Chapter 14 - Camilla Chose A Door Neither Man Owned
Camilla's apartment was too hot.
The landlord insisted the building's heating system was “balanced.”
It was balanced for reptiles.
I sat at her tiny table while she opened a window in January.
“You paid for this?”
“Yes.”
“Voluntarily?”
“Don't start.”
I stopped.
Marco had just left.
I knew because his car passed mine downstairs.
I did not ask immediately.
That surprised her.
“Nothing?”
“About?”
She rolled her eyes.
“You're terrible at this.”
“I’m improving.”
She poured water.
Then sat.
“We're not getting divorced yet.”
I kept my face still.
“And we're not getting back together.”
Still.
She stared.
“You can react.”
“I've been given conflicting instructions.”
She smiled.
Then:
“We're staying separated.”
“For?”
“Dad.”
“Right.”
She picked at the label on the bottle.
“Marco asked if we could start over.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
My chest tightened.
Not because I wanted them together.
Because the word sounded final.
Camilla continued.
“I told him we can't start over.”
“Why?”
“Because then everything becomes before and after.”
I waited.
“I said if there's anything left, it has to include what happened.”
That sounded like Elena.
Or maybe it sounded like Camilla.
I had to stop assigning every good sentence to her mother.
“What did Marco say?”
“That he doesn't know how.”
“And?”
“I don't either.”
They had agreed to dinner once a week.
Not dates.
Not negotiations.
Dinner.
If one wanted to cancel, they could.
No explanation required beyond “not tonight.”
That last rule had apparently taken them forty minutes to agree on.
“Do you trust him?”
Camilla thought.
“More than eight weeks ago.”
“That's not yes.”
“No.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Also not enough.”
She looked at me.
“No.”
I nodded.
She smiled faintly.
“You're learning.”
“I've become intolerably wise.”
“You're still the man who offered to buy this whole building because my water pressure was low.”
“It remains an option.”
“No.”
“Fine.”
Her expression softened.
Then:
“What are you doing with Mom's letter?”
“Keeping it.”
“Why?”
“It was addressed to me.”
“Good.”
I frowned.
“You expected something else?”
“I thought you'd give it to me like some family artifact.”
“No.”
She looked relieved.
“I don't want it.”
“I know.”
“It helped.”
“Yes.”
“It also doesn't tell me who Mom was.”
“No.”
Camilla looked toward the window.
“I spent years thinking she stayed with you because you were some great love story.”
I laughed.
“Your mother would object to the phrasing.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“And then for eight months Marco made me think maybe she tried to destroy everything.”
I waited.
“Now I think she was just a person making decisions while scared and angry.”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes good ones.”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes maybe terrible ones.”
“Absolutely.”
She looked at me.
“You loved her.”
“Yes.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
Fast.
No shame.
Camilla nodded.
Then:
“I love Marco.”
I did not move.
She continued.
“And I might still leave him.”
I remembered Elena's voice from twenty-three years ago.
People leave people they love every day.
I could have quoted her.
I didn't.
This was Camilla's sentence.
She deserved to own it.
A week later, Marco moved the rest of his clothes out of their house.
Camilla did not move back in.
They agreed to rent it for six months.
Neutral territory.
Neither surrendered.
Neither won.
Anthony called Camilla twice.
She didn't answer.
He called me once.
I did.
He asked whether everyone was happy now.
I told him that was not the standard.
He called me self-righteous.
Fair enough.
Before hanging up he said:
“Lydia would've hated all this.”
I almost told him he didn't know what Lydia would have wanted.
Then I stopped.
Neither did I.
May you like
“Maybe,” I said.
Anthony did not like uncertainty any more than the rest of us.
