You’d think we’d both jump from the sound the bag makes on the floor, but we don’t. It feels as though it’s just us two and the rest of the world is drowned out. No sound from the main room – we stare at each other intensely, neither of us willing to tear away their gaze. We’re both panting but silence. Not a word is spoken – we just take each other in, as if to establish that the other is really the person we know them to be. It feels like a dream, one I’m about to wake up from only to realize that it isn’t real. Or is this a nightmare? I know only too well how things ended the last time we saw each other.
All these years I’ve dreamed about what it would be like if I ever ran into her again, but I never expected her to still be so beautiful. Sure, she has grown up, but she is still my Camille. Fuck, I can’t allow myself to think that. She’s not mine – not even close. Maybe it’s time to remind myself of what happened at the hospital. How she broke my heart in two by kissing my brother.
Once we’ve both snapped back to reality, we bend down to pick up the stuff that dropped out of her bag. Our foreheads bang together. Camille teeters back on her high heels and instinctively I reach out for her to stop her from falling over. As soon as my hand touches her arm, I feel a warm, tingling sensation run through me. The barely inaudible sigh leaving her mouth isn’t lost on me either. I have the same effect on her as she does on me.
I pull her up, but I don’t let go of her. My hand is still on her arm, as though I’m still trying to establish whether this is all real. When she finally realizes I’m still holding her, she yanks her arm out of my grasp and glares up at me.
“Jonathan,” she snaps. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Even though she sounds royally pissed off, I can’t resist the urge to close my eyes and savor the sound of my name on her lips. My nights were filled with thoughts of her voice, and only now does it fully register with me: it’s really her! I’d almost forgotten that I was always Jonathan to her – not Sticks, the nickname most people call me by these days. My God, it’s good to hear my name spoken by her.
I give her my most winning smile. “I know, Camille. I missed you too.”
“I didn’t know the band was already back in Belgium.”
That surprises me. So she did know we left Belgium? She kept track of what we did – or rather, what I did?
I don’t know why the thought matters to me so much. And why do I detect a hint of anger in her voice?
“We came back yesterday,” I confirm.
Before I can stop myself, I raise my hand to caress her cheek. Some habits are very hard to kick... but she recoils. I frown. Now it’s even more evident that she’s angry, or possibly afraid. So many emotions flit across her face that I don’t know which one is winning out.
“Can we go somewhere to talk?” I say.
Her eyes widen. Clearly, my request surprises her. “I don’t think that’s wise,” she replies dismissively.
My anger of all those years ago resurfaces. If she thinks I’m going to give up that easily, she’s got another thing coming.
“Well, I think I deserve some answers, don’t you?”
I pin her with my gaze and to her credit she doesn’t look away. The girl’s got guts, I have to give her that. Even our manager withers under my famous death glare.
“This is really not the time, Jonathan. They’re waiting for me at our table.”
“How about tomorrow? Name the time and the place and I’ll be there.”
Even though I’ve gotten used to being able to boss people around, I’m willing to adjust myself to Camille’s schedule. Well, for now. I grab a business card from my back pocket and hold it out to her. “Call me. We’ll meet up.”
I stand there with the card in my hand for quite a while, waiting for her to take it. I hold her gaze, determined not to let her win. I’ve changed in the years we haven’t seen each other. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to make sure she will. With trembling hands, she finally accepts the business card and stares at it. A feeling of triumph sweeps through me. I may not have won the war yet, but I’m definitely the victor of this battle. No one can take this away from me. I slip my finger under her chin and force her to look up at me.
“Even if you don’t call me I will find you, Camille. I need answers.”
She doesn’t reply, even though I know the message is clear. It takes all of my self-control to walk away from her and sit down at my table again. I need to stop myself from running back and demanding an explanation right there and then. But I can’t lose sight of the fact that we’re here as a PR stunt for the band. God knows what my reaction will be to her words.
When I sit down, Camille has disappeared from sight. I can only hope she takes my request seriously and she will call me tomorrow.
Four years ago
Vincent
I stare at the bundle of joy in my arms and take in every detail, no matter how small. The chubby cheeks, the tiny feet and little toes. This baby is the spitting image of my brother, no one will say otherwise. But he also looks like his mother. He has the same birthmark on his ankle, and we can only hope he has inherited his mother’s gentle character.
You always hear people claim they fell in love with their newborn child at first sight. And now I understand what they mean. Even though I know he isn’t my son, I still fell head over heels for this little man. I’ll do everything in my power to give him and his mother the life they deserve.
The past few months have been very emotional for Camille. Slowly she has come to accept that Jonathan won’t come back for her. She’s had so many relapses; there were days she couldn’t put down her cellphone because she was convinced it was the day he’d finally call her back. When the sonogram revealed that she was going to have a baby boy, she didn’t leave her room for days. But time passed and Jonathan never contacted her.
It’s something I still can’t wrap my head around. I understand it even less now that I’m holding his son in my arms. He should have been the one standing here today, not me. He should have been here to hold his son in his arms. It should have been him – the man to comfort her during her bouts of morning sickness, the man to consult her when she designed the baby room. Everything that happened between us in the past falls away with the birth of this baby. I’m sure Jonathan would have felt the same way if only he’d been here.
Even though the pregnancy itself was easy, giving birth wasn’t a walk in the park. When Camille called me at work to tell me that her water broke, I drove home immediately to take her to the hospital. After being in labor for over twenty hours, she still wasn’t dilated enough.
The gynaecologist didn’t hesitate and decided on a caesarian. Neither Camille nor I were prepared for that. And I certainly wasn’t prepared for the nurse putting the baby in my arms.
Now I’m sitting in the room, waiting for the moment they’ll bring Camille out. Every time I hear a door open, I look up in the hopes of seeing Camille. She’s been looking forward to this so much that I feel slightly guilty for being the one to spend the first moments with her son.
I’m so proud of her. She stayed calm throughout the procedure. Even when the OB-GYN came in to tell her that it was going to be a caesarian, she took it in her stride. I can’t say the same thing about myself.
The door to the hospital room swings open and in rolls Camille, on a bed pushed by two nurses. She looks very pale, but otherwise okay. Her gaze immediately lands on me and her son in my arms. Tears start to roll down her cheeks.
As soon as the bed has been put next to the window, the nurses leave us alone. I don’t hesitate for a second and hand Camille her son. She studies him just as intently as I did, taking in every little detail and committing it to memory.
I kiss her forehead. “You did well, honey,” I say softly. “Do you have a name for the little guy yet?”
She looks up at me with tear-stained eyes before turning her gaze back to her son.
“Maxim,” she says lovingly. “Maxim Goethals.”
Present day
Camille
Karen yanks the gossip magazine out of my hands. “Stop torturing yourself,” she says sternly.
I know she’s right, but still. All this time I have kept following Full Moon, but in the past few weeks I couldn’t find the time. So many things have been going on. Only now do I see the article about Full Moon being back in Belgium. What are the odds of that happening right around the time I wasn’t slavishly following the news about Jonathan’s career?
Well, now I don’t need a gossip mag to clue me in. The living proof of Full Moon being back home stood before me last night, in all his testosterone-fueled glory. It pains me to admit it, but I completely forgot just how gorgeous Jonathan can be. Karen has no idea why I’m so upset reading this article now – she simply thinks it’s because it’s about Full Moon. If only she knew I ran into Jonathan last night.
My life has never been the same after that one fateful day. Every time I close my eyes, I see the tortured look on his face. I’d never seen him that angry before. And it wasn’t just anger – his expression conveyed something else. He was broken inside. And even though it’s been years, just the thought of him looking at me like that still cuts through me. It hurt me so much, seeing him like that. Because I knew I was the cause of his beautiful face being drawn taut with suppressed pain.
Do I regret what I did?
Honestly, I can’t get through a single day without spending at least a few seconds thinking of Jonathan. So in that respect, yes, I do regret my decision. Some days I imagine what it would be like if we’d stayed together. How happy we could have been. But then I think about that phone conversation with his manager and all happy thoughts leave me in an instant.
Feeling regret isn’t fair to Vincent either. He has done everything he could to help me and Maxim. Even though Maxim isn’t his real son, he takes care of my boy as though he is his father. Building our relationship took time, and great effort, but now I love Vincent. Even though I still think of Jonathan a lot, I have chosen to follow common sense, not my heart.
Of course I never lost sight of Full Moon, following their ascent to fortune and fame from a distance. And despite the resentment I feel toward Jonathan, I can only say that the band deserves everything they’ve accomplished. They appear in all these music magazines and the papparazzi always know where to find them. They’ve won major awards and had big hits abroad. If I hadn’t forced Jonathan’s hand back then and made sure he left me, he never would have been a part of all that.
I would have had a family, though. And a father for my son.
When I reached out to him to tell him the news, he didn’t even bother coming to the phone or calling me back. I admit I hadn’t expected that. Of course I had hurt him like hell, but was I so insignificant to him that he didn’t even want to talk to me anymore? I still don’t understand how I could have been so wrong about him. I thought I knew him, but clearly, I was wearing rose-tinted glasses.
By keeping track of all the news surrounding Full Moon, I’ve read all the stories about his wild lifestyle. Different girls every night. Clearly his mind was elsewhere in the past five years – not with me.
And then the sheer shock of seeing him again yesterday... despite the years that have passed, he still looks the same. I’d expected him to be angry with me now that he was face to face with me again, but he stayed calm. That’s probably the reason why I kept my cool, too.
Of course I’ve had daydreams about what it would be like to see him back. In those dreams, I always slapped him in the face for ignoring me all this time. You think I’m Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, but no more. Not after everything that happened. If Jonathan had made the slightest misstep or spoken out of line, I’d have given him a piece of my mind, that’s for sure.
And now I’m sitting here torturing myself by staring at his business card and the cellphone number that’s on it. His instructions were clear: he wanted me to call him. But why should I? I struggled for years to get comfortable in my relationship with Vincent and I succeeded. It wouldn’t be fair to turn my back on him after everything he’s done for me. And even though I know nothing will happen between me and Jonathan anymore, I wouldn’t want to hurt Vincent by meeting Jonathan. He’s been my greatest comfort in the past few years.
Which is why I’m not going to call Jonathan. I don’t like to be bossed around, and certainly not by him. To stop torturing myself I tear up the business card into tiny pieces and toss them in the trash, not sure whether I’m feeling relieved or destroyed.
With leaden step, I walk to my bedroom and plunk down on the bed. For the first time in years I fall asleep crying – something I haven’t allowed myself since Maxim was born.
One thing’s for sure: with Jonathan back in my life, nothing will be the same again.
Three years ago
Vincent
The whole apartment has been decorated. Camille has pulled out all the stops for Maxim’s first birthday party. She’s been busy with the preparations for days. I’ve kept out of the way because I know she gets obsessive like this out of pure love for her son.
The first few months after Maxim was born, life was hard. He didn’t sleep well and neither of us managed to fall into a rhythm. When I made the decision to take care of Camille and my little nephew, we bought an apartment. I found a job in an auto shop in the neighborhood and Camille was able to start as a waitress in the coffee bar right around the corner. We don’t have a lot of money to spare, but we manage.
Even though Maxim is still too young to understand, we have never made it a secret that he isn’t my son. Everyone in our circle of friends knew it from day one, and that’s just as well, because Maxim is starting to look more and more like his father.
Of course that hurts me like hell sometimes.
The love between me and Camille blossomed gradually. Even though I always had feelings for her, I never acted on them because of my brother. And I intended to keep it that way until that night she showed up at my doorstep.
I still can’t believe Jonathan didn’t reach out to her after she left him a message about being pregnant. That’s why I didn’t hesitate about my actions: I would never abandon Camille in her time of need. I loved her even more after she confessed why she had kissed me that night at the hospital. She put my brother’s needs first. Sure, it wasn’t the best way to go about it, but she did it out of love.
I know that Camille loves me too, but I can also see that she still misses him. We never talk about it, but I see it in her eyes. The first time I slept with Camille, she spent hours in the bathroom afterwards, crying. She thinks I didn’t notice, but of course I heard her. Of course it was painful for me, but you can’t force someone to start feeling the same way about you as you do about them. I’ve given her all the time and space that she needed and now it seems as though she’s worked things out. I understand this can’t be easy for her. Every time she looks at her son, she sees a mini-version of Jonathan.
I step into the kitchen and see Camille busying herself with decorating the birthday cake. She’s using Cars decorations, from the cartoon. I tried to tell her that Maxim doesn’t understand what it all means yet, but after she gave me an indignant glare, I decided to just shut up about it. The entire kitchen looks like a battlefield – little jars of icing, a rolling pin, the kitchen top stained with flour... Camille has always been chaotic, and it’s evident in her cooking as well. With a big grin on my face, I stop on the threshold and watch her work on the cake.
When she hears me, she turns around. I chuckle when I see the bit of icing still dangling from the corner of her mouth.
“Tasty?” I say with a smile.
Her eyes glisten when she looks at me. “I haven’t even tried it,” she says innocently.
I walk over to her and pull her into my arms, before I press my lips to her and lick the icing away from her mouth.
“You’re a bad liar,” I tease her.
She chuckles, making me want to kiss her aga
in. Which is what I’m about to do, when suddenly the phone rings. I sigh and shoot her a smile. “It better be important,” I say.
Camille dries her hands with the tea towel on the rack and walks over to the phone to answer it. “Hello?”
Her entire facial expression changes as she listens to the person on the other end of the line. She turns pale and her eyes are full of anxiety when she looks at me. She lets go of the receiver and slouches against the wall, her knees bending until she’s sitting down on the floor. I rush toward her, pull her up and grab the receiver. “Who is this?”
Present day
Camille
Tonight I’m working a shift in the coffee bar. I’ve been working here for a few years now. It wasn’t what I had in mind for myself, but you can’t always predict what life has in store for you. After I discovered I was pregnant I never went to college like I’d planned. My father wanted to be a financial guarantor for me and Maxim, but I wanted to be self-sufficient. So when this job came up and they wanted to hire me, I accepted right away. It wasn’t to everyone’s liking, but I wanted to keep at least a bit of my independence.
As usual, Karen’s here. She doesn’t work here, but she usually drop in for a cup of coffee whenever I’m on duty. Words can’t describe how much Karen has been there for me in the past few years. She’s been my support in troubled times. I wouldn’t have lasted without her. Of course she couldn’t take all my sadness away, but she was always there for me at times I really didn’t see a way out anymore.
It’s been a quiet night and so it’s just the two of us one hour before closing time. I’ve been mulling things over in my mind all evening long, so I decide to ask Karen for advice. I tossed and turned because of everything the previous night.
Say You Need Me Page 3
