"Everett! Hi!" I greeted, placing my phone on speaker as I continued to work.
                          
"Dad, Clem's here!" He says and I hear a shuffle from his end.
                          
"Clemmie, baby, hello!" He says, his voice a little loud. "We hope you're not busy, we called a little late, your mother was grading some papers. How are you?"
                          
I hear the smile in his voice. "I'm okay, I'm just at the studio, you?"
                          
"Been having some headaches lately but nothing else much. Why are you at the studio? It's a Saturday, hon, you don't work,"
                          
I shake my head even though they can't see. "No, that's okay, dad. I'm actually kinda working right now, but it's also just wrapping some stuff up." I reply as I fold the brown paper over the painting, taping it on itself from the other side. "And what's up with the headaches?"
                          
He chuckles and I can imagine a grin on his stubbly chin. "Nah, just headaches, I think I've been out way too long replanting. You know how those go. Your mom says I've been having too much coffee, though,"
                          
I laugh. Mom's been trying to get him to stop drinking so much coffee since I was sixteen and we finally got a coffee machine. It's been six years, it's safe to say she still hasn't succeeded in convincing him.
                          
"Ah, what's been happening in there? Anything new?" He asks and I hear Everett mumble something snarky from afar.
                          
I hum, deciding whether I should talk about my drunken night and Luke. "I played in that September carnival I told you about, I played bass for Harish's band. His bassist is out of the city so I had to fill in,"
                          
"Did you call her? Where's the phone?" My mom's accented voice rings from the background and I hear footsteps approaching.
                          
Shuffling is all I hear after as, I assume, my dad passes the phone. "Here, darling. Say hi, Clem,"
                          
I laugh, smiling over the fact that my dad remains to call mom 'darling'. I always found it the sweetest thing. "Hi, mom! I'm just working while we talk,"
                          
"Working? It's the weekend, why are you working?" She tsks and I can imagine her shaking her head at me, the thick french accent coating her English words. "Clementine, you need to rest,"
                          
I shake my head, closing off the spaces of the wrapping and cutting off the excess paper. "I know, mom. This is just a little emergency. The client needs to collect it today instead of the scheduled day later this week, so I'm just coming in to wrap the painting up and wait for them to collect it." I assure my mom and continue to put on the last piece of tape. "Don't worry, I have the rest of the day off,"
                          
"Is it Clementine? I hear Madeline ask.
                          
"Yes," Mom replies.
                          
"Clem!" Madeline shouts into the phone. "Remember Emeric?"
                          
I cock a brow at how she decides to start our conversation. "Yes..."
                          
Madeline giggles like a schoolgirl, and I'm sure she's hiding something from me. "Well, he was asking if you're coming home for Christmas this year. He seemed really interested to get back in touch with you," I hear the excitement in her voice but the way I feel about the news doesn't seem to match.
                          
Emeric Chagnon was my first boyfriend. We were together from when I was seventeen until I was eighteen, right before I had to fly off to New York for university. We broke things off two days before my departure since we figured things wouldn't work well if we tried long distancing.
                          
It wasn't the problem of infidelity between us, everyone just kept saying it wouldn't work out since the odds were against us, plus the thousands of miles between.