“Yes. She’s still with her fiancé. She came to me and made it sound like she’d left him to be with me, but she hadn’t, not really. We cheated on him and I hate myself for it. She said she loved me but…I don’t think she knows what she wants, or who she is. And I think that, even though she loves me, it isn’t enough.” Iris shook her head, the memories too painful. “I threw her out, I wasn’t kind. And I hate myself for that too.”
“Oh.”
“It’s breaking my heart to have come so close to having her and losing her.” She rubbed the tears away with the napkin her dad gave her.
He held out his arms and Iris moved into the space, letting her dad hug her while she cried for her own stupidity and for the loss of Cam. It wasn’t enough to erase the pain, but it was a start.
* * *
“Are you sure?” Her dad held up her phone, a frown on his face. “It’s been buzzing like crazy. And I’m guessing they’re not all work related.” Iris smiled at him. She wasn’t sure, but it felt like the first she had managed in two days. She’d got up this morning feeling a little brighter and determined to just get on with her life.
“I’m sure, Dad. I have to get back to work and I’d rather know what’s waiting for me.” Iris was only half telling the truth. She also badly wanted to know if Cam had called or texted. The thought of Cam leaving London still had the power to hurt, to make her draw breath, but she’d spent most of the last two days in her room, playing around with her poems, listening to music and she’d had plenty of time to think.
What had happened wasn’t on her. She had trusted Cam, believed her to be free. She had opened up her heart to her, not just her bed, and if Cam had come to her before she had a right to, without really meaning to leave Ryan, that wasn’t her fault. The pain was the same, but somehow not feeling completely responsible for the mess helped Iris to think she could survive this better.
“I’m taking this upstairs so you don’t hear me swear.” Iris tried for a joke as she took the phone from her dad. “I know you already think I have a potty mouth.”
“Something else you got from me.” Her dad laughed. “And I put your laundry on your bed. There was some stuff in your pockets that I left on the dresser, don’t forget to pick it up before you go.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Iris gave him a quick hug before disappearing upstairs. She sat on her bed, almost too nervous to look at her phone. When she finally steeled herself, Iris could see multiple texts and missed calls from work, and from Hazel and Casey, but nothing from Cam. She opened the most recent text from Hazel. It just said, Cam has given in her notice. Thought you should know.
Iris put the phone down and put her head in her hands. Her feelings—shame, sorrow and loss—were an absolute whirl in her chest. Maybe Cam just hadn’t loved her enough. Or maybe Iris’s behavior had made it impossible for her to do anything but go to Seattle with Ryan. Iris felt the rejection like a knife. She had let herself fall in love with Cam, but she couldn’t give Cam the courage she needed to choose her. She barely had enough of her own.
Iris picked through the items her dad had fished out of her jeans. She put the coins and USB stick back in her pocket and unfolded the small piece of paper, knowing exactly what it was. She’d carried it around for weeks, ever since Cam had given it to her. The well-worn creases created black lines on the paper, but it didn’t matter. Iris knew the date, knew the venue, knew she had promised Cam faithfully that she would perform at the event all those weeks ago. But that was before, what felt like a lifetime ago.
Iris stuffed the remaining bits and pieces into her backpack, slipped her phone into her pocket, and headed down the stairs. She was going home, she was going to try to keep her head straight for the day, and maybe tomorrow she would go and perform one of her poems. But if she did, she’d do it for herself, because it was bloody well time that she started living in the world rather than hiding from it. If loving Cam had taught her anything, it was that.
Chapter Twenty-seven
“You don’t have to move out straight away. We’ve got a few weeks till the lease is up.” Ryan stood leaning against the kitchen counter, looking defeated and sounding weary. “We can be civilized with each other after all this time, surely. Unless it’s that bad that you really can’t bear to be around me that is.” He added the last sentence a little bitterly, trying for a smile but not quite managing.
Cam felt such fondness for him. She wanted to give him a hug but knew that the contact would not be helpful for either of them. She hated that she was the reason he was hurting right now. He was waiting for her to reply, to reassure, but she said nothing. What could she say?
“You’ll have to leave your keys after you’ve finished moving. The agency will want both sets back at the end of the tenancy.” He choked slightly on the words, and Cam moved toward him, despite herself.
“Don’t.” He said the word quietly, holding up a hand.
Cam sat back down on the couch. The purple blanket was folded neatly next to her. She ran her hand across the fabric. It was impossible for her not to associate the blanket with Iris, with her realization weeks before that she had the wrong kind of feelings for her. Feelings that turned out to be the very right kind of feelings. Even if Iris wasn’t willing to let Cam prove it.
Cam yawned. Neither of them had slept the night before. They had spent hours raging, crying and despairing, calming down enough to eat a stilted breakfast together, both of them understanding by then that it would probably be their last, and then arguing again for what felt like hours. Finally, thinking there was nothing more to say, Cam had gone up to their bedroom to throw a few things into a bag. Ryan had come upstairs to watch her, not really believing she was going to leave, and starting the same conversation they’d had several times already.
“You can’t love her. You’ve only known her for a few months. And you’re not even a lesbian—I think I’d know. This is just some stupid crush.” Ryan kept returning to Iris. It was like he could accept Cam leaving him, but he couldn’t accept Cam with Iris.
“I’m not leaving you for Iris.” Cam said it again, feeling the pain of Iris’s words, of her rejection, all over again.
“How can you say that? That’s exactly what you’re doing.” Ryan rubbed his forehead.
“We aren’t happy together. We haven’t been for a while. We’ve just stopped working. You know that really. I know it’s hard after so long together, but we both deserve to be happier, to be with people who love us the way we deserve to be loved.”
“And you think that’s Iris for you? Bullshit.” He shook his head.
“I want it to be.” Cam was quietly emphatic and Ryan got up and walked out, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
Iris clearly didn’t feel the same way, and every time she thought about what had happened between them, she felt the same searing hurt. But, on one level, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stay with Ryan now that she’d experienced how Iris made her feel. Living with Ryan was like living in black and white, whereas with Iris everything felt Technicolor.
When she had returned from Iris’s on Saturday evening, he was waiting for her, and as soon as she got through the door, he asked her outright if she had spent the day with Iris. She couldn’t lie to him; she didn’t want to. She had nodded, her eyes cast down, still full of the tears she had shed when Iris had told her to go. Ryan had raged, and for a time she had felt fearful. He had run through every insult he could throw at Iris—called her manipulative, a slut, a relationship wrecker, accused her of seducing women for the buzz of it—and when Cam told him that she was the one who had gone to Iris, that Iris had always been the one to try to stay away, that Iris had thrown her out telling Cam that they couldn’t be together because of Ryan, he looked at Cam with a mix of disbelief and fury in his eyes and his fists clenched at his sides.
“Why would you do that to me? To us?”
“I love her. I can’t be without her.”
She had repeated a version of that truth so many times as they
argued and talked that eventually he had been forced to accept that she meant it. That she loved Iris in a way she had never loved him, never loved anyone, and she had meant for them to be together.
“I can’t really believe you’re gonna do this. I know we kind of drifted, but I didn’t think…” They were sitting side by side on the couch. It was close to four a.m. “I thought we’d go home, get married, and have kids. That it’d get better. I thought we just needed something to focus on. I didn’t know you felt like this.”
Cam turned to him. He looked tired, drawn. Whatever she said would hurt him, but she had to be honest. She hadn’t ever trusted him with her truth.
“I’ve been so scared of what people thought of me—you, my mom, our friends—that I let myself be talked into doing things I didn’t really want and give up the things that make me happy. And I settled for a relationship that isn’t really enough for either of us. I want to be with someone I can’t be without—and who can’t be without me—who wants me to be me, the best me I can be. I didn’t expect to feel this way about her and I can’t go back to what things were like before. I can’t.”
“And when she’s finished with you, you’ll be left feeling like a fool on your own in a country that isn’t even home, writing obituaries for the Hampstead free paper because you always wanted to be a fucking journalist and are somehow still blaming me for keeping you from your dream.”
He was angry now. Cam had pushed him too far. But she couldn’t stop; they needed to do this.
“I’m not blaming you. I’m blaming myself.” She took in a deep breath. “And I don’t have Iris, Ryan. She doesn’t want me. Okay?” Cam could feel the pressure in her chest. It felt like a heavy weight pressing down on her breastbone. She slowed her breathing, wanting to get the words out. “She threw me out…after we…I mean, she actually told me I was the one fucking with her. So you’re right about us not making it. She doesn’t want any part of this drama.”
She could see Ryan trying to process what she’d told him.
“But I’m not leaving you for her, Ryan. I’m leaving you for me. Iris has shown me that I can have the kind of life I want here, that I deserve to have things I want. I have my friends, the soccer team, I can start to write again.” Cam paused. “And she’s helped me to love London, even to love myself a little more.” Her eyes filled with tears again.
“I’m going back home, I’m not waiting to see if you change your mind,” Ryan said eventually. “I deserve to have what I want as much as you do.”
“I know.”
They both sat silently.
“I hope you’ll be happier.” Cam meant it, but it was far too soon for Ryan to accept her sympathy. He shot her a look of disbelief.
“Oh yeah, it’s gonna be a blast. I mean, London was such a great move for me and I get to go home having failed at all of it. I’m sure I’ll be skipping through the fucking airport when I get home.” Ryan was bitter. Cam knew he had a right to be. “And, Cam, when it doesn’t turn out the way you want, don’t come running back to me.” Ryan had said the same thing several times. He walked out of the living room without waiting for a reply.
“I won’t,” Cam said to herself.
She hadn’t been stupid enough to think that four years of a relationship could be unraveled without hurt and recriminations, but this was hard. Harder still because, without Iris, she was hollow and hurting.
Cam had wanted to call her so many times but kept coming back to the appalled expression on her face when she had understood that Cam had not yet properly ended things with Ryan. Iris had said that she didn’t want Cam, that she was sick of Cam’s cowardice and Cam couldn’t stop the small sob that escaped as she remembered it all over again. She had told Iris that she would prove her wrong, that she meant to love her out in the open, forever. But she could only do that if Iris was willing to let her, if Iris loved her back with the same righteousness. And Cam had no reason to believe that Iris loved her enough to give her another chance.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Iris sat in one of the chairs reserved for performers to the right of the makeshift stage. Next to her another performer, an older woman with a mop of curly hair tied up in a bandana, was reciting the words of her poem under her breath as if incanting a meditation. Iris had always had a dread of performing, but forgetting the words was not something that made her anxious. Tripping, being unable to actually form words with her mouth, walking off stage to complete silence—those were the things that she worried about.
The woman swore softly and fished several pieces of paper from her handbag, riffling through them manically. Ordinarily, Iris would have wished her luck, offered some words of encouragement, but tonight she wanted to focus on her own performance, on the poem that she had written for Cam, surprising herself that that was the poem she’d chosen to perform. It was the one she was surest of, but it was also the most exposing. It was almost as if she was throwing herself in the deep end. The obvious question being whether she was going to sink or swim.
Iris remembered the conversation where she had promised Cam she would perform at tonight’s event like it was yesterday. Cam’s shining eyes, her belief in Iris, her encouragement and confidence all making it seem as if it would be easy. Cam had made her pinkie swear, and Iris was nothing if not a keeper of pinkie promises. Of course, Cam had also said she would be cheerleading from the front row. At the time, Iris had thought the idea wonderful. She imagined herself—not like this, not as she was now, full of heartache and pointless courage—but being with Cam, performing for her, the two of them against the world.
But Iris had made sure that wouldn’t happen. Cam had come to her and Iris had sent her away. And now she was leaving Cottoms and going home with Ryan. Iris inhaled, feeling the distress at just how spectacularly she had blown it, course through her body, and the woman next to her stopped what she was doing and looked across at her with concern.
“Sorry, just thought of something I forgot to do.” Iris’s voice sounded strange to her own ears and she worried about her ability to do this.
The poem she was going to perform described her love for Cam. She’d written it that night as she’d watched Cam sleep in her bed. It was an attempt to describe the bravery they would both need to show to turn the evening they’d shared into a week, a month, and then into a life together. She rubbed her eyes and hoped that, having repeated it often in practicing for tonight, it no longer had the power to move her to tears.
A young woman with a clipboard appeared and spoke to the performers as a group. There were six of them, all women, all first timers. The woman was lively and excited.
“More than ten minutes and we hook you off. Don’t stand too close to the microphone or you’ll burst eardrums, and no bad language please. The old people don’t like it.” She raised her eyebrows. “And enjoy yourselves, if you can. We’ve got a good crowd in.” She disappeared off as quickly as she had appeared only to reappear on the stage to welcome the audience and introduce the first performer.
Iris sat back to listen to the young woman speak of the recent death of her father and how the loss had left her feeling. Her performance was angry and moving. Iris let the words wash over her, giving in to feeling her own loss. The loss of her never-quite-was relationship with Cam.
The warm applause of the audience brought Iris back from her reverie. The young woman looked uncomfortable with the acclaim and exited the stage quickly as if not expecting it. As the next performer, the nervous woman with the sheaves of crumpled paper, climbed onto the stage, Iris looked around at the venue once more. All the seats were taken, and those without seats were standing across the wall at the back of the bookstore.
Scanning the audience, Iris felt everything slow down, as a woman who had been bent down and fiddling with something in her bag, stood and turned around to face the stage and Iris found herself staring at Cam’s beautiful face. Hope and warmth surged through Iris and left her just as quickly as they had arrived when Cam looke
d away without reacting, without even seeming to see Iris, and threaded her way around the edge of the room to the drinks table.
Of course she didn’t come to see me, Iris thought coldly. She didn’t even know I’d be here. But the small voice inside her head told her that maybe, just maybe, Cam had come to keep her side of the promise and there was some way back for them.
* * *
Cam’s legs felt heavy as she climbed the stairs to the second floor of the bookstore. She’d been running on the Heath that morning and got a little lost, taking a route that added a couple of miles that her calves were already complaining about. She’d gotten to the top of Parliament Hill eventually and sat there enjoying the view, and thinking of Iris. Of course. There weren’t many hours when she wasn’t thinking of her.
She’d taken a photo and almost sent it to Iris, finding it impossible not to reach out, wanting to tell her that Ryan’s flight was booked, that they were over, wanting it to make the difference. It was a way of asking Iris to let them try again. She hadn’t sent it. It didn’t matter how much she wanted it, or how right they felt together, Cam had to accept that Iris just didn’t feel the same way.
Cam reached the second floor and headed for the table against the back wall. Empty wine glasses sat on one side and wine bottles on the other. Behind the table, a bearded man in a black turtleneck sweater was handing out drinks. Tonight’s event was a fundraiser and the tickets were more expensive than usual, but included a free glass of wine. She pointed to the bottles of wine to the man’s right hand side.
“White, please.”
She took the glass and turned. The room was pretty full, but her calves really wanted her to sit down. Cam felt her breath catch in her throat as she spotted Iris sitting next to the stage. Her head was bowed and her hands pressed together as if she were meditating, but when she lifted her head, it seemed as if she looked straight at Cam. The sight of Iris made her tremble. It was a mixture of want and fear. She turned toward the back of the room without acknowledging her, her heart beating loudly in her chest. She wasn’t sure Iris would come. She desperately wanted it to mean something that she had, something about the promise she’d made to Cam, but a hard little voice in her head told her it was just as likely that this was part of Iris moving on with her life. Her life without Cam.
One Small Step Page 31
