"Come back home," Merlot said, gripping the cell phone like a lifeline. "I miss you. New York isn't the same without you."
"Merlot," she sighed. "Toronto fits me. I can take the streetcar to my doctor's appointments. No more arguing with taxi drivers about insurance and arthritis."
"Toronto doesn't have the Empire State Building," Merlot objected. "It doesn't tower over the city the way it should."
"The CN Tower is enough," she whispered. "I was never meant to be American."
"Who turns down being American?" Merlot burst out. "It's like turning down Harvard."
"Oh, Merlot," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You're my son. But even you can't turn a country into a home for me. I didn't leave you—I just went back to where everything hurts a little less."
He swallowed, staring at the empty chair she used to fill. "It hurts more here without you."
"I know," she said. "Love does that."
She hung up. Merlot set the cellphone on the coffee table.
Merlot, the voice purred, slipping into his thoughts like it owned his apartment. Why do you think your mother is Canadian? Because I didn't write her to stay with you. She didn't belong here. Or with you."
He winced."Shut up." His voice cracked. "You're just… you're just a thought. My thought."
No, the voice said. You're mine.
Merlot trembled, shaking his head like he could shake off the truth.