by Rae Earl
Mum shouts, “You won’t! It’s completely safe and totally exhilarating!”
You won’t die! In fact, I bet if Dave fell from here, she’d still land the right way up! Don’t worry, she’s not here, we won’t try it!
Cindy puts her thumb up. “Great! That’s a wrap on the tower!”
When my mum comes back in, she gives me a huge hug. She is buzzing with excitement. “What’s next?!” she yells.
Cindy’s eyes go wide. “Niagara Falls!”
#Falls
When we get to Niagara Falls, I realize that not even Erin Breeler could manage to look fashionable in a disposable clear poncho. It is beautiful, though, even though I don’t like water. We REALLY get wet and I do an amazing vlog from behind the waterfall. Cindy says it’s fantastic and that she’s going to forward all of what we’ve done today to Lydia Portancia for her to edit.
There’s just one final place to visit.
“Here’s Yonge Street,” Cindy says, clearly unimpressed. She gets the phone out and starts filming. Mum smiles at me. She knows that this is important to me.
I’m doing this vlog to Hashtag Help my friend Bradley. He wanted me to visit Yonge Street, which, for you transport geeks, is the longest road in the world. Some people say it’s just a street because a highway takes over, but anyway, for you, Bradley, here is an incredibly long road.
With stuff.
This ends on the border with the USA, I think, but I can’t be bothered to walk that far, as tomorrow I am visiting my boyfriend. YAY!
“And that’s a wrap!” Cindy shouts. “What a great day! Well done both! Let’s go back to the hotel for some eats.”
#RuinMyPrawn
Back at the hotel we eat a huge plate of seafood. I’m just about to demolish a prawn when Danny messages me.
See you tomorrow. Can’t wait. You won’t be vlogging, will you? X
Why doesn’t Danny want me to vlog? I show the message to Mum. Mum raises her eyebrows. “He does realize how we got here? I mean, you’ll have to do something! Tourism Toronto paid for everything and Cindy is a single mother!”
Cindy nods. “I can do pieces with your mum from the spots that we visit and you can just do a little vlog at the end about what a beautiful day you’ve had with your boyfriend and how much you love Toronto. And if you can slip in that Maple Airlines brings people together, that would be good!”
I think I can do all that. I can’t wait to see Danny, but I still have my doom stomach. What if we see each other and realize we were a huge mistake?
I eat another squid ring. That’s the sensible thing to do. Until I remember Lauren told me that cephalopods are really intelligent and can open jars with their tentacles. Even when Lauren isn’t with me, her trivia is. I eat some salad instead. Lettuce deserves to die.
#CoolMum
The next morning (it is the next morning today!), I wake up and read the comments on our first Canadian vlog.
Your mum is seriously cool
(I know.)
#Feministwarrior
(I know they mean Mum.)
#MissDave
(So do I.)
I love your relationship. It’s like you are mother and daughter but also friends.
(I think we are.)
Bit ungrateful Millie! Hang off the tower! Good old Mum!
(I do regret it now. And yes, good old Mum.)
Thanks for my road x
(Bradley!)
Basically, my mum is a powerhouse, I am pathetic, and Bradley is lovely.
There. Right there. That’s the feeling that makes me feel guilty, that’s the feeling that makes me confused. And that’s the feeling that I have when Cindy says, “It’s time to go and see your boyfriend, Millie!”
It’s time. I get out the present that I’ve brought Danny (a multipack of his favorite chips), and we get in the car.
#Danny
We drive forever. Eventually we find Danny’s house. It’s HUGE, like everything else in Toronto. I never realized Danny’s family was this rich. Not that it makes a difference to me, but he must have thought we lived in a shed compared to him.
I see Danny in what I think is his bedroom window. He smiles from ear to ear and races down to greet me. His mum opens the front door. “Millie!” she shouts. “Welcome to Canada!” Mrs. Trudeau gives my mum and Cindy the thumbs-up sign, they drive off, and the next thing I know, it’s just me and Danny.
He looks LUSH. He gives me a hug and it lasts forever, but it’s the sort of hug that you give to a friend. We kiss, too, but it all feels a bit wrong.
It’s not Danny feeling this. It’s me. I still like Danny loads, but …
“This is hard, isn’t it?” Danny says.
I put my head down. “Yeah, but why? We were so good together, and ever since you’ve been here, it’s just felt like you’ve…”
“Changed?” Danny says.
“Yeah!” I reply. “But I don’t think you have. I think I might have! Which may make me horrible and selfish, but I don’t think I want to go out with someone I can only see once a year.”
Danny does a half laugh.
“Millie. I have never met anyone like you, and I think you’re great, but…”
I get it. For the first time I understand what my stomach had been trying to tell me. I think I had to be with Danny in the flesh for the right words to appear in my head.
“This can’t really work, can it, Danny? You’re Zan and I’m not. Plus you’re Zan on another continent.”
“No,” Danny says sadly, “it can’t.”
I stand up and look out of the window.
We are both very sensible. Far too sensible.
“I wish I’d saved this conversation till later, though. Now we’ve got eight hours of being together and knowing that we are breaking up. Sorry!”
With that, Danny and I both start to cry. Eventually, after a huge sob on each other’s shoulders, Danny says, “Look! Why don’t I take you around the neighborhood? We can still have a good day! I can show you some sights. We can still be … friends!”
And that’s what we do. Danny shows me his school, his skate park, and the ice hockey rink. We talk a bit about his uncle (scary, but would be good in a war), we talk about bears (scary, and also good in a war—LAUREN WAS RIGHT!), we laugh about lots of things, and we eat noodles.
But when my mum eventually comes to pick me up, Danny and I are still splitting up.
“Bye, Mills,” he says on his porch. “Let’s still talk, but, you know.”
I do know.
“Danny, I have to ask. Is there anyone else?”
Danny looks at his feet and shuffles them a bit. “Nah. Just you. Honestly. I’ve been in a forest for ages. No girls there and, anyway, after this, I’m going to take my time.”
I sigh. “Me, too.”
Danny waves me good-bye, I get in the car, Mum says, “How was it, darling?” and I start to sob.
#Crying
It’s very embarrassing, crying in front of someone you don’t really know, but Cindy is very good about it and hands me lots of tissues.
Mum and Cindy let me cry all the way back to the hotel. When we are finally back in our room, Mum gives me a huge hug and lets me cry some more.
“I don’t know why I’m so upset. It was a joint decision,” I tell her.
Mum cuddles me even tighter. “Millie, that was SO brave of you. Forget hanging off of a building! You had the sense to realize that something wasn’t working and YOU SAID SO. Do you know how many people go through life not saying what they want?! They put up with things for YEARS. But no, not you—YOU are a feminist warrior—not me!”
That may be true, but how do you do a vlog thanking the company and building them up when you’ve had the worst time ever?
I ask Mum this question, and she says, “Don’t worry. I went white-water rafting today! They’ve got more than enough. And when we get home and you feel better—you can do something then! Let’s have a great last day just doing what we
want!”
My mum is amazing. I’m glad everyone on YouTube realizes it.
#Blur
The rest of the Canada trip goes by in a blur. We shop on the last day, we say good-bye to Cindy, and we fly home. This is a really ungrateful thing to say, but it all feels a bit flat. Lydia Portancia says that Tourism Toronto is really happy and that it’s “just the beginning” for me, but on our first day back at home, there’s one tiny problem. I don’t feel like vlogging. Ever again.
Not even Dave leaping into my arms or Loz saying that she’s missed me so much that she’s had “physical leg pains” makes me feel any more like doing it. I don’t feel like telling the world that Danny and I are no more—so I don’t. I know I will get trolled by people telling me that I was “batting way out of my league” or that I’m a “spoiled brat.” Honestly, I wish someone would just vlog it for me.
I do the sensible thing. I go to bed. My phone is downstairs, and I don’t even care. It can stay there tonight. I have my cat, and that’s all I need.
#HelpHijack
When I wake up the next day, I feel a bit better. It’s nice to be back in my own bed, and I feel like I can cope with life a bit more. I feel like I could even vlog. I go downstairs to check my phone, but then something very strange happens.
Mum karate-chops it away from my hands.
“What are you doing?” I shout.
Mum looks down. “Millie, I had a glass of wine last night and it made me feel a bit brave. I did something. I think it was the right thing to do, but … have a look!”
Mum holds up my phone.
It’s on my vlogging account and there’s a new upload on it that I didn’t do.
Mum grimaces and presses PLAY. The video starts. It’s Mum sitting on the couch with Dave. She starts talking.
Hashtag Hello! Sorry, I mean Hashtag Help! Hello, it’s Millie’s mum here. Look, Millie is a bit upset. Can I be candid? She and Danny have broken up. There was no drama. There was no infidelity. They were just two young people who live miles away from each other.
Look, I’m old-fashioned, but generally in relationships it’s really good to be able to see people. To hug them. To kiss them. To talk to them. This (she points to the phone) world is great, but you need to catch some germs, people!!
Loads of you are going to be terrified of the real world. I was hospitalized with anxiety when I was young. It’s not a new thing to be scared, you know. And things don’t always work out with boys. Or girls. Gay or straight, it doesn’t matter. If other humans are involved, it can get messy.
Dave and I get each other, don’t we, Dave?
Mum strokes Dave—and pulls a disgusted face at the amount of hair that she pulls out, but carries on.
Anyway. That’s it. My daughter is lovely. Leave comments if you like, but I’m not going to read them. I’ve got a new boyfriend, and I go back to work in a few days.
Mum stares at me. I think she wants me to say something, but I don’t know what to say. Then, all of a sudden, I go off like a volcano and my lava starts to flow.
#Fury
“What did you think you were doing, Mum? You hijacked my vlog and now everyone knows that me and Danny have split up!”
Mum knows she’s stepped over the line and gets all shouty.
“BUT, it means that you don’t have to announce it to everyone and—read the comments—everyone thinks you and me are amazing!”
I put my head in my hands. “It’s MY vlog, Mum. You even said you weren’t going to read the comments and you have. It wasn’t YOUR news to announce. This vlog has been about ME being ME and Dave being Dave. That’s what I’ve been fighting for! You were tired. You had a Chardonnay, and then you got brave, and—”
Just as I’m getting in my stride, Aunty Teresa calls.
“Ignore it,” Mum yells. “This is important!”
I remember where I was. “Yeah. You basically shouldn’t have done it.”
Teresa calls again. We ignore it again.
“Millie, it’s not all about you. I hate all this fake stuff on these places. It helps no one. In fact—”
Teresa calls again.
“Teresa, WHAT?!” Mum yells into the phone.
I hear Teresa say something quite quietly.
“What?” Mum says.
I can tell it’s something serious, so I go to ask. Mum does the scary-face-flappy-arm thing that tells you to shut up.
She finally finishes the call. She goes to pick up her car keys.
“Okay, Millie, sweetheart. Teresa thinks Granddad has had a stroke.”
“A stroke? Doesn’t your brain bleed or something?” I ask.
“Yes. It can,” Mum says very calmly. “Teresa noticed his speech was slurred and his right side was weak. She worked out that he hadn’t been to anywhere tropical recently and probably didn’t have an exotic disease. Teresa decided that he was probably having a stroke.”
“Is he going to be okay?” I whisper.
“Honestly, I don’t know. Let’s go to the hospital,” Mum says. She puts her arm around me and we get into the car. An argument about a vlog seems pretty stupid right now.
#AandE
On the way to the hospital, every song on the radio is annoying and Mum and I hardly say a word to each other. When we get to the emergency room, Aunty Teresa is there and she looks terrible. We both give her a huge hug and sit down in the bright-green plastic chairs. I text Dad, Loz, and Bradley. It’s funny who pops into your head at times like these.
We wait for a long time—there is lots of coughing and sneezing. Teresa tries to diagnose everyone and Mum gets annoyed. “I was just trying to take my mind off everything,” Teresa says sadly.
Mum holds her hand and says, “I understand. Sorry.”
Eventually a doctor comes out. She is lovely. She gathers us around and says, “It does look like a minor stroke. Who was with him?”
Teresa raises her hand. “Well, it was your quick thinking that got him here so we could get him stable. Well done.”
I smile at Teresa. She’s genuinely a medical expert.
“It’ll be a long road,” the doctor explains, “but he should be okay. He’ll need physiotherapy. Some tough talking. It’s not going to be easy. He’s already tried to discharge himself twice. Until he realized that his leg was unable to work. He also kept calling me a nurse, but I put that down to him having a minor brain injury.”
I know this is not the reason, but I don’t say anything as I don’t want to “out” Granddad as a sexist. He is trying. He’s just from a generation of men who were told that women should stay at home and believed it. Probably because it suited them.
“Don’t worry,” Mum says. “We’ll make sure he does as he’s told. Can we see him?”
The doctor thinks for a moment. “Give us about twenty minutes to get him really comfortable, then yes.”
In that time, Lauren messages me with every link to every page about strokes in the history of the Internet. She also texts me about stroke rehabilitation. Apparently, it’s good to keep the brain active with trivia.
I think I’ll be seeing even more of Lauren than normal. And that’s a great thing.
#FINE
Twenty minutes later, Granddad is telling us he is fine even though we have to scratch his nose for him because his arm isn’t working properly. Dad has called about sixteen times and Aunty Teresa keeps telling him that he doesn’t need to come back from Ibiza. Granddad is going to be fine, Teresa says, because she has it “completely taken care of.” She tells us that she is going to use “conventional therapy and some herbal remedies.”
Even through a brain injury, Granddad manages to pull the face of “not on your life, Teresa.”
Granddad looks at me. His voice is slurred, but you can still understand him. “Come here, Mills. I can see that you’re worried … don’t be. I can’t promise you that I’ll be around forever but I don’t think I’m going tonight. And don’t worry, I won’t let Teresa finish me off, either!�
�
This makes me laugh. It seems wrong to be happy at a time like this, but my giggle makes Granddad smile.
“Millie,” he whispers, “can you bring me my book of flags, please? I’d like to make sure I can still beat you while I’m stuck in here.”
I nod.
“We’ll go now,” Mum says. “You need to rest, Granddad, and Teresa is a great nurse.”
Teresa beams with pride. Granddad just looks a bit worried. I promise to get his book for him and Mum and I go back to the car.
Mum looks at me. “It’s all a bit crazy at the moment, isn’t it, Lady Boleyn.”
I look at her with my eyes wide. That doesn’t even cover it.
I check my phone. Lydia Portancia has e-mailed me.
Millie! Sorry to hear about you and Danny, but your mum’s vlog is genius. It opens us up to all sorts of new audiences. Please feel free to include her and Dave as much as you like. We’ll all just get bigger and bigger together!
L xxxxx
I show Mum. “Oh! Five kisses.” Mum smiles. “She loves you at the moment!”
I fire an e-mail back to Lydia.
Hello Lydia,
I hope you understand, but I’m not really interested in trying to get bigger right now. If viral happens, it happens. My granddad’s ill and I want to concentrate on him and use the vlog for fun. I’m fine where I am. I just want to enjoy it and be me. I know your other clients will keep you busy. I’ll be in touch if I need any help.
Thanks,
Millie
I read the e-mail out to Mum and ask her if I’m a feminist warrior. Mum smiles and replies, “Millie. You are BRUTAL. You’re learning. I bet she messages you back within thirty minutes.”
I don’t think I care if she does right now. I’m not going to fully commit myself to never caring about Lydia Portancia ever again obviously, but, at the moment, she’s not high on my list. In fact, she’s low on my chart of life stuff.
