Paris and us

Chapter 21

I was in front of the door of my childhood house. It was a warm September afternoon. The trees on both side of the streets were still green, but some leaves got the orange edges. Strong winds were blowing. It was always windy in Montreal. I hesitated to ring the bell before I used my keys, so that I wouldn't give my dad an heart attack. I should have call him before, but I was afraid that I would cry in the phone.

I rang the bell and waited.

"What on earth are you doing here?" My dad looked at me in disbelief when he opened the door.

"I wanted to see you, dad. How are you?" I said.

"Well, you should have told me first! I could pick you up in the airport."

"Don't bother, taking taxi here is fast and easy. In 40 minutes and I am home. Unlike in Paris I would be stuck in the traffic jams for hours."

"Yes, jams in Paris is dreadful. How could they live like that?" He said while putting the water in the kettle. We were sitting our kitchen, the same kitchen I ate in everyday when I was a child. It smelt like roast chicken and coffee. It gave me comfort to be in this familiar place.

"They are building the REM trains connecting to the airport to here, it will soon be more convenient. Tea or coffee, darling?" He asked.

"Tea, with lemon and sugar, please. How are you, dad?"

"I am doing great. I play tennis or golf with Jean-Michel once a week. I am giving some lectures in the university this semester. Busy as usual. And you?"

"I got fired, no, I was told to resign because I reported a suspicious transaction to the upper management," I shrugged.

"Do you want me to contact some friends in France to sue them?"

I laughed. "No dad, I am not here to find a lawyer. I will figure it out later. I will find a new job either in Paris or in Montreal. I have contacts already."

"I know you will handle it properly, but they have no right to make you resign, we have a strong case here. Did you record your meeting with your manager?"

"No, I didn't. My manager gave out nothing during the meeting anyway. It was an internal war between the two brothers, I was caught in-between, and the elder brother wanted to get rid of me."

"I see. We will find a lawyer if you need one, don't hesitate, OK?"

I nodded. We drank the rest of our tea in silence. My dad was not the talkative type. I wonder how could he be a lawyer. Perhaps he had talked so much at work that he had nothing left when he arrived home.

He turned 60 years old this year, his hair was all white now. He used to a handsome man with grey eyes and light brown hair. He looked like Yves Saint Laurent when he was younger, and he still wore the black frame glasses. He always dressed in shirts with black or navy blue cashmere sweaters and suit pants, even on the weekends. I was sure that many women would still find him attractive and charming now, I wondered why did he remain single all these years, but I did not dare to ask him. We were the type of father-daughter who shared our problems and secrets. He did not have tea-party with me or let me pain his toe nails. He was the old fashioned father figure with subtle affection. He did not give me his opinions unless I asked him to. He let me choose my own path and live my own life. When I decided to move to Paris, he said nothing except wishing me good luck. He did not even come to Paris to visit me once. When the news articles talked about the helicopter or snowplow parents who got involved in all aspects of their children's lives, I felt lucky to have my dad who let me learn to live freely and independently.