by Harper Bliss
“Sure and sure.” Véro nodded.
Juliette walked into her office. She looked around and wondered if all of this had been worth it. She knew very well that there were plenty of women out there who had done what she had thought impossible. They’d run a business and become a mother, often of more than one child. Juliette had waited too long, and, in the past, she’d had many good reasons to not want a child. Just as she had had many good reasons to never get married. But she was married now, and she wanted a child now. However, since their visit to Dr. Dupuis, it was as if she knew it wasn’t going to happen. She’d had to keep her spirits up for Nadia, and show her that she still believed no matter what, but when she’d lain, with her legs spread so crassly, on the examination table, she’d had a premonition that it simply wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t logically explain it. She’d just felt it. It had only left her craving a child more.
Juliette was still standing on the carpet in front of her desk when Véro knocked and brought her coffee. “Claire has just arrived. She asked if you wanted to see her, and if so, when would be the best time.”
Juliette took the mug from Véro and wondered what she must be thinking. She must sometimes wonder about the crazy firm she ended up working for. How could she not?
“Whenever’s fine,” Juliette said. “I don’t have any meetings before lunch.”
“Okay.” Véro closed the door behind her. Juliette went to sit at her desk and waited. There was no point in beginning any work until she’d spoken to Claire. The same Claire who had sat in that chair across from her and profusely apologized for turning up at the hospital with Dievart, and had vowed that nothing had happened and most certainly never would. How could she ever believe anything Claire said ever again? But, on the other hand, how much had she wanted to go for a drink with Claire after the ob-gyn appointment? Not that Claire wasn’t just as skeptical about Juliette’s child wish as Nadia was, but at least with Claire, she could talk about Nadia’s lack of enthusiasm. She could vocalize her feelings without having to worry about offending her wife. And that was just on a personal level.
How many times a day did Juliette pick up the phone to quickly ask Claire a question? When it came to Barbier & Cyr, it felt as though they shared a brain. Over the years, they had gathered so much information together, tidbits that only the two of them knew, because they had lived through it all together. While working from home, Juliette had found herself reaching for her phone more than once, wanting to place a quick call to Claire to ask her what a client’s favorite brand of scotch was again. All this agony over a woman, Juliette thought. Will none of us ever learn?
Then, the knock on her door she’d been waiting for. Juliette cleared her throat, sat up a bit straighter, and said, “Oui.”
“Hey.” Claire’d had a hair cut. “Is now a good time?” she asked.
It had only been one week, but Juliette had missed the simple, every-day act of Claire walking into her office so much. “Yes. Come in.”
Claire shut the door and sat down opposite Juliette. They made eye contact for a brief moment, then both looked away.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Juliette said. “I truly have no idea.” She sighed, and felt her posture sagging already. “I want to keep you as my friend and my business partner.” Juliette had woken up at five this morning, thinking of what to say to Claire, but she’d never got past the conundrum of missing Claire terribly and hating her for what she had done. “But I can’t trust you. You broke something between us and I’m not sure it can be fixed.”
“I know I did, Jules.” Claire’s voice trembled. “But we have a responsibility to this company, to our clients and our employees. We’re going to have to find a way to make this work.” The tremor in Claire’s voice was fading and being replaced with the confident tone she used to pitch clients. “I think there’s only one way. We just have to do it. You can resent me all you want. And I will do anything you ask of me, because I fully realize I’m the one who has to take responsibility here, but this company is called Barbier and Cyr, and it needs you and me. The only way we can keep everything on track—at least until after the election—is, basically, by faking it until we make it.”
Rage was brewing in Juliette’s gut—perhaps she shouldn’t have had that triple espresso. But Juliette was adamant to be the better person here—because she so obviously was. She took a few deep breaths and tried to speak calmly. “By that, I take it you mean that I have to pretend that you didn’t do what you did. Because it’s easy for you to say, Claire, but put yourself in my position. How would you react if I’d gone after Inez and had an affair with her behind your back for six months?” Well done. Juliette berated herself inwardly. This was one of the things she hadn’t meant to say to Claire. But fuck, it was a more than valid comparison. One she wanted Claire to consider.
“That would make me feel pretty shitty,” Claire said.
It wasn’t as though Juliette derived any pleasure from seeing Claire crumble like that. Her shoulders were hunched and she seemed to have shrunk a foot.
“You’ve made me feel so insignificant.” Juliette’s voice was doing the trembling now. Not just because the pain Claire had caused her was still so raw, but also because this was not how the conversation was meant to go. In fact, what Claire had just said started to make sense to her, but Juliette wasn’t sure she could actually rise to the level of matureness needed to act like that for the sake of their business. “It was humiliating enough to witness you walking into the E.R. with her on the night of Margot’s accident, but to actually have you go back to her.” It was as though Juliette could sense herself rise outside of her body and adopt a bird’s eye view of what she was doing. The same exact thing she’d done so many times during arguments with Nadia. Play up her role as the victim and actively stand in the way of any solutions because, surely, she was the one who had gotten her feelings hurt the most.
If she and Claire were ever to be friends again, Juliette would need to find a way to rise above her wallowing and her woe-is-me attitude. She’d need to find a way to see that what Claire had done with Dievart wasn’t an attack on her personally, but an awful judgement call made by a lonely, broken-hearted woman. She could hardly do what she’d done to Nadia after she found out that she’d slept with Dievart. Juliette had actually learned one thing from that ordeal: quid pro quo doesn’t make things better.
“Jules, I know. But I’m beginning to sound like a broken record here. I’m sorry. You know that. I was being selfish and not myself, and not considerate of anyone else. I made a mistake. I have to live with that. Trust me, this mistake is the first thing I think about when I open my eyes in the morning and the last before I close them at night. But, fuck, I miss you. I miss us. And if you want to make me pay for my mistake, then I’ll accept that. If you want me out of your sight for a while longer, I’ll work from home. But I’m not allowing our friendship to be ruined over this, Jules. It’s not worth it. I stand by that.”
“Just tell me one thing.” For the life of her, Juliette couldn’t stop herself. “What’s so bloody great about Marie Dievart, anyway? Clearly, she’s a bitch who doesn’t take anyone’s feelings into consideration. She must be one hell of a… lover”—Juliette spat out the word—“to make you go back for more again and again.”
Claire inhaled deeply. “It’s not like that, Jules.”
“The hell it’s not.” Juliette’s voice shot up. “Not even Nadia has been able to convince me that she didn’t enjoy that night with her. What is she? Some kind of pussy whisperer or something?” Juliette knew how silly she was sounding—it was the story of her life.
Claire sat shaking her head. “Jules, come on. Let’s not do this again.”
“At least you’re right about that, Claire. I can’t do this anymore either.”
“So…” Claire paused. “What do you suggest?”
Juliette shrugged. “I don’t have much choice, do I?” She leaned forward and put her elbows on her desk,
trying to give Claire a menacing look. “I have to work with you, and I will. But be well aware of the fact that it doesn’t mean I have forgiven you. Don’t invite me for after-work drinks or anything like that. I’ll play my part. We’ll run the company together. I’ll pretend you didn’t stab me in the back in the worst possible way, as long as you don’t get any ideas in your head.”
“That’s all I can ask for at this point,” Claire said. She was a mere shadow of the confident woman with a new haircut who had walked into Juliette’s office ten minutes ago, and Juliette, for the first time, felt a tiny bit sorry for her friend. She remembered Claire’s hand on her shoulder when François had turned up out of the blue to give her the news about her father’s heart attack. And Claire’s words of wisdom after Juliette had slept with Sybille to get back at Nadia. If she were to count the hours Claire had listened to her talking about how awful her life was, how everyone always let her down, it would add up to years. But friendship wasn’t measured by time spent together and favors done for each other. The whole point of it was that there was no need to measure it. Nevertheless, Juliette was weighing the grief Claire had caused her against all the good things she had done for her, and hoping that, at some point, the scale would tip to the other side again.
Claire rose and walked to the door. Before she opened it, she turned to Juliette, and said, “You’re my family, Jules. I love you. We will get through this.” She lifted her chin, held her head high, and exited Juliette’s office.
Juliette had once fallen in love with Claire. She’d left her because romantically—and sexually—they didn’t make much sense, but she’d fallen hard enough to never want to let Claire Cyr go from her life. They had that unquantifiable spark between them that allowed them to rise from the ruins of their affair and forge a friendship. Juliette wanted so much to believe that what Claire had just said would be true—hadn’t they gotten through much worse than Juliette’s ego being fatally bruised?—but she still failed to see how.
MARGOT
“She bought you a motorcycle?” Nadia asked. It had been one of those spring days that already felt like summer, and Margot and Nadia had decided to go for a drink after work on one of the many terraces just across the canal from Saint-Vincent.
“Wow,” Steph added. Earlier that afternoon, Nadia had called Steph at work and told her that if she didn’t join her and Margot for a drink on a gorgeous evening like this, she’d have to reconsider her vote for Dominique because of how the Députée was robbing them of their friend.
Steph had surprised Margot a few weeks after she’d been discharged from the hospital and had taken time out of her increasingly hectic schedule to visit Margot at her parents’ home. She’d repeated her visits at frequent intervals, leading Margot to believe that they could, in fact, be friends. Steph was by no means the same person who had so callously hit on Margot that first night they’d met in Nadia and Juliette’s apartment. She was a politician’s wife now—and clearly suffering from the mounting pressure.
“I know,” Margot said. “After all the paperwork has been processed, my commute to work is going to be so much more pleasant again.”
“Nu-uh, Doc,” Steph said. “My amazement was not a reaction to the cutting in half of your commute time. I know Claire. She was making a statement.”
“Of course she was.” Margot remembered the speech Claire had given her, and wondered if the one she’d planned on giving Juliette on her first day back at work today was having as much effect. “And she was right. I can’t punish myself forever.” She tapped a fingernail against the bottle of Perrier she was drinking. “I’ve already stopped drinking.”
“With all due respect,” Steph said, a small smile on her face, “I think you’ve been reading the signals wrong.” Steph looked at Nadia—perhaps to support her claim. Nadia just shrugged.
“We’re friends,” Margot said, perhaps in a more defensive tone than necessary.
“Nadz and I have been friend for years. She’s never given me a motorcycle.” Steph turned to Nadia. “Nadz, why have you never given me a motorcycle?”
“Because you don’t ride a motorcycle,” Nadia said. “Which would make it a pretty stupid gift.”
Steph rolled her eyes. “Am I the only one who’s reading this right?” She turned her attention back to Margot. “Claire still has feelings for you. If it had purely been a token of friendship, perhaps she’d have given you a keyring in the shape of a motorcycle. Knowing Claire, it would surely have been a gold-plated keyring, but a keyring nonetheless. Not an actual motorcycle.”
“We had a pretty intense week, okay? It was just Claire’s overly generous way of thanking me.”
Steph curved her lips into a non-believing pout. “Believe what you will, Doc, but remember this moment. I’m calling it here and now. Claire Cyr still has the hots for you. Please think of me when she declares her love between now and, hm, let’s say two weeks.”
Margot took a sip of water. She would set Steph straight in a second. But her words had given her pause. “Dear Stéphanie, I understand you’re very excited about spending some undoubtedly hard-earned time off with us, your neglected friends. I also understand that it’s making you get a little carried away. But Claire and I are just friends. We’ve discussed it. We are very clear on this matter.” If they were so clear on this matter, as Margot had just stated, then why did she feel the most unfortunate blush creep up her cheeks?
Steph made a yeah-yeah face. Margot considered that she did work with Claire and Claire might have said something to her that Margot didn’t know about.
“I’m just glad this whole Dievart business is out in the open now.” Steph held up her hands. “Although I do feel very sorry for Jules, but at least I don’t have to walk around the office feeling like the world’s biggest traitor anymore.”
Nadia tapped the table top with three fingers a few times. “After we left the hospital, Margot and I laid out one ground rule for tonight, Steph. The name Marie Dievart will not be spoken.”
Steph slanted her head. “Understood,” she said.
“You seem different from the last time I saw you,” Nadia said. “More relaxed.”
Steph sagged into her chair and brought her beer bottle to her lips. After she sat it back down on the table, she said, “That’s because I’m in therapy.”
Margot, who had just been sipping from her water again, nearly spat it out. Margot was not a big believer in discussing and processing her feelings out loud, and for some reason she couldn’t really explain, she’d believed Steph was the same.
“My turn to say wow.” Worry crossed Nadia’s face and she put a hand on Steph’s arm. “Are you all right?”
“I am. I swear I am. There’s no need to worry about me.” Steph gave them that easy smile of hers. “It was all just getting a bit much, that’s all.”
“In what way?” Margot was curious.
“I believe they call it a burn-out. As much as I didn’t want to admit it to myself, because, you know, I’m still so young, and I love my job, but fuck, every night before I went to bed, my head was about to explode with a million little worries.”
“I’m so sorry,” Nadia said. “I had no idea you felt like that. I’ve been a bad friend.”
Steph waved off Nadia’s comment. “No, you haven’t. You called me countless times, Nadz. But I never had time to see you. Which is why I made a point of coming tonight.”
“So, er, seeing a therapist is helping then?” Margot asked.
Steph nodded and seemed lost in thought for a second. “It’s great. Marion, my therapist, is great. She’s also the daughter of the late President Tanguy-Pascal.”
“She is?” Nadia eyes were the size of saucers.
“She gets it. She gets exactly what I’m going through, well, most of it, anyway… I’ve only seen her twice. But next time, Dominique and I will be going to see her together to… address a more intimate issue.”
It wasn’t like Steph to be coy like that. Margot didn
’t need to have been her friend for years to know that.
“We, er, well, I actually seem to have lost my appetite for sex,” Steph added.
“You?” Nadia accompanied her astounded response with a quick waggle of her eyebrows.
“What can I say, Nadz?” Steph pulled up her shoulders. “It happens to the best of us.” She gave a nervous chuckle.
Before Margot started hanging out with this crowd, she never had conversations like this. She felt herself blush again, although she didn’t really know why.
“So what you’re saying is that you and Dominique are suffering from lesbian bed death?” Nadia obviously still couldn’t believe it.
“Well, if you want to call it that. But according to Marion it’s only normal that I haven’t really been feeling in the mood for a while. I suddenly found myself in a life that felt as far removed as possible from the one I once lived. It was a bit hard to adjust, you know?” Steph glanced at Nadia. “You and Jules have been together for so long now. What’s your frequency?”
“Our frequency?” Nadia asked, while Margot was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. She was not used to having friends who discussed these kind of things so openly. Then again, Steph couldn’t very well ask her the same thing seeing she was single and hadn’t had sex since that last time with Claire, that last time they’d tried to patch things up before everything had fallen apart. Margot had asked herself if she was going to deny herself sex for the rest of her life as well—being the glutton for punishment she’d become after the accident. She had decided to not actively look for anything, but if someone interesting popped up on her path, she wouldn’t rule it out. Though she did wonder when and where on earth she would ever meet someone like that again. Not that she was that difficult, but after all that had happened, and the disastrous choices she had made, she couldn’t even imagine it.
“Yes, how many times a week or month or year do you and Jules go at it?” Steph’s tone had gone all serious.
