“And what is the code word?”
“Firefly,” he says against my neck.
A little of my panic fades, and I draw back to tame his unruly locks with my fingers. “You will have so much fun this week, Mateen. But I will miss you every minute. You are my whole world, and I love you.”
His big brown eyes water, and he sucks his lower lip between his teeth. The tremor only lasts a single breath before there’s a knock at the door. Then, his boundless excitement returns. He leaps from the couch, stopping only when I call his name.
“Mateen, check the camera first!”
“It’s Philippe,” he says, flipping the locks and throwing the door open.
The boys start talking so quickly, I can barely understand a word they say. After I swipe at my tears, I offer Amelie a wobbly smile. “You will watch out for him?”
She kisses me on both cheeks, then wraps her arms around me.“Oui,Lisette. And I will call you every night so you can talk to him.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. Not long after the two boys met last year, I told Amelie and her husband Laurent a little about our past. Though I do not let Mateen have an email account, mobile phone, or any social media, not all parents are so strict.
“You spoke to the teachers too?” Amelie peers over her shoulder and nods as Laurent picks up Mateen’s backpack.
“At the beginning of term. They know to keep his face out of any photos that will be shared, and they will speak to the other chaperones.” I run a hand through my hair, feeling silly for insisting on all these rules. “It has been three years. I do not think there is anything to worry over, but…”
“You are protecting him. Do not feel guilty. I would do the same.” We embrace once more, and Amelie turns to the boys, who have their heads bent together, practicing the few Spanish phrases they have learned in the past three weeks. “Mateen, say goodbye to your maman. We do not want to be late for the bus!”
He runs over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and squeezing tightly. “Love you! Bye!”
In the space of a minute, they are gone. What am I supposed to do with myself now?
* * *
I scrubbedthe floors until I could see my reflection in the tile, went through Mateen’s dresser for all the clothes he’s grown out of in the past few months, paid the bills, and pruned the plants on the patio.
The bus ride to Barcelona is a little over five hours, and they should be arriving shortly. So I open a bottle of Orangina and pull out my phone.
Mon Dieu!Over thirty new emails?
They all have the same subject:You have a match request.
What? I open the first one. A man’s face stares back at me. He is in his thirties. A wide smile. Blue eyes.
Etienne wants to hear from you. Open a chat in the EuroMatch app.
Each message is from a different man. Jules. Baptiste, Alain. Benoit.
After the fifth one, I am shaking.
“Noele…what did you do?”
My heart hammers against my ribs as I install the app and go through the steps to recover a lost password and log in.
A full profile stares back at me.
Lisette M.
Age: Forty-one.
Lives in: Toulouse.
Interested in: Men.
