Uncovering Camila (Wildflowers Book 3) (16 page)

Chapter 39

Camila stands directly under the showerhead and closes her eyes. The hot water pouring over her sensitizes every bit of skin. It feels good to not be numb anymore. Seeing Marshall tonight was a gift. His text had sent her stumbling inward again, just as Eliseo’s leaving had done. She’d assumed some of the blame for him and Marshall running away. She’d turned into a zombie, living her life but not really finding any joy in any aspect of it. The music had awakened something inside of her, and seeing Marshall on a date showed her that she could either retreat back into herself or find a way to make her peace with how they hurt her. It took tonight to make her realize she wasn’t to blame, just as much as they weren’t to blame either. They were merely playing out their fears with each other.

Her head is still floating from the two martinis at Dear Irving followed by red wine and tapas at Bar Jamón. Gone were the worries about deadlines and assignments. And even more distant is the image of Marshall and Zoe in her mind.
Perhaps one day I’ll read their engagement announcement in the New York Times and be happy for them
, she tells herself.
One day
.

She can’t help but smile when she thinks about the new number she added to her phone. Justin, one of the founders of a tech start-up in Chelsea, shared the communal table with a friend of his. He made her laugh when he talked about how he paid his way through school by being a housepainter on TaskRabbit. Justin’s humor and humility as he described growing up as an “average white guy” in a middle-class suburb of Los Angeles where he was a minority won her over. He lacked the air of privilege that many men in the City have. In the end when he asked for her number, he didn’t flinch when she turned him down. Maybe it was his light green eyes or his crooked smile, but before she left, she took his.

The hot water begins to turn lukewarm, signaling to Camila it’s time to get out before it gets any colder. As soon as she steps out of the shower, the sound of banging from outside punctures the silence in her apartment. Normally at 2 a.m. she’d be inclined to ignore any kind of noise, but once she’s out of her bathroom, she realizes it’s at her door.

Camila stares at the door, willing the person on the other end to disappear. She doesn’t deserve this, although neither do her neighbors. Five more minutes of persistent pounding compels her to open it, without releasing the latch.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says.

“I needed to see you,” Marshall tells her.

“Now you’ve seen me.”

“Will you let me in?”

“No good can come from it. Go home.”

“Just let me say something, then I will.”

The pleading in his voice reminds Camila of how desperate she’d felt when he sent her that text. The hurt, the hollowness in her chest was so palpable in that moment it threatened to choke her. If she weren’t so proud, she probably would’ve shown up at his doorstep too, trying to understand or to elicit some explanation. Yet he gave her nothing.
This is irony
, she thinks to herself.

“Go ahead and say it,” she insists.

He looks back at the empty hall and stairwell. “Out here?”

She shrugs. “You’re the one who showed up unannounced it the middle of the night. I don’t think you get to be so choosy.”

Marshall sighs, defeated and exhausted. He had dropped Zoe off at her modern TriBeCa apartment building with barely a good-bye. He thinks he mumbled something about getting together again, but he can’t recall clearly because all he could think about was seeing Camila, to tell her how sorry he was for handling everything so poorly. He feigned interest and smiled politely during his drinks with Zoe, who by all accounts, was the ideal woman. While she talked about a recent vacation in Mallorca with her friends, he went four rounds with himself in his head over Camila. Each time he came out the loser.

Which is why instead of going back to his apartment, he went straight to Camila’s and hid out in the shadows until he could follow a deliveryman into her building. Adrenalin pumped through him as he climbed the stairs, determined and resolute to apologize, to make it right. A small voice inside told him there would be no way to make it right because it wasn’t going to change the two reasons they’re not together—he’s a professor and she’s a student. As he took the final flight two steps at a time, he chose to ignore that voice, deciding instead to leave it up to Camila.

“Please, C.C. I’d rather not say it from this side of the door. I promise to leave as soon as I’m finished.”

Camila slams the door in this face. She leans her forehead against it, summoning the will to open it again and listen to Marshall. Even though he doesn’t deserve it, at least this way she won’t be left with the lingering doubts and questions like she has with Eliseo. All of a sudden it hits her why it’s called
ghosting
. Being left that way can haunt you.

She reaches up, slides the latch to the left and heads to her closet to retrieve some clothes. When she appears from behind her screen, she spots Marshall leaning against her desk. Camila swallows. The last time he was in her apartment, he’d taken her against the desk. They didn’t care that the lights were on or the blinds were raised so anyone could see inside. She was that lost in him, that overcome with such a desire for him that it didn’t matter. Camila’s still drawn to him like she was then. There hasn’t been enough time for her feelings to change. And seeing him in her apartment, where so many of their encounters took place, drives that home more.

Marshall is remembering the same thing too. He runs his tongue runs along the bottom lip as he recalls the way she’d been spread out across her desk and the way they made love on the floor. He’d thought of almost nothing else during the concert but that night, lying on her faux sheepskin rug, listening to Laura Mvula as they touched and kissed each other throughout the night. Already it seems as if that was years ago, not only a few weeks. How quickly things can shift between two people. Recalling each moment with her makes him hard—every stroke, every lick, every caress and every whisper brings him back. It felt so good to be in the safety of her home, and in her arms. Marshall shakes his head. In one moment of panic, he’d ruined it all.

Camila doesn’t take her eyes off him. She’s willing him to speak so she can go to sleep. Having him in her space is draining. She doesn’t want to want so much from him, and it’s taking a lot out of her to remain where she is, out of his arms and out of her bed.

He clears his throat. “Such a New York thing running into each other like we did tonight.”

“Not so random considering we were both at the same concert. I’m assuming you got those tickets so we would go together.”

The faint smile on his face disappears. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I thought you’re here because you did.”

Their eyes lock into a staring contest. Marshall didn’t think it would be easy, but he also didn’t think it would be so challenging. The right words and apologies always sound better in your head. By the time you get the courage to speak them, if at all, they don’t come out nearly as articulate.

“I’m sorry.” Marshall blinks and looks away.

Camila doesn’t respond. For a moment she’s uncertain if he’s apologizing for not knowing what to say or for the text or for taking another woman to a concert he’d intended to take her to.

“There’s nothing I can say,” he admits.

Camila shakes her head again.

“But if I don’t try . . . ,” he pauses, pressing his lips into a line. “I didn’t expect when I met you . . . .” Marshall’s voice falters. He grips the edge of the desk, as if afraid he’s going to fall from some invisible precipice. It’s too late for that, though. He’s already fallen off that cliff and how hard the fall is going to be depends entirely on the woman standing in front of him. He can’t tell what she’s thinking. She’s always seemed impenetrable to him. Of course that was part of the attraction and the surprise in meeting her. She never ceased to impress him. He could never tell if he impacted her even a fraction of the way she did him.

If she were to ever open herself to him again, maybe he would know that he did. She let Marshall inside her home because he was different from other men she knew. She liked the way she felt when she was with him. There was no needing anything more from him than she was receiving, no clawing at the door of his heart to let her in.

Marshall folds his arms across his chest.

“Every time you say how unexpected I am, it sounds like a backhanded compliment.”

“It’s not what I mean.” He grimaces and pauses for a long beat. “I was with the same woman for almost eight years. We were friends in undergrad but didn’t start dating until we graduated. She went on to Harvard Law. I had some delusion that I would do as my father and become a partner, so I was a paralegal at Davis Polk for a couple of years. We were both busy between work and school. I think we just willingly took what the other offered. Distance makes it easy to ignore the more disagreeable qualities about the person you’re dating.” He laughs nervously.

“It wasn’t until a couple of years ago that we ended up in the same city, and that’s when things started to devolve. I was too busy and stupid to notice at first, but the more I paid attention, the worse it became, for me at least. I’d convinced myself she would change once we moved in together. My parents, our friends, everyone talked about what a great couple we were. ‘The power couple’ they called us because of my career and her political ambitions. It’s pathetic to think I stayed with her because I was afraid of disappointing other people.” Marshall shakes his head.

“Once my clerkship ended, we were expected to get engaged, but I couldn’t do it. I hated the idea of working for the DOJ, and I resented her for pushing that on me. I got my out when she admitted to sleeping with other people. Although I should’ve never waited that long. I’d already been offered a post at Harvard that I didn’t tell her about. But NYU called out of the blue, and I took it as a sign that maybe I should come home.”

Camila stares back at him, barely listening. He’s not telling her something she doesn’t already know or hasn’t guessed from their conversations. It explains his hesitation with her but not how quickly he turned away from her. She remains unmoved though. In the end, none of it changes what happened or what can happen between them now and in the near future. The only thing that can change is the passage of time.

Marshall pushes off the desk and walks toward Camila. “When I say that you’re unexpected, I don’t mean that you’re not what I expect looking at you. It’s because I didn’t expect to fall in love so soon.”

Chapter 40

Camila turns over and stares at the dim fall light streaming through her window. She hasn’t slept at all, and she’s closing at L tonight. Maybe she’ll be able to sleep an hour or two before her shift, but that’s assuming she finishes her paper by the afternoon. She kicks her comforter off and swings her legs to the floor, still staring out the window. She pictures Marshall already out on his morning run, getting ready for the marathon this weekend. Camila can’t help but wonder if he thinks about her when he runs, thinks about what she said to him when he told her he loved her.

She runs her hands through her damp hair then gets out of bed to make coffee, measuring enough grounds in the
cafetera
to make a few espressos. It’s sleepless mornings like this one that makes Camila miss Eliseo. Not for his company as much as for his limitless energy. He taught her how to alternate her coffee and energy drink consumption throughout the day to accommodate her late work schedule. He never seemed to need as much as she did, his energy levels seemingly superhuman. Being around him gave her energy, and she realizes now, when she needs all that she can get, how much she took Eliseo’s presence for granted. Then again, he did the same. Camila sighs as she pours out the first cup of coffee.
No one is to blame
, she repeats to herself.

She peers through the dirty blinds out onto the street. Several cars are backed up behind a garbage truck collecting garbage. Impatient drivers blare their horns as the workers go about their jobs at their own pace, unconcerned about the traffic jam they’ve caused. It hits her how often people choose to ignore the unpleasant things about daily life in her City in order to get by. And how much she’s one of the several million just getting by, hustling between school and work.

Camila releases the blinds and moves through her apartment slowly waking up. She purposely ignores the area near her desk. The memory is too uncomfortable, and if she thinks about it now, it will make her sick. She downs the last of her coffee and heads back for her second cup. Standing over the kitchen sink, she can’t keep the memory away any longer.

“Do you hear me, C.C.? I love you.”

Camila rinses her cup and sets it down into the sink. She wipes her hand on a kitchen towel and walks to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

“Do you hear me, C.C.? I love you.”

Camila spits out her toothpaste and rinses the head of her electric toothbrush. She bends over the sink and splashes warm water on her face.

“Do you hear me, C.C.? I love you.”

Camila checks the temperature on her phone. Winter is overtaking fall by the hour. She slips on a pair of dark jeans and layers a black off-the-shoulder sweater over a tank top in case she doesn’t have time to change before work. Camila slides her feet into a pair of black leather motorcycle boots and throws on a wool jacket. She grabs the doorknob and stops. Marshall had his hand around it only a few hours before. He appeared so hurt and upset then.

“Do you hear me, C.C.? I love you.”

Camila didn’t respond to that. As far as she’s concerned, those three words don’t negate the hurt he caused. They’re not an apology, and even though he apologized, there was no way either one of them could fix the situation they find themselves in.

“Do you hear me, C.C.? I love you.”

What more was left to say or do with those three words hanging in the air between them? She looks back at her desk, remembering the shock on his face when she told him, “Get out.”