33
DREW
I held Camille all night long. Nothing more, nothing less than my arms around her, spooning her as she cried. I listened as she told me everything. She unburdened the load that she refused to admit before. She used her truck for collateral for a loan, and the deadline for her first payment is less than ten days away. That Kaya’s blog post could be the straw to break her business’s back. Finally, as the dark sky turned pink, she succumbed to slumber, tucked into my chest, in my supposed protection.
I didn’t sleep, wracked with guilt and already in mourning. I replayed the blog post in my head, the part about True North and its impending success. That was the point of getting Kaya Banks out there—to get the restaurant on the radar of people who’ll travel and spend the cash. I can deploy without worry for my family, pursue my dreams, and feel like I’ve done my part.
But at what expense? Of Camille losing everything? Of me losing her?
Selfishly, I wanted one last night. Naiveté had won out over logic twelve hours ago, but now I know that whether or not I tell her, I’ve lost her already.
Parched, I slide away from under the covers and walk to the kitchen. After pouring myself a glass of water, I dig into the refrigerator and pull out OJ, pour a glass, and put it on the bedside table. Camille’s eyes flutter open. Sitting at the edge of the bed, I push a stray hair behind her ear. She is a beautiful sight. I could wake up to this every day of my life.
I wish.
My voice croaks a greeting. “Morning, beautiful.”
“I don’t feel beautiful.” Her eyes are bloodshot, but it doesn’t take away from the softness of her face. “I feel pretty awful.”
“I know.” There’s no sugarcoating it. I hand her the OJ. “But there’re ways to go about it. Make a plan to attack. This all sucks, but you have the ability to move forward.”
“What makes you such an optimist, huh?” She sits up, taking the covers with her. “It’s like nothing can get you down.”
“Not true, not by a mile. But I know what you’re made of. You’ve got grit. I know it. Your sister knows it. Your grandma knew it. All I’m doing is reminding you. You’ve inspired me the whole time I’ve been home.”
I caress her exposed shoulder, and her head leans to the side, cheek brushing against my knuckles. “You have so much faith in things that are totally out of our control.”
“It’s not that. It’s you who I have faith in.”
Her arms encircle my neck, and I’m brought down so our cheeks are flush. Hot tears stain my face. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Inside me, a wave ascends before an impending crash I see well before I open my mouth. My stomach drops, and what’s left over is air. A heart sickness, a feeling I know I deserve. Tears rise, though they don’t fall. What I don’t deserve is to mourn for what I’m about to say. “I’m sorry, Cami.”
She looks up, confused. “Hey, it’s not like it’s your fault.”
“Yes, it is.”
Her head shakes, but her eyes narrow. Her hands slip away. Though still right next to me, her spirit is already hovering, waiting to run. “I . . . I don’t get it.”
“I’m the guy. The guy in the blog post.”
“What?”
My admission is like bile rising in my esophagus. “True North is my parents’ restaurant. Since I’ve been home for leave, I’ve been helping with the remodel. And Kaya Banks went to your truck because of me. It was my suggestion to call a blogger to cover the restaurant, but I . . . I didn’t know she would write about Lucianna, though. I swear I didn’t.”
“And all the complaints?” Her voice is threadbare, sheer, and brittle. “And Blake?”
“The complaints weren’t me—that was my dad. The social media posts were my little cousin. I tried . . . I made them stop when I realized that Lucianna was you. And Blake. Dammit. I didn’t have anything to do—”
Her fingers fly to her lips. The disgust in her eyes silences me, bringing my gaze to the floor.
I’m scum, the worst kind. “I’m sorry I lied. So many times I tried to tell you, but I couldn’t. There wasn’t a perfect time. I didn’t want it—us—to end. I was just so grateful to have found you before . . . before I left.”
A million beats pass. A rustle of sheets ensues, followed by the sound of footsteps. By the time I lift my eyes, she’s already gathered her things. “You knew all this time we’ve been together?”
I can only nod. “After our second night together, when I saw your truck in front of your building.” I can pull out every excuse. I can say she hasn’t told me everything about her life either. That twelve hours ago I had no idea she was so deep underwater. But what would that prove? It doesn’t take away that I had control of my own intentions, of my own mouth. “Please, Cami.”
“Don’t call me Cami. You don’t get to do that. Not ever.” She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. I’m frozen in place. I know if I take a step forward, she’ll run. If I stand still, she’ll go, too.
“Camille, I love you.”
“And don’t you dare say that. Because love isn’t dishonest. Love wouldn’t have lied.” She barks out a laugh. “I don’t know how I didn’t put it together. Your middle name is Richard. As in, Chef Ritchie. Your tattoo—true north. Well, your internal compass is truly fucked up. How could I have thought I could wait for you, probably even follow—whatever. Thanks, Drew. For a nice dinner, for a fun couple of weeks. Have a nice life.”
I watch her slip her dress over her head, step into her shoes, and snatch her bag from the dining room table. Camille says nothing as she yanks the door open and flies out. She doesn’t look back.
I have no choice but to let her go.
May 27
Camille,
I’m sorry. Please forgive me.
Love,
Drew
May 27
Dear Camille,
Tell me what to do to make this better.
I’m sorry.
I love you.
Drew