I’m trying everything I can think of, but unfortunately, Maxime is unrelenting. They raise their hand to shush me, shaking their head. “It’s my apartment, Luc, and I need the space. End of discussion.”
I let out a deep sigh. Could this week get any worse? “Dammit, Maxime. I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”
“It’s nothing personal, Luc, you know that, right? We can still hang out together, go to clubs ... You’re my buddy.”
Yeah, yeah, I want to say sarcastically, but I swallow the words. There’s no point in making them angry. After all, they gave me a great place to live for eight months. Goodness, life seemed so easy just a few weeks ago. I had a nice home and hadn’t met Cody yet, so I didn’t know what I was missing.
“Fine, Maxime, whatever,” I mutter, having run out of ideas. “It’s your home. I’ll be out on Saturday.”
“Thank you, Luc,” they say sweetly. “And know that anytime on Saturday is alright with me. Maybe we can go to the club Friday night, and you can sleep in on Saturday morning before leaving? You can bring your boyfriend too.”
I curse internally. How often must I tell them Cody’s not my boyfriend before they get it? And, more importantly, how many times do I have to remind myself of it before it stops hurting?
Chapter 12: Luc
Before today, I tried my best not to think about Cody, pushing him to the back of my mind whenever images of him popped up. I told myself that when I saw someone eat lemon cake—or any cake, for that matter—it didn’t remind me of him, and I pretended that I didn’t think about him when someone mispronounced a French word. And I definitely didn’t wonder what he was doing when I saw ads for the bank he told me he works at.
I was trying so hard before, but now what’s happened with Maxime forces me to rethink my decisions. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to reconsider, and I’m happy to jump at the opportunity. Either way, I’ve lost the place where I live, and I need help. I’d rather not ask my father unless I have to. He’ll just see it as confirmation that I’m a disappointment, someone who someday might take over his store but is far from ready. At best, asking him to let me live with him again would be awkward. At worst, it would be humiliating. I’ll use it as a last resort... but maybe Cody will help me? It’s worth a shot.
I could visit him and ask. And it’s not because deep down I want to see him, kiss him, be in bed with him, and have him whisper sweet nicknames in my ear, followed by French words he fails to pronounce correctly. Okay, so maybe it is. He can mutter whatever nonsense he wants to as long as it’s French and he calls me princess—and reacts the way he does when I call him Daddy. Honestly, that’s all I need... if he’ll still have me.
It certainly won’t help that I shut him down and ghosted him without an explanation. I know, not the greatest thing, but hello, have you met me? I’m Luc, and I’m a little French mess. I may be bossy, sometimes pretending that I know it all, but the truth is, I need a hero. And I know just who I want it to be.
Finding him shouldn’t be hard: I know where he lives, and his house isn’t too far from the cake shop. So that’s the plan. If things go well with Cody, I’ll tell my dad I’m ready to go back to work. If they don’t, then, well... I’ll have to ask my dad for my work shifts and my old room back.
I need to consider the possibility that things will go sideways with Cody when I visit him, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. I hope Cody will forgive and accept me when I talk to him. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.
That’s easier said than done, though. When I reach his house and after ages of stalling, I finally muster the courage to walk to the doorstep and ring the bell, it isn’t Cody who opens the door, it’s a woman. And a pretty one too.Merde.
I don’t know who she is, but the moment I see her, every alarm in my body blares at once. Fear and anger surge through me in waves, my heartbeat pounding in my chest, my muscles locking tight. Why is she opening the door? Is Cody with someone else? Have I missed my chance? I came here because I lost my apartment and didn’t want to ask my dad for help, or at least that’s what I told myself. Now, none of that seems to matter anymore. I would run to my father, begging him, if it meant I had another chance with Cody. And the realization hits me hard.
“Who are you?” I ask the woman in French.
She stares at me, blinking several times before responding in fluent French. “Who am I?” This isn’t good. Maybe if she answered in English, there would have been a chance she was his sister or something, but those chances now seem slim. “Who are you?”
I clench my hands into fists, digging my fingernails into my palms for some sense of control. I can’t focus on her question as the possibilities hit me, each one even worse than the previous. “Are you... Cody’s girlfriend? Or wife?”
A hundred thoughts whirl through my head. I replay every conversation I had with him from the moment we met. Had Cody ever actually told me he was single? Come to think of it, I don’t think he did. Not a good sign. I picture what the inside of his house looks like, trying to remember every possible detail. Were there any indications that he’s married or has a girlfriend? Any pictures, women’s clothing, a bottle of perfume, an extra toothbrush maybe? Nothing comes to mind, and ultimately, I decide I don’t have the answer. All I can do is stand here waiting for a response, praying for a no, but the suspense is killing me. Then, when I think I can’t take the pain and uncertainty anymore, she chuckles. She laughs it off as though the question is silly, or the answer obvious. The sounds cuts through me.
Merde, this is really bad. It reminds me of the time Cody suddenly stopped coming to the shop shortly after we met. Those days were awful. I kept beating myself up over it, telling myself I gave him one piece of the disgusting prune cake too many and insulted him once too often. But then he was suddenly there, telling me he’d been sick, and we had some amazing times... until I messed it up.
This time, it’s even worse. I have this woman standing before me, who I’m now starting to suspect is Cody’s girlfriend. Whoever she is, I don’t like her, but deep down, I hate myself more.
“Who’s asking? Why do you care?”
“Just answer the question!”
“No!” All traces of her smile have disappeared. “Tell me who you are first!”
Only a strangled sound leaves me when I open my mouth, so I close it again. I have no idea how to answer that question. An awful truth dawns on me: I’m nothing to Cody... nothing worth mentioning anyway. Unfortunately, that’s one thing I made very sure of.
She must see my struggle because instead of firing more questions at me, she just crosses her arms in front of her chest and glares at me silently.
I try to speak again, but to my embarrassment, nothing comes out, as I seem to be stuck within myself. Hurriedly, I run a hand through my hair and try a third time. Luckily, this attempt is successful—weak, but successful. “Cody can’t come to the door?”
“No, not right now. And I’m not letting you in unless I know who you are.”
That makes sense. If I were her, I wouldn’t let me in either. But even if she did, what would be the point? I’m not the person he wants to be confronted with in his home after what I did to him. And I’d be uncomfortable talking to him with a stranger nearby, who might actually be his girlfriend. Ultimately, this isn’t how it should go, and this isn’t the time.
