If You Hear Me

by Jenn LeBlanc

  “Okay, well, that’s all true. What do you want to know?”

  What do I want to know? I think about this and the discussion he’s starting and I wonder just how much of what he’s been doing with himself for the past ten years I actually want the details of. Or who he’s been doing. “I don’t know. Maybe we table this for now. For the moment, at least. We can talk about this later. It isn’t as if talking about it is going to change anything.”

  “True. Is there anything I can tell you right now that you feel like you must know?”

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “No,” he says without hesitation, and I look up at him. “I knew there was a possibility that you were going to come. I’ve been thinking about that possibility for at least a year. I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything but you, so it wouldn’t have been fair to start a relationship with someone else when all I could think of was you. So no, I’m not in some sort of a relationship right now and I haven’t been for a little while.”

  “Okay. What about Xan? I’ve seen the images of the two of you.”

  “Yeah, we haven’t been anything but friends for a while and now he has a girlfriend. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

  “Which part?” I ask him because I’m trying to process all the different parts of his former boyfriend that might be troubling.

  “Well, that I dated a man—that I had sex with a man. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “I’m French,” I say by way of answer, and he laughs.

  “Okay,” he says, “do you have a problem with the fact that we’re still friends?” he asks, and I look at him. This one would be more likely but I still have no feelings for it.

  “No, I don’t…I don’t think so. I don’t actually think I care.” He nods and smiles and continues with the amazing foot rub, and I just lie there for a while, letting it seep into my muscles. His hand moves up my ankle and I’m suddenly aware that I haven’t shaved in a couple of days, and I sit up and pull my legs away from him. He laughs. “What?” I ask.

  “Well, I mean, if you’re concerned that I’m going to feel the—”

  “Stop talking,” I say and hold my hand up, because this is the last thing I need right now. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you and…I mean…I was wearing pants for the DJ audition so I didn’t really need to. I was running late, okay? I just—”

  “I really don’t care,” he says. “Sure, I like the feel of a shaved leg but honest to God, Cam, that’s really pretty low on the list of my concerns.”

  “But it is on the list?”

  “Not really, actually… I really don’t care. Look, Meli it’s been ten years and all I want right now is to catch up and spend time with you and see what…or where we’re going. That’s the totality of my list of concerns. Okay?”

  “Alright. But…just for the record, I don’t like my legs unshaven. It isn’t something I’m doing for you. It’s something I’m doing for me.”

  “No argument here, fur ball,” he says, and I smack his arm. “Are you hungry again yet? We can go get some lunch or…”

  “There you go, trying to get me to finish your options for you. No. Go home, the plan stands. It was just…just waylaid for a bit. That’s all. Just waylaid. I’ll see you in a little while after I pull myself together and maybe shave. Maybe not. I haven’t decided.”

  “You’re going to shave.”

  “You’re absolutely right I am. But that’s still neither here nor there. I’ve got to do other things, and you need to go. My phone is on the counter. Your number is already in it, text yourself if you don’t believe me, then get the fuck out.”

  He laughs and stands, pulling me up from the sofa. He kisses my nose, just a sweet little peck, then he turns and grabs my phone, and I don’t wait for the rest. I walk down the hall, through my bedroom, and into the bathroom. I shut the door and start the shower because before I do anything else, I need to wash the scent of him off my body.

  Nine

  Daniel

  Hey OMW you home? } D

  Tris texts back almost immediately and it makes me laugh.

  T { the fuck have you been?

  with Meli } D

  T { and?

  you home? } D

  T { Yes

  K } D

  I get to my flat and shower and by the time I’m out, Tristan is lounging on my bed. “Dude, boundaries.”

  “Whatever,” he says. “Where have you been? What happened after you chased her out of the bar?”

  “We…reacquainted ourselves.”

  “Why the fuck are you being so goddamned proper?”

  “This isn’t a locker room. This is Cam. This woman is… She brings it out of me.”

  “Respect?”

  “More than that.”

  “How much more?”

  “She can have whatever she wants,” I say, and I know it’s one of the truest things I’ve ever said.

  “Slow down, man. It’s been, like, three days.”

  “Fourteen years and three days. And the ten years we were separate fell away the minute I saw her. Oh God, Tris, this is… I mean, think about it, think about the first girl you were with and how sweet and innocent and small and fragile she was and how much of a child you were, and then imagine you blinked and she was a woman. Can you even imagine? I couldn’t, but now…fuck, man, everything we did then is like…nothing compared to now. It’s like playing an Atari and being instantly upgraded to a PS4.”

  “Did you really just relate sex with your girlfriend to playing video games?”

  “Yeah, sort of.” I laugh, it’s absurd, but I can’t think of another way to explain this to him. “You were giving me that blank stare. I thought I needed to elaborate on your level.”

  “Fuck you, dude.”

  “No thanks. Listen, she’s coming over so—”

  “So I’ll make this quick then. Is that it? Are you back together and it’s just…this now? When is she moving in? What’s next?”

  I stop looking for clothes as a chill rushes over me. I don’t know what’s next. She obviously has things to tell me but she isn’t doing that yet. I can be patient; I’ve been patient. Ten years of patience. “Why are you pushing? We already established that it’s only been a few days. We have to get to know each other again.”

  “And you said it was like those ten years were gone, except for…leveling up.”

  I laugh, because that’s ridiculous, but I guess it works. “Yeah, I did, but come on, let’s be reasonable.”

  “I don’t want to be reasonable,” Tris says, and I turn toward him. “Why does everyone want to pair off? It’s completely overrated. I thought we were having fun.”

  “Having fun? You’re the only one fucking everyone who looks your way. We were all just along for the ride.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It isn’t bullshit. Think about it. Xan and I hooked up, and you were still fucking everyone. It’s not like he and I have been chasing tail like you.”

  “Maybe not, but at least you weren’t sitting at home watching Netflix every night.”

  “It has been three fucking days, Tris. Come on.” I take a deep breath and try to see past what he’s saying. He hasn’t exactly had it easy since his wife died. “Okay, what’s this really about?”

  “It’s about you going all in for what amounts to a perfect stranger.”

  “You know goddamned fucking well that’s not the case here.”

  “Sure it is. You were children, asshole. Come on.”

  “Tris, quit fucking baiting me,” I say and then stop because he’s staring out the window and he looks like…he’s a wreck. The skin under his eyes is thin and dark, and there’s a tremor in the hand that pushes the mess of his hair back from his face. “This isn't about me at all.” He twitches, like he started to shake his head but stopped. I pull my jeans on and walk over to him. “Is this about Joanna?” I ask, and he looks like a deflating balloon.

  “I don’t know. I don�
�t know what it’s about.”

  “Hey, I know we’re all friends and we’ve been fucking around for a couple of years now, but we’ll still be friends and we’ll still be able to go fuck around with you. Just because Xan is hooked up and Meli is back in my life doesn’t mean we shuffle you off.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  I sit next to him at the edge of my bed. “Look it’s the same as when you were married. You came out, we still went out. The tables are just turned.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to see. I don’t…I don’t like seeing…seeing it just reminds me of how it feels.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say and lean against him. “I can tell her I need the afternoon. We can go get poké or something. Play some Assassin’s Creed?”

  “I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll just call a model and work on something.”

  “Where’s Soso?”

  “She’s with her grandmother. They go back to New York soon, so she’s been staying with them a lot to get used to them.”

  “You know my sister can’t wait to be old enough to babysit for you.”

  Tris laughs quickly and it sounds good. “Izzy is sweet, but not for a couple more years, maybe. And a Red Cross certification.”

  “I’ll tell her. She’ll be all over it.”

  “Good. We should do something soon though. Soso loves your sister and she’s going back to New York with her grandparents for a while.”

  “That can’t be easy. You guys are usually inseparable.”

  “I’ll definitely miss her.”

  “I imagine. If you need something, just text me. I’ll have my phone on, and I know Meli wouldn’t mind. She’ll understand.”

  Tris nods and stands, and I follow him to the door. “Thanks, Daniel,” he says and shoves my shoulder. He opens the door, and Meli practically falls through, her hand raised midknock.

  “Oh, hi,” she says.

  “Hey there. You must be Camellia,” Tristan says and takes her hand and pulls her in the door then closes both of his hands around hers. “You’re more lovely than Daniel said.”

  “Thank you,” Meli says with a smile. I watch as Tristan's thumb skims back and forth across the back of Cam’s hand, and something about it triggers my possessiveness. I push him, breaking their contact.

  “Tris was just leaving,” I say.

  “He doesn’t have to. I don’t mind,” Meli says, and I look at Tris in warning even though I was only just telling him I was here for him.

  “No, I have things to do. Maybe later,” he says and smiles. I pull him in and pat his back stiffly, then he breaks away and heads out the door. “Don’t get too noisy. Our bedrooms are adjacent,” he says with a wink. Then he steps out and pulls the door closed behind himself, and Meli is left staring at me and I know she’s wondering just how much Tris and I discussed and I hate him right now for starting that conversation.

  His revenge was perfectly placed.

  “Well,” I start, and she walks past me straight to my baby grand at the windows.

  “She’s beautiful,” she says and her fingers coast gently over the keys, pressing enough to move them but not enough to strike any notes.

  “Thank you. She was a gift from my parents when I graduated and returned.”

  The way she slides her fingers makes me shiver, and I realize that even more than missing her touch, I’ve missed her music. She’s one of the most talented people I’ve ever met. The way she talks about seeing music, feeling it. The way it can pour from her fingers to the paper. What I want more than anything right now is to watch her pencil notes, joining some, coloring some in, taking some back out. Sharps, flats, eighths, trebles, whole notes…I want to see her draw them all. Her eyes closed, her hands raised, those two little wrinkles between her eyebrows creased in thought. Her fingers dancing on the air as though they’re tasting the music.

  I want to watch her compose something and then I want to play it for her like we used to. Her sprawled across the lid of the grand, handing pages to me as I sit at the keys. We were such an amazing team and the realization dawns, really for the first time, that the reason I didn’t take that internship was out of fear.

  Meli and I worked together so seamlessly, so perfectly, I don’t have any idea how to work with anyone else. All I’ve done since she left was play the music. I felt nothing. There were no original compositions beyond my own modifications of classical music. There was nothing.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “You— I’ve just…I just realized how much I missed you and I didn’t even realize…I didn’t really realize why. I hadn’t really considered all the ramifications of you leaving. It wasn’t merely that I loved you. It was bigger than wanting to be close to you. You meant so much more to me than anyone else has ever understood, and I only just realized how.” I watch as she turns from the piano and walks to the curtains that fall across the windows, shifting gently in the mildest of breezes.

  “I think I know what you mean. Listening to people play my work hasn’t been the same. They don’t understand it like you do. They don’t translate it the same as you. It just hasn’t ever felt right. They may play it as perfectly as I wrote it, but you always knew there was more…you always made it more.”

  Because I can’t stand being so far from her, I come up behind her and run my hands down her arms.

  “You haven’t asked about my daughter,” she says.

  “No.”

  “You aren’t interested?”

  “I assumed you would tell me when you were ready. I don’t want to push you. I want—”

  “You don’t need to be so delicate with me. I’m not fragile.”

  “I never thought you were. I just…” I take a deep breath then I turn her until she’s looking up at me. “I don’t know why you left. I know it was probably beyond your control. I don’t want to ask something or say something that would drive you away again, or put us in the same situation we were in before. I don’t know why you left, so everything I do I’m afraid I’m going to repeat whatever it was and I’ll lose you again. I don’t want—I don’t want to lose you again, after I only just managed to find you.”

  She nods and turns back to the window. “I understand you’re being delicate with me, but I want you to ask some questions. Because at the moment I’m too frightened to simply tell you things,” she says and she does sounds fragile and for that I want to comfort her. She takes a deep breath and goes on though, so I wait. “I think if you ask questions, it’ll be easier for me. I may not answer them, but I do want you to ask and I’ll promise you that it was nothing you did. I left because my parents took me, I don’t want you to think for a moment that something you do is going scare me away. I’m not going anywhere. If I need to leave, I’ll let you know.”

  I’m not sure if I feel better or worse at that staement. I turn and sit at my piano, resting my fingers on the keys, sliding them between the black keys, the feeling of the sharps and flats smoothing along the skin between my fingers, a sort of anchor for me. It effectively changes the subject enough for her to calm and for me to collect my thoughts.

  “What was her name?” I ask, and I hear her take a deep, shuddering breath before she comes over to me and sits, scooting me over on the bench. Then she shakes her head.

  “You really cut to the chase, don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “No, don’t stop,” she says. “That’s just…a singularly difficult question.” Her hands come up to the keyboard, falling on the keys for our old duet. It’s a duet I haven’t played since the day she left. I haven’t even considered it. I set my fingers in position and we begin.

  The sound of my piano fills the loft, whole and powerful. It’s different from the music I’ve played because there are so many hands, so many consecutive notes, so much music and power.

  The music fills me in a way it hasn’t for a very long time, and watching her hands on the keys next to mine is almost overwhelming. My fingers stum
ble, and she pull hers to her lap as the music fades and I turn to her with a smile.

  A tear slides down her cheek, and I reach to catch it, her mouth distracting me as it drops open.

  “Her name was Isabeau Marie-Louise, and she was yours.”

  Meli

  His hands are on me, his finger smoothing across the crest of my cheek, and I feel the tear only as my skin chills when it evaporates.

  His breathing stops, his hand frozen in place. I open my eyes to find him searching mine as though looking for verification of the truth of it all. Or perhaps for something to say.

  What do you say to a pronouncement like that? As a woman, the thought has never crossed my mind. I’d know about any baby that I’d birthed and if I didn’t, there were much bigger issues at hand.

  But as a man? Accidents happen. Do they wonder? Do they think about this very situation and run scenarios? Do they prepare statements ahead of time for just such a case? I think that’s what I’d do. It’s something I do actually do for random situations, but not for this, of course. Because I didn’t even realize those words were going to come out until they did.

  I watch his face, emotions crossing his features like the sun and storms as though he has to live this entire pregnancy and life before he can reconcile the death of his child. His child.

  My chest tightens and I lean over, hiding my face in my hands and breaking the contact with him as I turn away, because right now this all feels like it was yesterday and not ten years ago. Watching his reactions skins me raw to the bone.

  “Camellia,” he says but doesn’t follow up with anything. Then he stands and walks to the windows and stares out at the fading sun—which will turn a fiery red at any moment—his hands in his pockets.