Page 11 of A Life Chosen

Mathias felt an overwhelming need to leave, to get as far away from him as possible, but it was too late to back out. The last time they’d met, Mathias had been convinced he’d outgrown his father’s grip on his life. Yet here he was, flooded with the same familiar feeling, the same longing for approval, as though he was still a boy.

Like a child turning on the light to assuage a fear of lurking horrors, Mathias walked to the window and pulled open one of the curtains, allowing a stream of afternoon sun into the room. Illuminated, this particular monster was easier to face, with his hair all but gone, cheek bones protruding, and eyes sunken. The unwelcome light hit his face, and he squinted then blinked rapidly. It seemed to take him a while to adjust, which was fine, as Mathias no longer knew what he wanted to say.

“Mathias?” His hoarse voice burst to life. “Is that you?”

“It’s me.”

A smile swept across his father’s face. “I was wondering whether your mother—”

“I didn’t come here to talk about her,” Mathias cut in.

His father paused, head bobbing slightly. “How are you?”

“Finally taken an interest?”

Freddie shrugged, looking even more frail. “You’re my flesh and blood. When you don’t have much time left, you realize these things are important.”

Mathias froze, white-hot anger locking his jaw. The man had spent a lifetime acting as though Mathias didn’t exist, saving the pleasantries for when he was sick and senile, rotting away in bed.

“They’ve made mesantista.”

His father—who’d spent most of his adult life working for the family—nodded in acknowledgment. He’d never strayed far from the bookie house or courted danger the way Mathias had. “You’ve become quite the soldier,” Freddie said almost wistfully. “With your education, I’d always imagined a different path for you.”

The hurt was physical, like a blow to the chest. Mathias made sure his face gave nothing away, but he fell silent in an attempt to regain composure. His father began to cough, reaching for the glass of water by his bed. The old man tried to sit, his trembling arms barely able to lift him from the mattress.

Mathias watched, not moving to help. “What exactly did you imagine?” he said finally. “You know nothing about me.”

His father placed the glass back down, leaning heavily against the headboard. “Your mother told me things. Heard you studied overseas, that you’re pretty clever. All I’m saying is working for the family ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“For you, maybe,” Mathias retorted. “Look how well you did, if this dump is any indication. Couldn’t even afford to keep your sidepiece.”

“Watch your mouth!” his father snapped, eyes darkening, a flash of the heavy-handed man he remembered from his childhood showing through.

Shortly before Mathias left Université PSL and returned to Montreal, his father had terminated the decades-long arrangement with his mother, cutting her off completely. Apparently, it was expensive maintaining two families, but more to the point, with his mother cresting forty, Mathias suspected she’d simply reached the end of her shelf life.

The old man appeared to lose steam, mellowing once again. “I know you take care of her.”

“Only because you don’t. Being a better man has proven surprisingly easy.”

“Your mother—”

“Everything you’ve done, and she still pines overyou.”

His father looked at him with watery eyes. “I’ve made mistakes—I can admit that. As I said, you start to look at things differently when confronted by your own mortality.”

“No.” Mathias shook his head. “There’s no absolution here. The sooner you’re in the ground, the better.”

The words left his lips with vitriol, almost clanking against his teeth on the way out. All his life, his father had loomed before him, someone he’d foolishly fixated on to give him purpose and justify his decisions.

“Where is he?” demanded someone from the hallway.

Mathias knew that voice—it was his father’s eldest son. Sofia must have called him. The door swung open, and Freddie Junior appeared, his face red with anger.

He stuck out a thick finger at Mathias, who stood by the window. “You need to leave now. Get out.”

Mathias took in the man’s paunch, his receding hairline, and the ruptured blood vessels across his nose.This was the kid I tried to measure up to?

“Did you hear me?” Freddie Junior spluttered.

---