Jude got the call as she was eating out her middle-aged landlady, Amélie. 

 Listen, this wasn't exactly her best moment, but Amélie was stunning for a woman in her fifties, and Jude probably would've slept with her for free. But she wasn't, and this was still mild prostitution at the end of the day.

 Jude snapped back from the woman's thighs as her flip phone buzzed on the nightstand. She excused herself, wiping her mouth and squinting down at the caller ID.

 "Fuck!"

 Amélie jumped, gaping at Jude in the dark.

 Jude winced and caressed her knee. "Désolée, just a moment, please," she whispered, holding up a finger and clambering off the creaky mattress. 

 When she reached the bathroom, she locked the door behind her and flicked on the harsh fluorescents.  They were blinding and her heart pounded out of control.

 The cloudy screen burned with one word:

 Mother.

 Quickly, she smoothed out her hair, pulling the strap of her tank top up, as if she could been seen through the phone.

 Deep breaths.

 Jude clicked the green button. "Hello," she greeted quietly.

 It had been months since they last spoke; the last time Jude saw her was two Christmases ago, and then it had been an absolute shit show.

 "Jude, my sweet girl." Her mother's low Arabic set off Pavlovian alarms in Jude's chest. She stared wide-eyed at herself in the mirror: lipstick smeared, mascara clumped on her lashes. "I'm afraid...I have some bad news."

 Oh, God. Please don't be Amir.

 "What is it, Mama?" she croaked, the worst possible scenarios racing through her mind.

 The line crackled. "It's Logan, he's been hospitalized with some sort of aneurysm."

 Instant relief flooded her body. Slumping onto the closed toilet lid, her bare thighs stinging from the chill, Jude rubbed at her forehead. "Wow.  I'm sorry.  Do they...is he going to live?"

 "I don't know," her mother answered. "Jude, I need you to come here. Tonight."

 "Mama, no, I told you I'm n—"

 "You are. There's a flight leaving the CDG at two." Her tone left little room for argument.

 Jude clenched her jaw until it groaned. "They won't want to see me."

 "They are irrelevant. I will see you soon at the Bellevue Hospital. Okay?"

 "Fine."

 Just then Jude's phone started beeping—another call coming in. It was an American number that she didn't have saved.

 "Okay. Bye, bye, Mama, I have to go."

 "The Bellevue Hos—"

 Jude clicked the answer button, ending the call. "Yeah?" she exhaled, running her fingers through her overgrown brown hair.

 "Judith, hi." 

 Her heart stopped.  She got whiplash.

 Roman.

 "How did you get this number?" Jude demanded.

 "My best bro Amir hooked me up."

 Amir hated Roman's guts—hated all of the Roy's guts actually. She'd have to have a talk with her stupid brother.

 Jude swallowed dryly, tempted to guzzle water straight from the facet. Staticky silence pulsed through the phone.  "Roman," she finally said, "I'm sorry about your dad."

 "Oh, you...how did you know?"

 She rolled her eyes. "He came to me in a dream."

 "Right—Mommy Dearest," he scoffed, then paused. "Listen...I think it would mean a lot to-to my dad, and shit, if you were to..."

 "I should be in America sometime before sunrise, if that's what you were, um, calling for."  Jude winced at the awkwardness of the situation, the cramps taking hold of her body as she tensed.

 "Yeah?" Was she sleep deprived or did Roman sound almost relieved? "Yeah, so I'll see you when I see you?"

 "See you."

 Jude snapped her phone shut and smacked it against her forehead. 

 Then, she made the walk of shame out of the bathroom. Amélie propped herself up in bed and raised her thin brows. Trying to ease her temperamental landlady, Jude spoke softly in French as she gathered her clothes from the floor:

 "Amélie, I have a, ah, family emergency to take care of in the States. Do you think you can...finish yourself off?"

 Amélie scowled in the dim light. "Now you're leaving? For how long—and what about your apartment, Fadel? Maybe you'll come back to all your shit thrown out on the pavement!"

 "I promise I'm good for it, chérie, you know this. Please don't evict me." Jude bent over and kissed the woman on her rouged cheek. "When I come back, I'm all yours.  Oui?"

 She was out the front door before Amélie could reply.

 As she dragged herself upstairs, her usually dormant cell phone buzzed yet again. Jude groaned, but it was only Connor, whom she'd actually given her number to.

 He was calling for the same reason. After briefly quizzing him about how he was feeling, Jude assured her step-brother that she was on her way, and he wished her a safe flight.

 Once she made it up to her flat, she got to packing, which didn't take long.

 Jude's place was a studio with lots of exposed brick and an infestation of mice, but it was somewhere to sleep. Clusters of canvases were propped up against or hung on the walls—some finished but most of them works in progress. The twin mattress in the corner had a 'vintage' floral bedspread spread across it. (Vintage in this case meaning it had a few elderly come stains.)

 All that she needed could fit into an old bowling bag she bought for a dime: just some clothing basics and toiletries. Jude shot off a few texts, one to her boss at the grocery market, the rest to her friends, Anaïs, Fernando, and Claire, explaining why she had to leave the country.

 She said a prayer for her paintings and the rest of her belongings to still be here when she got back. Then she locked the door behind her and headed to the airport.

 Despite hurtling through the sky in an aerial coffin, the first-class seat Jude's mother bought her was exceptionally comfortable. The Xanax she took was finally kicking in.

 She always refused to fly as a child, throwing tantrums because it terrified her so much, but her mother rectified that with time. Now she only felt a vague sense of guilt. Airplanes reminded Jude of her family—though calling them that was an insult to families everywhere.

 Flight attendants came by regularly to serve refreshments: the best espresso she'd ever had, a glass of wine, and a four-course meal. Jude watched Ever After starring Drew Barrymore and settled into her big comfy seat.

 Her mood was mainly apathetic, underlined by anxiety dampened with drugs. It's not that she cared that Logan might be dying; her hatred for him outweighed any love left over. But she was surprised at how affectionate her memories of him were then. He had always treated Jude a little better than his real children. Maybe it was because she never asked him for anything.

 When they were around the others, Logan would rest his hands on Jude's shoulders. (You see, his touch was like a bottle of Gatorade in prison; it put a target on your back.) He'd indirectly praise her grades at dinner or call her in to play piano for his friends.

 Logan knew how to pit people against each other like that, how to let resentment build naturally. Wasn't conflict essential to holding power—whether in the capitalistic sphere or at home? It was no wonder that this was her mother's longest-running marriage, Jude thought; maybe it'll really be till death do they part.

     After a driver picked her up from the airport and she was lugging her bag through the Bellevue Hospital lobby, her mother called again.

 "I'm heading up there right now!" Jude huffed in Arabic, "No, I didn't make any stops, there were too many planes trying to land and we had to circle for a while but—oh!"

 A body slammed into hers, knocking the air from her lungs.

 Two strong arms squeezed her waist, a head of disheveled black hair ducked into the crook of her shoulder.  The smell of musty citrus and sweat. Roman. 

 He hadn't hugged her like this in years. Jude slid a tentative hand across his back. This motion seemed to wake him up as he suddenly pushed away from her and scrutinized her luggage.

 "Is that a carpet bag?" he asked. "You been living out of that thing?"

 Jude shoved it into his arms. "Shut up, it's vintage." She looked at their feet, smoothing out her tangled mass of hair. "How, um...how is he?"

 "Just breathing outta some tubes and laying there." Roman exhaled forlornly. "They have him behind this glass wall, so it's kinda like watching TV if it was super fuckin' morbidly depressing."

 Jude nodded. "Cool, cool. So why are you in the lobby? Were you leaving?" 

 "Nope," he said, "I got tired of waiting so I thought I'd fuck around and go jump in front of a car as soon as you arrived. Make you feel responsible for my death—or permanent disfigurement."

 Jude put on a serious expression. "Did you ever call that number I gave you?"

 "Ugh, kill yourself."

 "You first."

 They shifted on their feet, cool air sprouting goosebumps along her arms. Jude smacked her gray sweatpants. "Well, we should get up there. I think if I'm any later my mother will permanently disfigure me. They'd have to roll another cot in."

 "Don't worry about it," Roman drawled, leading her to the elevators and pressing the up button, "I'd give you some premium bedside assistance."

 Jude crossed her arms. "Aren't your hands full enough with your dad?"

 "Ooh, sick burn." He shook his head as if in grave disappointment. "I can't believe you're joking around at a time like this—fuckin' insensitive is what it is, Judith."

 She hadn't realized how much she missed him till now. Their falling out had been one of many, so the reasons they stopped talking were blurry at best. "Roman, I—"

 The doors dinged and slid open. 

 Shiv and Kendall were sitting on a couch. When they saw her they both shot to their feet.

 "Surprise!" Roman shouted, holding out his hands.

 And the next thing Jude knew, her mother was falling into her arms.