go east for forty-five minutes to Toronto, then turn north on highway 400. From there, it was about four hours north on main roads, then an additional forty minutes on back roads to reach the lake, but the trade-off was total seclusion, with only four or five other cottages on that lake. In Muskoka, the place traditionally thought-of as Toronto’s cottage country, the old cottages were being replaced by massive mansions owned by the rich, and Lake Rosseau had been colonized by big city money, but further north it was still quiet, backwoodsy and traditional.
The eleven of us set out in three cars, with me driving Walt’s SUV loaded with food and other supplies. Vanessa was riding shotgun and Carson was in the backseat. We gave directions to the other two drivers and told them we’d see them there — Monique was driving Becky, Natalie and Laura, and Mark was driving Priya, Michelle and Jason.
Once we were out on the open highway, Carson promptly fell asleep in the backseat.
“He’s out quickly,” I commented. We’d barely left the city.
“He does that,” Vanessa said airily.
“I’m not prying, but just so I don’t put my foot in my mouth, is he your boyfriend?” I asked. “We still haven’t really been properly introduced. And despite what your Dad said last month about being allowed to have boyfriends sleep over, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him spend the night.”
“We haven’t put a label on it, but no, I wouldn’t say it’s a relationship.”
I let her response hang for a moment.
“It’s purely sexual,” she added. “I don’t exactly want to have that conversation with Dad, which is probably why we’re still sneaking around a little. Not that that’s any of your business.”
“I’m not here to judge. I was only wondering about sleeping arrangements.” The cottage was a tiny, 1930’s shack, with only three rooms — a small kitchen and dining area, a living room, and one bedroom with a single queen bed. There wasn’t even a bathroom — when the cottage had been built, there had been an outhouse and no electricity or running water. Now there was a flush toilet and shower, but it was in a small adjacent building constructed where the outhouse had once been.
When the four of us stayed over as a family, Vanessa and I generally slept in the living room on the futon and in a sleeping bag. When the entire extended family stayed, people slept in sleeping bags wherever they could find a spot, or pitched tents on the lawn.
“Yeah, I’d thought about it,” Vanessa said. “I was thinking Carson and I would take the bed and you could have the futon, since you’re unattached. I told everyone else to bring sleeping bags. Michelle and Jason brought a tent, because they’re going to want some privacy at some point or other.”
“So I get to sleep on a futon surrounded by six other people?” I asked.
“I don’t care if someone sleeps on the floor in the bedroom,” she answered, “as long as we have some private time at some point. I imagine Monique will want to have sex with Becky too, and I don’t mind letting her use the bedroom. Nobody else coming is together.”
“What about Mark and Priya?”
“Not a couple. Mark is Priya’s gay best friend.”
I nodded. I’d wondered if he was gay, but I hadn’t had enough interaction with him to confirm my suspicions.
“And you didn’t have any other guy friends you could have invited?” she continued. “We’ve got a bunch of single ladies coming. No offence, but you’re the only single straight guy coming, and I don’t exactly want any more of my friends hooking up with you. It’s bad enough that you slept with Laura.”
The image of Kirsten’s round white ass bouncing against my crotch as I fucked her from behind, a knot of her blonde hair clenched in my fist, flashed into my head. I said a silent thank you to fate that Vanessa clearly hadn’t found out about it. I then thought of Natalie. This would be the first time I’d be seeing her since last summer, and I was excited, but I also didn’t know if any opportunities were going to present themselves to do anything on the down low; that is, if she even was the mystery crush. Monique still hadn’t let slip who it was she’d meant.
“The weekend’s gonna be a total clambake.” Vanessa’s interjection interrupted my thoughts.
“Clambake?”
“The all-girl version of a sausage party.”
I laughed. “I did invite my roommates, for the record. Steve and Clarence couldn’t make it with working, and Tom decided he wasn’t making the seven-hour drive alone just to hang out with a bunch of people he’d never met.”
“I can’t fault him for that. What about your high school friends?”
“Jon’s going to school in Calgary and is staying there for the summer, Mike and I never hung out one-on-one and we don’t have a reason to see each other without the whole group, and Ian’s gotten into drugs the past few years. It’s sad what’s happening to him, but he’s not the same guy I used to be friends with anymore.”
“That’s really sad.”
“It is. I’d be willing to pick up a friendship with him again if he ever got clean, but from what I’ve heard he’s just gone further down that road since I last saw him.”
“It’s tragic how people who meant something to you just can drift out of your life,” Vanessa observed. “I’m lucky my old friends are still all on good terms. I mean, I’ve been friends with Laura since the second grade. Family’s different, though, isn’t it? You know they’ll always be there, whether or not that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“Which one am I?” I asked her, point-blank.
“I’m starting to come around to ‘neutral thing’.”
“Likewise.”
We sat in silence for a moment as I navigated the heavy Saturday morning Toronto traffic.
“It’s been, what, seven years now we’ve been in each other’s lives?,” I finally continued. “We’ve lived in the same house for five, but we still hardly speak to each other. I’ve gotten to know a few of your friends better the last two months, and they’re amazing people, but that hasn’t meant getting to know you any differently.”
“Yeah.” Another long pause descended. “I’m sorry, Peter. There’s a lot of history between us. I’m not going to start to trust you just by snapping my fingers. You never treated me with any interest or respect until recently.”
“I know.” I took a deep breath. “As long as I could remember, it was just me and Mom. I knew growing up that other kids had a mommy and a daddy, and brothers and sisters, and I didn’t care, because I had Mom and she had me. We were a team, even when I was little. She always treated me as an equal, not in an inappropriate, oversharing way, but, like… she wanted my opinions, she taught me to trust myself and my judgment.
“Then, after having that for the first fourteen years of my life, suddenly she had a boyfriend. I was so protective of her. I didn’t want her to get hurt. And I was hostile to your dad at first, I’ll freely admit that. I barely even knew you existed; I didn’t care about Walt and I wasn’t interested in learning about the twelve-year old kid that was attached to him.
“They eventually moved in together, we gave up our apartment and moved into your house. I told Mom I didn’t want to go. I didn’t take a stand often, because she respected my opinions even back then and tried to accommodate them, but I did on that. And for the first time in my life, when I stood up and strongly objected to something, I told her that I didn’t like this and didn’t think she should do it, she ultimately went ahead and did it anyway.