“It’s 6 a.m.,” he grumbled, lifting the phone and wiping sleep from his eyes. He wasn’t a fan of early mornings, especially not surprise ones, but he’d answer Julie’s call no matter the hour.
“Thank God,” she snapped. “I was starting to get seriously worried something had happened to you.” Her tone was so unlike her usual chipper self that it had Matthieu sitting bolt upright in bed.
He checked the screen. One missed call.
“I was asleep. What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
“You should already know, Matthieu. Oakridge has been trying to reach you for hours, but said the calls wouldn’t go through. They finally called me because they couldn’t get a hold of Mom’s emergency contact.”
Shit. Matthieu’s heart skipped a beat. “Mom?”
“She had a heart attack yesterday evening. Mom had a heart attack, and I had to find out from strangers while I‘m stuck on the other side of the world.” The slight tremor in her voice hit like a punch to the gut. “She’s been lying alone in a hospital all night because no one could reach you.”
Matthieu knew what it was like being on the other end of those calls—the helpless ache of being thousands of miles away. He’d taken his fair share of them while at college in Michigan. Like back then, it was Julie making the call—sharing the bad news, carrying the emotional toll of their mother’s decline. And she wasn’t even here. She was supposed to be getting a much-needed break, but once again, Matthieu had let her down.
“She’s… okay, right?”
“She had a fucking heart attack. Of course she’s not okay.” Julie paused, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out on a long sigh.
It was fucked up that Matthieu didn’t even know which answer he wanted more. A good son would be desperate to know his mother was alive, begging for a full recovery. So why did an overwhelming part of him hope for the complete opposite?
“She’s alive, if that’s what you were asking. Where have you been, Matthieu? What’s going on?”
Wasn’t that a loaded question?
“I… shit, Julie, I…” It was almost too shameful to admit. “I blocked their number a week ago.”
“Blocked? Why the fuck would you block their number?”
He untangled the sheets from his legs and slipped out of the bed, padding over to pull on a pair of sleep shorts and a T-shirt he’d left folded on the dresser. This wasn’t a conversation he’d planned to have today, but there was no escaping it now. Matthieu hoped Julie had it in her to be understanding.
“I’m a little late on this month’s payment. I just needed them off my back for a few days—once I get paid again, I’ll square up.” He tried to sound even, unaffected. The soft, broken noise Julie made on the other end cracked what little resolve he had left. “I didn’t… I didn’t know this would happen. I didn’t think…”
“Didn’t think? Matthieu, you always think.” She let out a long sigh. “What do you mean you didn’t make the payment? I thought things were good. You said you’d handled it.”
“I have been.”
“Obviously…”
Matthieu cut her off. “Julie, I just paid thousands so you could stay in France an extra semester. Money doesn’t grow on trees. I had to move some things around to make that happen, and one of those things was Mom’s bill. It’s only a few days late. Not a big deal. It’s happened before.”
Almost every month, in fact. Matthieu really shouldn’t have admitted that. Now Julie would be in Paris, worrying, feeling guilty, wanting to come home, convinced she was a burden.
Maybe if Julie hadn’t woken him at the crack of dawn. Maybe if he hadn’t been paralyzed by indecision about whether or not to rush to his mother’s side. Maybe if he didn’t hate himself for even questioning something with such an obvious answer… maybe then he would have told Julie anything but the truth. Instead, he’d come right out and said it, tarnishing the first taste of freedom Julie had ever had.
“You could have told me no. If I’d known things were difficult, I never would have asked to stay longer. You should have been honest with me.”
“I could have. But we both know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy, Julebug.”
“Even if it meant sacrificing Mom? That’s fucked up, Matthieu.”
I'd sacrifice literally anything for you.“I’m doing my best…”
“Well, it’s not good enough.”
“Fuck off.” The words tore from Matthieu’s chest before he could shove them back down. He gripped the phone harder, fingers aching, thumb twitching against the plastic case as he forced himself to keep it steady.
Anxiety clawing at the edges of his mind, slithering up from his gut and cinching tight around his chest like a vice, stealing the air from his lungs. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing—it only made the sensation worse, more suffocating. Years of guilt, worry, and stress simmered beneath the surface, a storm he wasn’t sure he could hold back much longer. He had to get off the phone before it all boiled over. Before Julie was forced to take the brunt of it.
