“Don’t mention Claire,” she hisses at me. “I don’t want to think about her.”
Guilt fills me. Joyce is one of my best friends, and I know how painful the memory is for her. It happened before we met, so I don’t know her ex, but I think I can understand her pain. Having a partner leave on your wedding day seems like one of the worst things that could happen in a relationship.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you of—”
“He will hurt you if you’re not careful,” she says through gritted teeth, cutting me off. “And I know it’s difficult to hear, but I’m just trying to warn you. Because it will hurt like a bitch if you don’t see it coming.”
I can only nod, because she’s right, and she would know better than anyone else. “You’re right. It would.”
“Promise me you won’t take him back unless he proves himself,” she adds, her tone softer, more concerned. “I’ll admit he looks like he cares about you. He turned white as a sheet when he thought I was your wife.” She chuckles and shakes her head. “Your wife, can you believe it?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Still, I’ll admit he seemed shaken, crying on your doorstep and all. Honestly, you men can be so emotional sometimes,” she says, only half joking. “But you can’t let yourself get swept up in his emotions. You need to keep a clear head and figure out if his motives are right. And he has to apologize before you let him set one foot inside your house.”
She sounds so stern that it feels like I’m listening to my high school teacher. “Yes, madam,” I reply teasingly. Maybe it’s silly, trying to add humor to the situation, but what can I do? I feel like I’ll burst otherwise.
“I’m serious,” she adds, even though I already know that. “You haven’t let him in yet, have you? You haven’t given him anything?”
I shrug. “He hasn’t been inside the house, but I gave him my number.”
She thinks for several seconds. “Okay, that’s good, I suppose. And you have his now as well?”
“Yes.”
She folds her arms in front of her chest, which makes her look like she disapproves, but her words contradict the pose. “That’s a start.”
I look at my friend, my thoughts racing. Yes, it is a start, alright, but of what? Part of me is afraid to find out.
Chapter 17: Cody
Joyce’s words stick with me hours after she’s left my house: “Promise me you won’t take him back unless he proves himself.”
Such a loaded thing to say. What does that even entail? When will Luc have sufficiently proved himself to me? I dwell on it for a long time until I think I have the answer: it’ll be once I believe he meant it when he said he wants only me. Once I believe he chooses to be with me regardless of what I have. Maybe we could have been there already if the circumstances were different, but Luc’s timing was off. He could have come to me when he still had a place to live, but no. When he spoke to me, one of the first things he said was that he was kicked out of his apartment. What am I supposed to make of that?
Speaking of which, surely he’s found somewhere else to spend the night, right? Maybe whoever kicked him out let him move back in, or he’s crashing with his model friends? I picture it, Luc slipping into bed with one of them, and I can’t help the jealousy that fills me. He told me he hasn’t slept with any of them before—only kissing—but now that he’s not a virgin anymore, who’s to say that won’t change? I can’t stand the thought, but I try to remind myself not to focus on that.Luc and I are not together after all, and perhaps I should be relieved if he’s found a roof over his head for the night.
The image in my head changes from Luc climbing into bed with one of his pretty friends to being outside alone, sitting on the sidewalk in the chilly night. When he stopped by my house, he was wearing a T-shirt. He’ll be very cold if he’s outside without a jacket. In hindsight, I should have asked him if he had somewhere to stay. Now I have no idea, and as a result, I’m worried on top of everything else I was already feeling.
I grab my phone from the table and open a new chat screen with Luc. Strange how in the past week, I wanted nothing more than to be able to send him a single text message—just a “hi” would have been enough—but now I can’t seem to write anything that feels right.
Cody: Where are you?
No, that sounds too much like an invitation. Delete.
Cody: Did you find a place to sleep for the night?
I hover above the typed message. If he says no, am I supposed to offer my couch for him to sleep on? Despite the walls between us, wouldn’t that be moving too fast? Also, Joyce made me promise not to let him in before he apologized, which he still hasn’t done. Delete.
Cody: Are you okay?
That’s also wrong. Why should I be the one asking him if he’s okay? He’s the one who broke my heart, after all. Delete.
Frustrated, I lock my phone. I’m stuck between worry, heartbreak, and jealousy, paralyzed by words I can’t send. It’s going to be a long night; it’s only a quarter past nine. But at least I’m safely inside with a roof over my head. Maybe the same can’t be said for Luc. If he hasn’t found a place to sleep yet and doesn’t find one soon, it’ll be an even longer night for him.
I picture him alone again, and the image does something strange to my brain. It makes me restless, and somehow guilty about having this entire house to myself. I have a couch that’s available, and there’s a free place beside me in bed, just waiting to be filled. Heck, what’s wrong with me? Why do I suddenly feel bad about not letting him stay with me? This is my house, or as good as, anyway, seeing as I pay monthly rent. I don’t owe Luc anything. There’s no reason for me to feel this way, but the house suddenly feels too big and quiet, knowing that the guy I love might be wandering the streets alone. It’s not right, but I don’tknow how to solve it. Until now, I didn’t think it was possible to feel so many conflicting things simultaneously.
Maybe I should have gotten a pet when I moved in here. A dog or a cat would surely make this place feel less empty. Having a four-legged friend nearby to liven things up in the house would help me. I could still get one now, but nothing would be sensible about that decision. I live alone, spend at least eight hours a day working, so I’m away often, and living here is only supposed to be temporary. The plan has always been to return to Canada in a year or so, possibly less, unless... I found love here. It wasn’t something I was looking for per se, but when I got on the plane to Brussels, I found myself thinking that if I fell in love here in Belgium, that might be a reason for me to consider moving here permanently. But eleven months have passed, and so far my love life has been okay at best.
