I turned away from my sister and straight into the eyes of my father. I was twenty-six years old. It was Christmas, 2017.
"So turns out, it was just a faulty ski binding. I didn't know that it was broken until we drove all the way home. Ingrid insisted I go to the hospital." Dad looked around the dinner table at everyone listening to his story.
For a split-second, I remembered back to that day. It was the same day as my vision. Same day, same time. Lunchtime.
More stories made the rounds, with various family members piping up to tell their tale of funny mishaps.
"And then there was brother Bradley," Dad chimed in again. "He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hit on his motorbike by a drunk driver in an unregistered vehicle. Talk about bad luck."
Luck is an illusion, I thought. There are no coincidences in the universe.
"Yeah," I grimaced. "So unlucky. How's he doing?"
"Oh, he's fine. He keeps talking about buying a fishing boat, or something. He likes his boats. But I think Phuket is treating him well."
"Speaking of boats," Uncle Greg said as he turned to me. "You haven't come out on the Nikki Dee yet!"
Alex piped up from across the table. "I can't believe you named your boat after Nikki. The Alex Dee sounds way better."
"I beg to differ!" Hamish said. "The Hamish Dee is a majestic name for a vessel of that caliber."
My youngest brother, Callum, laughed. "Nah. Jesse was the king of naming boats. Nacho Cheese. What an epic name."
My mother's ears pricked up across the table. "Oh, Jesse," she sighed. "How is he doing? Is everything going well?"
"Yeah, I think so," I said. "I think he just moved to Paris, or is planning on moving from Toulouse to Paris, or something. I haven't spoken to him in a while."
"Oh, yes," Nan said. "He was such a lovely fellow."
