Chapter Text
12/20/2007
12:05 a.m.
“Voici ton gâteau, ”Mom’s voice is warm as she places the box on the counter. “Here’s your cake.” She carefully lifts the lid, revealing a cake decorated with vibrant pink frosting and colorful candles waiting to be lit.
“Maman, you didn’t need to get such a big cake!”
“Ah, but it’s your anniversaire!” she teased.
Her hands linger on the edges of the box for a moment, a tender pause before she hands me the lighter.
I take it from her, the cool metal resting in my palm. Slowly, I light each of the seventeen candles, watching as the flames dance to life. The soft glow illuminates the kitchen, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Mom claps her hands together suddenly, jolting me out of my thoughts. “Joyeux anniversaire à toi…” she begins, her voice full of affection but slightly off-tune. “Happy birthday to you…”
I wave a hand, laughing. “Maman, you know I love you… but your singing? Not so much.”
She laughs, her cheeks flushing. “Fine, fine. Make a wish.”
I look at the candles, their light reflecting in my mom’s eyes. For a moment, I hesitate, then clasp my hands together. “I’ll pray instead.”
Closing my eyes, I bow my head, letting the world fall away. Thank you, God, for letting me wake up today. Thank you for keeping me safe these seventeen years and for letting my maman and papan be by my side as they witness the person I am becoming. Please continue to watch over us and guide us through life.
“In Jesus’s name, Amen.”
When I open my eyes, a sudden flash nearly blinds me. “Sérieusement, Maman?” I shielded my eyes. “You could’ve warned me!”
She grinned mischievously, holding up the camera. “Des photos spontanées sont les meilleures! Candid photos are the best!” Now blow out your candles.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling as I lean forward, blowing out all seventeen flames in one breath. Mom claps again, snapping more pictures as I cut the first slice of cake. I set a piece on a plate for her, then carefully slide the rest into the fridge.
“You’re not having any?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s too late for that much sugar,” I reply, leaning against the counter.
“Says the girl who ate cotton candy at 11 p.m. last night.”
“Touché,” I admit, grinning. “But I needed the energy to finish my essay.”
“Sure you did,” she teases, taking a bite of her slice.
I watch her for a moment, noting the tired lines around her eyes and the way her scrubs hang loosely on her frame. “You should change out of your uniform,” I say softly.
“Oui Oui, I should,” she agrees, standing. “Don’t steal my cake.”
“I won’t,” I promise, though we both know it’s a lie.
As soon as she’s out of sight, I grab a fork and steal a bite of her cake. The sweetness lingers on my tongue, a small moment of indulgence.
The evening stretches on. I sit on the couch, the TV flickering in front of me, but my mind is elsewhere. The phone rings, breaking the quiet hum of the microwave as I pop popcorn.
“I’ll get it,” I call, grabbing the handset.
Flopping onto my bed, I answer. “Salut Papa” ”“Hi, Daddy.”
“Salut chérie, comment vas-tu?”
“Hi sweetheart, how are you?.” His voice is warm but distant, like he’s calling from another world.
“Je me sentirais mieux si tu étais là”
“I’d feel better if you were here,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
There’s a pause. “Je sais. C’est juste… travail.”
“I know. It’s just… work.”
I close my eyes, biting back a sigh. Work. Always work.
“Yeah, I get it,” I say, though the words taste bitter. “You’ll still meet me later, right?”
“Of course.”
“Who is it?” Mom calls from the kitchen.
“I gotta go,” he says quickly.
“On se parle bientôt, ok?”
“Talk soon, okay?”
I manage a “mhmm” my voice suddenly becoming raspy.
“Et Juliette? Joyeux anniversaire”
“Happy birthday.”
“Thanks, Dad.” The line clicks, leaving me staring at the ceiling, the handset still pressed to my ear.
An hour later, I’m sitting on the couch watching friends with my my when the phone rings.
This time, Mom answers.
“Hallo? Yes, this is she… WHAT?!”
I snap my head toward her, startled by the sharpness in her voice. “Maman ? Qu’est-ce qu’il y a”
“Mom? What is it?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she begins rummaging through the drawers, muttering under her breath.
“What do you need?” I ask, my heart racing.
“Paper and a pen!” she exclaims.
I sprint to my room, grabbing the items and thrusting them into her hands. She quickly jots something down—numbers, an address, New York City?
“Thank you so much for this opportunity,” she says into the phone, her voice trembling with emotion. When she hangs up, tears glisten in her eyes.
“Mom?” I ask cautiously, stepping closer.
She looks up at me, her face a mixture of pride and disbelief. “Juliette…tu vas à New York!” "You're going to New York!"
Her words take a moment to register. “WHAT?!”