The Way You Smile

by Kiki Archer

There, she’d said it. In essence the theme was: I want you, but I don’t trust you. Camila gasped. How awful. But wasn’t it like that in all relationships at the start as you tried to get to know the person? Weren’t all motives questioned? You wondered whether that person was simply trying to take you off the market because their rival had declared an interest in you? That’s what it had been like with Mick: did Mick really want her or did he want her to get at Robert Puckett? That’s what she’d questioned back then so why was this questioning any different?

  Okay, maybe it’s not about your motives. Maybe it’s more about the element of surprise. I’m surprised that you like me. You can have any woman you want, Harriet, yet you say you want me. I find that hard to believe. I have nothing to offer you, apart from my body.

  There, she’d said that too. Was this just about sex? Thinking back to all the laughs they’d had and the conversations they’d enjoyed, Camila realised it wasn’t just about sex.

  That’s wrong of me. I know we have more than great sex. We have a connection. A connection that I’ve not felt before. Maybe this is it. Maybe this actually is true love and I’m shocked because it’s so overwhelming. I get excited when I see you. I think about you when you’re not here. I dream of a future together. What it would be like. Where we would live. And see, look, it’s me running away with myself. Maybe I’m holding back because I’m scared of scaring you off? The bottom line is, I really like you. I really really like you, Harriet, and I want to see where this goes.

  There. That was the conclusion. Yes, this was new. Yes, this was confusing – not because Harriet was a woman, but because there were feelings involved that she’d never felt before.

  I think I might give you this letter after all. It’s the truth. It’s my truth. Maybe once you’ve read it you can tell me yours?

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Camila watched as Harriet placed the letter on the duvet. They were in Harriet’s bed in her apartment, both fully clothed, sitting propped against the headboard. She’d arrived as requested at 2.00p.m. to find another bit of torn cardboard from the shoe box stuck to the front door. To get in to the apartment complex she’d first had to prove who she was to the security guard at the security barrier who’d ticked her name off a list before allowing her to park in the CCTV monitored basement. She’d then ridden up in the lift that only worked once she’d swiped the security pass that the security guard had given her before alighting at Harriet’s floor whose access door only opened once she’d inputted the personalised code Harriet had texted her, and then, and only then, did she have access to Harriet’s front door, so it made perfect sense for the treasure hunt to start there otherwise a whole host of people on CCTV security duty would have been privy to her peculiar behaviour… and Camila knew her behaviour had been peculiar with excitable hops and giggles as she dashed around figuring out the clues. The first clue that had been stuck to the front door had said: My feelings aren’t a crook, go and look in a cook book. Camila had knocked on the door but when there was no answer she’d tried the handle and crept in. There had been soft music coming from somewhere and a wonderful aroma of something cooking but there’d been no sign of Harriet so she’d read the clue once more and gone to the kitchen. If this had been her treasure hunt she’d have put something like: My love’s abound where recipes are found. Or: I’m not a deviant, my love’s the ingredient. But instead Harriet had just told her to go and look at the cook books which had made her laugh, just like the next clue had made her laugh even more: My love’s not grotesque, go look on my desk. And even though it hadn’t taken much figuring out it still felt exciting to dash into Harriet’s office and scan the workspace for the next scrap of cardboard. Having got it out from under the keyboard, Camila had groaned. They’d got steadily worse: I love you, now look in the loo. “Oh, Harriet,” she had shouted, “this is so crazy.” And child-like and pure. Harriet had obviously just continued to rip apart the shoe box and write whatever clue had come into her mind, but the fact remained that she’d taken the time to set this up.

  Camila had groaned as she’d read the next clue: You’re not a project. I’m where we have sex. Not only had that piece of cardboard been trapped between the toilet seat and toilet lid, but it hadn’t even properly rhymed. Having left the clue on the side of the sink and washed her hands, Camila had walked into the room where Harriet had first taken her lesbian virginity. She’d shivered as she had done every time she’d entered the space since, remembering how overwhelmed she’d felt with the pleasure she and Harriet had shared. Only this time it hadn’t been a shiver of anticipation or remembrance, it had been a shiver of yearning… and of acceptance. Harriet had been sitting, fully clothed, on the bed, with two final bits of cardboard stuck to the wall behind her. On one it said: Believe and on the other it said: Me. Camila had covered her mouth with her hands at the shiver of shame that ran through her. In that moment she’d suddenly realised how much effort Harriet had made to prove her feelings… and, yes, while a ripped up shoe box wasn’t like she’d written a love song or dedicated a novel to her, it was an effort she shouldn’t have had to make.

  Looking down at the letter that Harriet had now dropped onto the duvet, Camila wondered how they’d got to this point where Harriet had actually read the three rambling pages of unorganised thoughts. She’d decided on the way over here that it was best not to share it, but Harriet had ended the treasure hunt with the words: “I love you, Camila,” to which Camila had replied: “And I think I might love you too.” This had then led onto a discussion about why there was any thought involved in the declaration and the letter had been produced.

  “It’s quite brutal,” said Harriet, fingering the hand-written pages once more.

  “It wasn’t meant to be. I was just trying to be honest.”

  “About my lack of honesty?”

  “Honest with myself mostly.” Camila paused. “And I shouldn’t have questioned you. I understand that now.” Turning to look again at the scraps of cardboard stuck to the wall, Camila smiled. “I do believe you.”

  “Why now?”

  “Because you did this.”

  “It’s hardly momentous.” Harriet took Camila’s hand and pulled her off the bed. “But this is,” she said, leading them to a room at the back of the apartment.

  Camila gasped as the door was opened. She’d only glanced into the space once before. It was a room possibly sold as a small dining area or snug, but one that Harriet had been using for storage, only now it had a luscious Persian rug on the floor and tall pot plants of different colours, shapes and sizes crammed into the rest of the space. She turned first to the lady palms and moth orchids – ones she recognised – before eyeing a whole host of colourful plants that she couldn’t name. “What is this?” said Camila, unsure where to look next.

  “I’ve brought a beautiful outdoor picnic indoors. It’s miserable today but I wanted to romance you. I had these plants shipped in and I’ve been cooking all morning.” She smiled. “Scraps of cardboard aren’t love, Camila. This is love.” Harriet moved them both into the room. “I’ve even got butterflies.”

  “So have I.”

  Harriet laughed. “No, literally, look.” Harriet pointed at a brightly coloured butterfly as it took flight.

  “What the bloody hell!” gasped Camila. “They’re everywhere!”

  “Beautiful aren’t they. Just like you.”

  Camila ducked as a large-winged creature fluttered her way. “That one’s definitely a moth!” She ducked again. “I don’t think I can relax in here! They’re everywhere!”

  “Sit down. If you stay still they might land on you.”

  “I don’t want them to land on me!”

  “Let me change the music. I want this moment to be perfect.” Harriet moved to the corner of the room and fiddled with the stereo.

  “Panpipes?” Camila frowned at the wispy tooting notes. “You want me to sit on a rug in a room full of plants and butterflies and listen to the panpipes?”

/>   “It’s romantic, sit down, I’ll bring the food in.”

  “No! It’ll attract them!”

  “Attract who?”

  “The mini-beasts intent on landing full-winged on my face.” Camila fanned away a large spotty flutterer.

  “Careful, I had to sign a strict waiver about my intentions.”

  “Your intentions with the butterflies?”

  “Yes. No cruelty. No sticking pins in them and making a collection. Butterfly releases are all the rage. We can open a window and let them go but I wanted you to enjoy them first.”

  “I’m enjoying the idea. Really lovely of you.”

  Harriet nodded. “I did think about getting birds, doves maybe, but they might have felt a bit cooped up in here.”

  “Unfortunately I feel a bit cooped up in here.”

  “Oh, Camila, I want you to feel loved.”

  “I don’t. I feel anxious and these pan pipes aren’t helping. They’re tooting out the Titanic theme tune. Listen. Titanic via panpipe.”

  Harriet tilted her head to the side. “I think you’re right. I do like this track though.”

  “But it’s not very romantic. It’s the moment before the ship sinks.”

  “Yes, but the panpipes make it sound beautifully haunting.”

  “Can we go back into your bedroom?”

  “No. I’m bringing the food in. Sit down. I won’t be a minute.”

  Camila followed Harriet’s departure with her eyes before daring to look at the luxurious rug. There were three butterflies resting on it, one spotty, one stripy and one blue. They all looked dangerous. She glanced around at the set-up. Yes, it was pretty and yes it must have taken a lot of effort to arrange but Harriet would have had help moving the storage boxes and setting out all the plants, not to mention someone to release the however many hundred butterflies into the indoor jungle. She stopped. Harriet hadn’t had to do this. She hadn’t had to do any of this. Whichever way you looked at it, this was effort on a monumental scale. “I should have just told you I believed you,” said Camila quietly, knowing that she was going to have to edge her way onto the rug. It was like all those times that Michael and Ethan made cakes or biscuits at primary school. You knew they’d be full of other children’s dirty nail prints and coughs and sneezes, not to mention table grit and possible nose picks, but you had to sample them all the same and act like they were the most delicious thing you’d ever eaten.

  Bending under a low-hanging leaf of an oversize Monstera, Camila decided she’d be best to crawl over the rug, using her hands to clap any landed butterflies away. On all fours she blew at a particularly stubborn red and black beast that wasn’t moving, only to gasp in shock as it fluttered straight at her face. She coughed, almost inhaling it. “I can’t do this!” she squealed, grabbing hold of her knees and rocking herself on the spot.

  Harriet spoke from the doorway as she presented a large wicker picnic basket. “I’ve got food. Home made.”

  “That’s lovely, but I almost swallowed a butterfly.”

  “You can’t. I had to sign a waiver.”

  “It wasn’t deliberate!” Camila continued to rock, her eyes darting around every time she sensed movement. “I appreciate what you’ve tried to do here and it really is lovely but—”

  “So sit back and let’s eat.”

  Camila reached out and slammed her hand on top of the picnic basket as it was lowered onto the rug. “Don’t open that!”

  “I have homemade falafels and pork pies. I even made a quiche.”

  “Is this a joke, Harriet?”

  “Oh gosh, what now?”

  Camila shook her head. “I can’t do this. I’m really sorry, I just can’t do this. I thought I might love you, but now I’m not sure again because I’m all anxious and jittery.”

  “I can collect the butterflies up if you want?”

  “You have a net?”

  “The guy gave me some nectar. They’re attracted to it. I was going to see if you wanted to hold out your hand and feed them.”

  “No chance.”

  “It’s very popular at weddings apparently.”

  “We’re not getting married.”

  “I didn’t say we were. Honestly, Camila, why can’t you just relax and go with things?”

  “I don’t know.” Camila swiped again at the big spotty butterfly that wouldn’t leave her alone. “I would love to sit next to you with a beautiful homemade picnic in an indoor butterfly sanctuary and declare my love, but it’s just not happening.”

  “You shouldn’t have to force it.”

  “Says you, creating an indoor butterfly sanctuary and homemade picnic.”

  “Because I love you.”

  “Well that’s nice, but I don’t need all this.”

  “So what do you need? You don’t believe me when I tell it to the nation, you don’t believe me when I scribble it on a shoe box, you don’t even believe me when I do something like this.”

  “I think I do believe you, Harriet, I just question how you know it for sure.”

  “It just hits you, Camila. Love hits you.”

  “And when did it hit you?”

  Harriet shrugged. “Honestly? When I saw you through that window in your mesh outfit.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Camila shook her head. “That can’t be true. We hadn’t even spoken. You didn’t even know me.”

  “Love just hits you and you know when it’s there because you feel its full force right here in your heart.” Harriet smiled. “I feel its full force right now as I watch you anxiously rocking.”

  “That’s not love.”

  “It is for me.”

  “No. Love’s a serious declaration. It’s a promise.”

  “Maybe the saying it part is, but the feeling it part certainly isn’t. Love’s an emotion, Camila, not a word. It can’t be categorised. It’s different for everyone. Yes there are obvious signs like feeling addicted to the person, wanting your friends and family to like the person, missing the person when you’re apart, celebrating the person’s triumphs.” Harriet laughed. “Look at you nodding!”

  “Because I agree with all of those things, I feel all of those things.”

  “Yet you don’t feel love?”

  “I can’t categorise that as love I guess.”

  “Well I’m not here to convince you. Love’s about trust, Camila. If you think about it, you never truly know what’s going on in someone’s mind or someone’s heart. It’s not like a novel where you usually hear both sides of the story. In real life you just have to take the person as you find them, as you see them. I just hope you can see me for who I am. This is me, Camila and this is my love, and yes love’s different for everyone: For some people it’s a feeling or a moment, or a look or a word, or an action, or sometimes it can even be a loss. I just want to enjoy what we’ve got now and see where it goes.”

  Camila nodded. “Me too. Can it go to the bedroom as these butterflies are freaking me out?”

  Harriet laughed. “Oh, Camila, that right there is real love.”

  “Where?”

  “Here, in my heart, I feel it.” Harriet slammed her fist against her own chest. “It just hit me right then.”

  “NO!”

  “Yes! You’re funny and it makes me love you even more!” Harriet hit her chest even harder.

  “NO!” gasped Camila once more.

  “Yes! This is my love!”

  “NO! YOU JUST SQUASHED THE BIG SPOTTY ONE!”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Standing in front of the panel of judges, Camila looked across at Harriet and shared another smile. The past two days had been full of fun times and laughter. Yes, the big spotty butterfly had disintegrated on impact and the picnic had deteriorated into utter chaos with three of the tall pot plants falling over in a domino effect as both women recoiled in horror at the fatal squashing, but once they’d escaped from the panpipe playing jungle they’d managed to enjoy an afternoon of giggles and wild sex with neither feeli
ng the need to readdress the love issue. Camila had concluded to herself that not all stories needed a definitive ending. There didn’t always have to be a moment where everything came together. Sometimes things just carried on, in exactly the way Saturday night’s show had depicted her and Harriet’s relationship. They hadn’t shown a moment where Camila had responded to Harriet’s declaration; instead the programme makers had been clever in their manipulation of the footage showing scenes of the pair sitting close and laughing together or leaning over a patent drawing as if in a conspiratorial lovers’ chat, even though these scenes were filmed before Harriet’s actual declaration. It was as if the programme told the story without actually saying the words, and maybe that’s what she’d chosen to do with Harriet. Her actions showed love even if she didn’t have the nerve to declare it. And whether it was about having the nerve or whether it was actually about the reality of meaning the words, she still wasn’t sure, but she’d decided to just leave the internal debate well alone.

  She smiled again at Harriet. It was almost their turn to present. The live studio audience and viewers at home were being shown the television commercial for H.I.Pvention. Last night’s show had introduced their Technology Box idea and walked viewers though the different stages of production from idea creation, their eureka moment, to prototype, the box now sitting on the desk in front of the judges. Both Ethan and Michael had chosen to watch that episode at friends’ houses so Camila had made insincere apologies to Julie and Debbie and stayed to watch it with Harriet. Once home, however, at just gone ten, she’d been met with a houseful. Julie and Debbie were still there, her sons had returned with their friends in tow and the evening had ended up quite late and raucous. It was nice though with everyone on an excited high. Julie didn’t seem too angry she’d been ditched, lording over Debbie that she had access to Camila’s house whenever she wanted and yes they could invite more of the estate round to watch tomorrow night’s final which had then caused Michael and Ethan to bagsy the sofas for the friends they’d said they’d invited who definitely deserved seating priority.