21. His father called every Sunday without fail, except for once.
"Hello, Papa," Jeremie says. He sits in his room and stares at the gray walls and muted carpet. He feels a sudden, sharp pang of homesickness in his stomach and has to swallow hard around the feeling. "How are you?"
"Just fine, Jeremie," his father replies. His voice is warm and strong over the connection. It's 7:30 in the morning and Jeremie can almost picture his father sitting at the kitchen table, newspaper spread out over the tabletop and coffee in front of him. "How was your first week?"
"It was alright." He lays back on his bed and stares at the off-white ceiling.
"Jeremie."
"It was," he insists, hating the ache in his voice. "I like my teachers, and the classes are good. The food is alright too, and we have our first robotics club meeting next week."
Jeremie hears the sounds of doors opening and closing, footsteps slogging by outside his door. Other students heading to the bathrooms or downstairs to the cafeteria. His father hums. "And the other students?"
Jeremie shrugs, even though his father can't see him. "Alright I suppose." He catches himself picking at the quilt beneath him and forces his hands to still. "I haven't really spoken to many of them."
"It will come," his father replies after a moment. "You're a bright boy, Jeremie. Sometimes you just get lost in your head too much."
Jeremie frowns. "I guess. There's another boy in my class who was interested in the robotics club. I think his name is Henri or Herve or something."
"That sounds promising." There's another pause and when his father speaks again there's that familiar sly tone to his voice. Jeremie knows the expression he's wearing, the crooked smile one he would put on anytime he wanted to rile Jeremie or his mother up. "And gym? How is that?"
Jeremie groans loudly into the phone. "Terrible. The teacher is ridiculous and it might actually kill me."
His father laughs long and loud.
/
He misses his father's call because of a XANA attack and doesn't see the missed call until Sunday evening. He frowns, not sure if he'd called before or after the initial attack and Return. He's still not completely sure how the technology works with the Returns. Do electronic things reset, or just biological?
His father answers on the third ring and he can hear the sounds of pots and pans clattering on the other end. "Hello, Papa."
"Jeremie, how are you doing?"
"Jeremie's on the phone? Tell him hello for me while I finish cooking, Michel."
Jeremie smiles as he hears his mother's voice above the sounds of kitchen clatter. "I'm sorry I missed your call, I was busy. Tell Maman hello for me."
"Busy? At eight in the morning?"
Jeremie pauses. He hadn't thought on how to explain his early morning jaunt since he'd never been questioned on it before. "Uh, yeah, I guess." He gives one slow spin in his desk chair. "I was tutoring Ulrich before he had practice," he says finally.
"Ulrich?"
"A classmate," Jeremie replies. "He does sports stuff so if we study it has to be around his schedule."
"That's good. I'm glad to hear you're meeting people."
"Meeting people? Has Jeremie made a friend? Give me the phone, Michel."
"Jeremie, hold on, your mother wants to say hello."
Jeremie shakes his head, runs a thumbnail over the ridges of his corduroys as the phone is passed between his parents. "Jeremie?"
"Hello, Maman. How are you feeling?"
"I'm doing fine, Jeremie. Now, tell me all about your week. Have you made a new friend?"
Jeremie hesitates, scraping his thumbnail back and forth so that it rasps softly over the fabric. "Yeah, I guess," he says finally. "I made a couple of friends." It isn't quite the truth, but it isn't quite a lie, and it makes his mother happy. He tries not to feel guilty about it.
/
Jeremie stares at the phone as it rings. His stomach is in knots and he has to swallow hard to avoid vomiting into his wastepaper basket. He flips the phone open on the last ring and closes his eyes as he presses it to his ear.
"Hello, Papa."
"Jeremie." A pause and Jeremie can't tell what his father is thinking. "I received a call from your headmaster this morning."
"I know." He paces the room, tries to keep his mind on the conversation and not wandering to the computer. "I'm sorry."
"Your mother and I are happy you're making friends, Jeremie. But…" His father exhales slowly. "I know you're young and away from home. I did stupid things with my friends too. But vandalizing the school, Jeremie? That isn't like you."
"I know." He hates how soft his voice is, how it quavers slightly. It isn't like him, but the sooner he can get Aelita here the sooner he can stop worrying about attacks. "It won't happen again."
His father sighs again. "You're a good boy, Jeremie. You always have been. I told your mother you were staying for extra tutoring." Jeremie wonders if his mother bought it. "She's had a rough week and I didn't want to worry her."
"It's okay, Papa," he replies. "I'll tell Maman that it was for robotics." He taps a finger against the spacebar on his keyboard. "It'll let me get ahead for next term anyway, and I'll see you for the next holiday break."
"We love you, Jeremie. Just remember that, if you ever need to talk about something. We're a phone call away."
The words startle Jeremie and he frowns at the computer screen, presses the phone closer to his ear. "I know, Papa. Everything's fine, it was just a stupid mistake."
. . … . .
"How is your friend…Yumi?"
"Fine," Jeremie replies, drawing out the last syllable, confused. "Why?"
"Your mother was wondering."
Jeremie stares at his phone, partially in amusement but mostly in horror. "Papa! Yumi and I are friends. There's nothing, we're not…" He takes a breath while his father laughs. "She's a friend," he repeats, voice firm. "Almost like a sister. Anyway, she likes Ulrich."
"Uh huh."
Jeremie sits there, flushed and tongue-tied for the rest of the call. His father simply laughs.
/
"Your aunt and uncle are thinking of enrolling Patrick at Kadic."
"What?"
Jeremie jerks, tearing his attention from the computer screen. He'd let his thoughts drift while his father had been going on about things back home and he'd stopped really listening once he'd moved on from discussing his mother's latest doctor visit. Patrick and Kadic were enough to drag him forcefully back from thoughts of materialization programs though.
"They've heard how much you're enjoying it, how well you're doing, and think it may be a good fit for Patrick. It might be nice to have a familiar face."
Jeremie scowls. "I suppose." He can't summon any enthusiasm to his voice. "But I'm alright. I have friends."
"Jeremie, I know you and Patrick have had your differences lately, but he's still your cousin. He's always asking about you. Be nice to him."
Jeremie kicks at the ground and breathes out. "Yeah, okay. Of course I'll be nice." He can't refrain from grumbling, "as long as he is."
"Jeremie."
/
"I should be arriving around ten tomorrow," Jeremie says.
"Your mother has an appointment at eight, but I can send your aunt Sophie if we're running late."
Jeremie lets himself twirl in his desk chair. "Another one?"
"You know doctors, they always ask for one more test, one more scan. She's so excited to see you tomorrow, Jeremie."
"Me too," Jeremie admits. He hasn't seen his parents in four months and he misses them. Misses his mother plunking at the piano or singing as she cooks. Misses going on rides with his father to his various job sites. "To see both of you."
"We'll do something special for your first night back, what do you want for supper?"
Jeremie doesn't even have to think. "Maman's onion soup," he says. His father laughs at that, it's warm and rich and Jeremie's heart aches at the sound. He hasn't heard his father laugh in a while. He hadn't realized he'd missed it.
"She'll be happy to hear that. Get some sleep. We'll see you tomorrow, mon petit chou."
. . … . .
"So, classes were cancelled Friday because Odd managed to bubble wrap all of the hallways in the academic and administrative buildings."
"This is your friend from Norway?"
"Yeah," Jeremie replies. He rolls his eyes but can't suppress the smile. "It was pretty funny watching the headmaster trying to storm across a bubble wrapped floor. Every step was pop-pop-pop."
"How much trouble did your friend get into?"
"Oh, a month of detention and he has to help clean it all up. They're making a mistake with that last one. I'm sure Odd will just keep part of the bubble wrap to reuse later." His father is quiet and Jeremie's smile fades a bit. "Papa?"
"Did I ever tell you about how your uncle Marcel and I poured water all over the school floors one winter and left the windows open? Completely froze the building so that there was a thin sheet of ice."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes. Your grand-mère was called down to the school. Your uncle and I had to spend all day cleaning it up."
"How did they know it was you?"
His father chuckles quietly. "Your uncle Marcel isn't the sharpest tool in the shed. He thought it would be fun to tell his friends about it. By the time class started the whole school knew it was us."
Jeremie smiles wryly. "I couldn't picture you doing something like that?"
"If you'd asked your grand-mère, Marcel and I were hellions."
Jeremie thinks of his quiet-natured father with his deep laugh and crooked smile. "Yeah, maybe I can believe that."
/
Jeremie is in bed when his father calls Sunday morning. It's early, but Jeremie's been up since even earlier, when the sky outside was still bleeding into dawn. His eyes are itchy and dry, dry, dry. He blinks as he answers the phone.
"Hello, Papa."
"Good morning, Jeremie."
They fall into silence and Jeremie listens to the harsh rasp of his father's breathing. He stares up at the patterns of shadows on his ceiling. It's the first Sunday he's been back at school since… He shifts his attention away from that thought.
"How was your week?" his father asks finally, falling gratefully into the traditional beginning to their Sunday conversations.
Jeremie breathes in deeply through his nose. He doesn't know how to answer. His stomach is hollow and his throat is choked and he hates this helpless feeling. "It was alright," he says after a moment. "The teachers have been really supportive and are giving me extensions."
"That's good, that's good."
They lapse into silence again and Jeremie wonders suddenly if this is it. Will he and his father's conversations be doomed to this stilted small talk? The hole left by his mother feels large and gaping, feels insurmountable. He's bested a computer virus bent on world dominance but he's seemed to have lost the ability to speak to his father.
"Jeremie, I know this is hard for me, for you, but it will get better."
Jeremie sucks in another breath, the air feels wetter than it did moments before, sucking at his lungs. He closes his eyes, feels some of the moisture leak out and slip down his cheeks. "Ulrich says that sometimes it doesn't."
His father inhales sharply. "I hope he's wrong."
"Yeah."
"Jeremie, you know I'm here for you, right? I'm not going anywhere."
"I know, Papa." He wants to believe the words, but he knows that isn't always the case. Just look at his mother.
/
"Mr. Spieker is an idiot."
"Jeremie."
"He is. I've had to meet with him every Wednesday for two months and all he keeps asking is how are you feeling and how does that make you feel." He snorts and rearranges his notebooks. "How is that supposed to help anything?"
"Clearly he wants you to talk about how you're feeling."
"I feel fine," Jeremie snaps. "It's not like we didn't know she was going to die anyway." Jeremie's fingers clutch at the spiral notebook in his hands, the metal coil biting into his palms. "Papa, I didn't…I mean…"
His father is silent for a while and Jeremie closes his eyes, lets his forehead thump down onto his desk.
"I didn't mean that," he says, voice quiet and small.
"It's okay if you did," his father replies. His voice is rough around the edges and Jeremie hates himself. "And it's okay to be angry. Speak with Mr. Spieker, even if it seems stupid, Jeremie. He just wants to help you."
Jeremie doesn't agree completely. Mr. Spieker always looks resigned and overly sympathetic when Jeremie steps into his office Wednesday afternoons. He doubts the man really wants to help, but he bites his tongue.
"Alright, Papa," he agrees, voice muffled against his desk.
. . … . .
"It was nice to meet your friend. I'm happy you invited her."
Jeremie still isn't quite sure what possessed him to invite Aelita along to his cousin Isabelle's wedding, but the invitation had been issued before he could overthink it. His family had all been present and inquisitive about Aelita. And Aelita had smiled and shined, eyes bright and friendly as she greeted everyone.
"Yeah, Aelita had fun." He stares at the photo on his computer that Patrick had emailed him earlier. It's him and Aelita sitting on a bench. Aelita has her head back as she laughs and Jeremie is staring at her like she's the only other person in the world. He isn't sure he likes how expressive his face is. "And it was great seeing everyone again."
"It was," his father replies. "Aelita is a sweet girl."
Jeremie bites his lip. "Papa?"
"She reminds me a lot of your mother when she was younger. Your mother's laugh could light up a whole room and she always wanted to learn more. You got that from her."
Jeremie's stomach twists. He remembers his mother's laugh. It was vivid and infectious, even when she was exhausted and drained from treatment.
"Aelita has that same drive about experiencing life full-on," his father adds after a moment.
Jeremie swallows. "Yeah, she does."
His father's tone is more serious when he speaks again. "Try not to let her slip away, mon petit chou."
Jeremie flushes, stares back at Patrick's email and the second photo he had sent. Aelita had pulled Jeremie onto the dance floor and was grinning at him as they danced. "I'll try, Papa."
. . … . .
"You should invite your friends around during one of your holidays."
"What?"
"I know we don't have a lot of room, but we can make do. It would be good to finally meet your friends."
Jeremie pulls the phone away to frown at it incredulously. "I'll, uh, ask. Usually they go home though. Only Yumi's local and they visit family during holiday breaks."
"Well, the offer's there."
There's a strange note to his father's voice and Jeremie can't place it. His frown deepens. "Yeah, okay, Papa."
. . … . .
"So, then we found out that Odd wasn't in chemistry because he apparently delivered a box of screws to the headmistress's office with no context."
"Screws?" his father asks.
"Yes," Jeremie replies, shaking his head. "A cardboard box full of screws of various sizes."
"Why screws?"
Jeremie snorts. "Turns out he's been secretly unscrewing pieces of the school for who knows how long. Now that we're leaving he decided to give it to the new headmistress as a gift."
"And how much trouble is he in now?"
"Ulrich said it was a month of detention and the headmistress wants him to put them all back. Except Odd's been collecting these for ages, so he doesn't even remember where half of them go."
His father laughs at that and Jeremie smiles wryly. "Sounds like something your uncle Marcel would've done."
. . … . .
Jeremie frowns at the phone in his hand. No missed calls and it's eight at night. They've never had a set call-time before, but his father has never waited this long to call him before. Jeremie feels his stomach tighten. His father is alone at home, what if something had happened? What if something happened while he was at work?
He presses the speed dial for his father's cell phone, listens as it rings. It only takes two rings for the phone to connect. He can hear voices in the background before they're muted. He imagines they must've been from a television.
"Jeremie?" his father asks. He sounds surprised and worried and happy and Jeremie just feels confused. "Is everything alright?"
Jeremie huffs a breath, crosses his arms over his chest. "It's Sunday." He doesn't keep the accusation out of his voice. "You didn't call."
His father is silent for a moment. "Wasn't sure you'd want me to," he says finally. "You're at University now, Jeremie. It's time for me to let you start living your life."
Jeremie snorts indelicately. "I've only been here three days, classes haven't even started yet." He pauses, fiddles with the pens on his desk and stares out the window at the unfamiliar campus. "I got worried."
"I'm sorry, mon petit chou. How are you?"
Jeremie shrugs. "It's weird. I know I was at Kadic, so it shouldn't be weird, but it just…feels different."
"You're growing up, things change," his father agrees.
Jeremie can't help but wrinkle his nose at that. He hates that phrase. "How are you doing?" he asks instead, changing the topic.
They fall to talking about the family and his father's work. Patrick dropped out of university and followed a girl back to Tahiti. His aunt Sophie is still liable to burst into tears or a rant depending on what mood she's in when you bring it up. His uncle Marcel just laughs, which makes Aunt Sophie even more upset. His cousin Isabelle is expecting twins in the fall.
His father asks about his friends, about Yumi in Paris and Ulrich in Scotland, about Odd's training in Norway and Aelita's backpacking trip. Obediently, Jeremie begins going through the list of what his friends are doing. Of Aelita's last call from Norway before she headed out on her trip, of Ulrich's pictures of the unpacking process and sights around Edinburgh, of Odd's anecdotes of training exercises and how his oldest sister just got engaged and threatened him with castration if he pranked her wedding day.
"Yumi's finally begun seeing Sean, which we all knew was going to happen sooner or later. The only bad thing is Ulrich won the bet on when they'd get together so we all owe him ten euros," Jeremie rolls his eyes as he finishes.
There's a lull in conversation and when Jeremie checks the time he sees it's ten past ten already. His father yawns. "It's getting late. I'm glad you called, Jeremie."
"Of course," Jeremie replies. "It's Sunday."
He hears the smile in his father's voice when he speaks. "Get some sleep, mon petit chou. I'll speak to you next Sunday."
"Yes," Jeremie replies. "Good night, Papa."