by Tracy Wolff
“I’ve tried to do that, but she won’t listen—”
“So make her listen! Jesus, you’re so afraid of getting rejected that you give up at the first sign of opposition. You need to get in there, show her that you’re going to stick, no matter what.”
“Don’t you get it? I ruined her life. I ruined her fucking life. Why the hell would she want to have anything to do with me?”
“First of all,” Ash tells me, looking more furious than I’ve seen him look in a very long time. “You didn’t ruin her life. Yes, it sucks that her boarding has to be put on hold for a year but it’s not like you deliberately tore her ACL or some shit like that. She got pregnant. And if I’m correctly remembering how these things work, it took two of you to get her that way. Shit happens, man. Running away and beating yourself up over it isn’t going to help the situation and it sure as shit isn’t going to help your relationship with her.”
“We don’t have a relationship. Not anymore. We don’t have anything.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“It isn’t.” Z claps me on the back, lets his hand stay on my shoulder as he says, “yeah, things aren’t great right now. But don’t you think it’s time you stopped being a puss and did something about that?”
“Way past time,” Ash concurs. “Stop worrying about protecting yourself, stop worrying about her rejecting you—and just go do what she needs you to do.”
“Which is?”
“Be there for her, man. Get in her face and refuse to go away until she lets you in. Show her that you aren’t going away, that you aren’t going to abandon her the way her family did. You aren’t the only one with scars and insecurities around here, dude. On the inside, Cam’s as big a mess as you are. She just hides it better.”
“I know that! Nobody knows Cam better than I do.”
“Then start acting like it,” Z tells me. “Stop whining, put on your big girl panties and go get your woman.”
“You make it sound so easy. It isn’t.”
“Like you want easy? You just did a Switch Quadruple Underflip 1620. If you can do that first try off the mountain, I guaran-fucking-tee you can go get your girl. Cam loves you. You just need to remind her of that fact.”
I stare at them for long seconds, see the exasperation and the affection on their faces as I absorb their words, and wonder if maybe they’re right. Maybe I’ve been so lost in my own shit, my own feelings of inadequacy, that I let it color everything about my relationship with Cam. I know how rough this is for her, know how much she must be hurting, and still I let her push me away—still I turned tail and ran the first time she lashed out at me.
The knowledge hits me like a blow, makes me more ashamed than I’ve ever been in my life. Because Z is right. I am being a total puss. It’s a hard blow to take, especially considering the fact that I’ve always prided myself on being strong enough to face the truth, no matter how bad it was. But maybe I let that color the way I looked at things too. Maybe I was so busy looking for the bad that I forgot about how good things could be.
Oh, I know I’m not as talented as Ash and Z and Cam, no matter what bullshit they try to sell me on. I know that I’ll never be able to stomp a run the way that they can, so effortlessly and perfectly and fucking beautifully. But I’ve got endorsements. I’ve made it to third place on the podium on more than one occasion. I’ve always thought it was because of them, but maybe, just maybe, it was because of me, too. I did just barge a 1620, after all. That has to count for something, right?
I don’t realize I’ve said that last part out loud until Z says, “Damn right it does. A man who can do a 1620 can do fucking anything, right, Ash?”
“Damn straight,” Ash agrees.
“The trick isn’t important,” I tell them, and though they both look absolutely horrified at my words, I know they get what I mean. They’re just as crazy about Ophelia and Tansy as I am about Cam. And right now, no trick, no jump, nothing, matters as much as putting my own shit aside and helping Cam through hers, though. Not as much as being there for her no matter what happens. No matter what she decides. Because this whole being a good partner, being a good dad thing is hella more important than anything I can ever do on a snowboard.
I don’t let myself think about what will happen if she decides not to have the baby. It’s her decision, and I’ll stand by her, even if it kills me—which it might, I acknowledge, even as I start gathering up my shit.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Z asks. “You’ve got another run to barge!”
“I’m taking your advice. I’m putting my big girl panties on and going to get Cam.”
“Of course you are. But you don’t have to do it now, right?” He gestures to the jump. “Don’t you want to nail another 1620 before you go, just to show everyone that it’s not a fluke?”
I just shake my head at him as I start the trek over to my snowmobile. “Some things are more important than snowboarding,” I call to him. “Besides, I’m done trying to prove myself to anyone but Cam.”
Ash lets out a louder whoop than when I nailed that jump and the last thing I see as I pull away is him punching his fist in the air.
Right before Z tackles him.
Chapter 19
Cam
So, we’re doing this. We’re really doing it.
My hands are shaking as I hang up the phone from my latest conversation with Mitch. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I told him I was pregnant and he’s already got Nike super-hyped on his idea. They want to design an entire ad campaign around me and my pregnancy, culminating—of course—in the birth of my baby and my first trips back to the slopes next season. There’s even talk of flying me down to New Zealand for a photo shoot in July or August, if I’m in good enough shape to tackle the mountains down there two months after giving birth.
Now I just have to call Luc and my dad, fill them in on everything I’ve decided. Nike’s chomping at the bit to get this thing started—they’re already drafting a press release they plan to drop sometime in the next week. We might not be on particularly friendly terms right now, but the last thing I want is my dad to find out I’m pregnant from a sound bite on the local news.
I call him first, because I want to get it over with and because I know exactly what I’m going to say. I get the answering machine even though today is usually his day off, and I’ve got myself so worked up that I just blurt it out before I can think better of it.
“Hi, Dad. This is Cam. I mean, obviously, right? I’m calling because I wanted to tell you that I’m pregnant. There will probably be something on the news about it in the next few days since I have to pull out of all the invitationals I’ve got coming up and people are going to want to know why. I didn’t want you to hear it from the news so—yeah, anyway. I’m pregnant. I’m fine. I’m good. Everything is good. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Mitch is helping me and we’re getting everything figured out.”
I know I’m babbling, so I hang up before I can say anything else idiotic. But as I put the phone down, it occurs to me that the way I referred to Mitch makes it sound like my agent is the father of my baby. Which he definitely isn’t. And which probably won’t go over very well, considering the twelve-year age gap between us, and the fact that he’s been around since I was a fifteen-year-old kid. If I’m not careful, my Dad’s going to drive down to Salt Lake and murder Mitch before he even knows what hit him.
With that thought in mind, I pick the phone up again and redial my dad’s house number. I expect it to go straight to the answering machine again, expect to just be able to leave a quick message telling him that Mitch isn’t the father, that Luc is, and that things are going really well. It’s a lie, but with the way things are going lately, I’m beginning to think the truth is highly overrated.
Except this time, my call doesn’t go to voicemail. This time my mother picks up the phone on the second ring.
“Hello! Cam? Please don’t hang up.”
> I start to ignore her request, am actually halfway to pressing END before I stop myself. I’ve been running away from too much lately and if I’m going to be a mom—if I’m going to turn myself into a grown-up sometime in the next six months—then the running needs to stop now.
“Hi…Lily.” I might be willing to talk to her, but I still can’t bring myself to call her mom. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to.
“Hi, honey.” She sounds a little confused, a little out-of-breath, and a lot concerned. “Your dad got called into work today because someone called in sick. You can probably reach him on his cellphone or—or I can give him the message for you.”
“I’ll call his cellphone.”
“Oh, okay.” She sounds disappointed. “That’s fine, then.”
There’s a long, awkward pause while I try to figure out what to say. Finally, though, I settle on “thanks.” After all, there doesn’t really seem to be much more to say.
Except Lily doesn’t seem to feel the same way. She takes my thanks as a sign that I want to talk, even though it was pretty much the opposite of that.
“You’re welcome,” she says warmly, and then, “this Mitch. He’s the baby’s father? He’s taking care of you?”
So it had sounded exactly as I feared. “Mitch is my agent, not my boyfriend. He’s handling all the endorsement stuff, things like that.”
“Oh, right. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Why would you?” It comes out harsher and more accusatory than I mean it to. “I’m sorry. I mean, I just told you.”
“Are you okay?”
Her voice has softened with what sounds an awful lot like concern. And though I don’t know her and don’t think I want to know her, I find myself responding to the sympathy in her voice. Responding to the echo of the role she’s supposed to play in my life rather than the role she’s actually played.
“Is your boyfriend taking care of you, then?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her voice is cautious now. “Do you need anything? Is there anything I can help—”
“It’s complicated, all right? I mean, it’s not like it was a one-night stand. The father is a great guy, one of the best”—my voice breaks and I clear my throat a couple of times before trying again—“he’ll totally be here for me, if I let him.”
“If you let him?”
If possible she sounds even more careful, like she’s afraid any wrong move will set an explosion off right in her face. “Are you thinking of doing this alone?”
“I don’t know what I’m thinking yet. I don’t want to tie him to me with this pregnancy. I don’t want him to think that I need him to be involved, that I can’t do it alone.”
“Do you want him to be involved?”
“No. I’ve got money and resources. I’ll be fine on my own.”
I don’t know why I’m telling her all of this, except that she keeps asking questions and the answers keep falling out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“I didn’t ask if you need him to be involved. I asked if you want him to be involved. There’s a difference, Cameron.”
“Nobody calls me that anymore.”
“Of course, I’m sorry. Cam.” She pauses. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t have to answer anything that you ask me.”
She doesn’t respond but I can tell that I’ve hurt her even though she doesn’t have any room to be hurt. Even though she’s hurt me a million times through the years with her absence. Sighing, I shove a frustrated hand through my mess of curls before saying “look, I’m sorry. This whole having a mother who wants to talk to me thing is new. I’m not sure how to deal with it.”
“Don’t apologize, Cam.” She puts a heavy emphasis on my name. “I just want to help, if you’ll let me.”
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help. I can do this alone.”
Even as I’m saying the words, I’m wrapping my arms around myself, rocking softly. Because I can do this alone, but that doesn’t mean I want to.
And yes, I know I’m not alone. I know Z and Ash and Tansy and Ophelia will be here for me when I need something. So will my brothers, despite our recent differences. But it’s not the same thing as having Luc here. Not the same as having him be a part of my pregnancy and my baby’s life.
Not the same as having him be a part of my life.
It’s been three months since we had that fight, even longer since we’ve been close like we used to be. I miss him. I miss the way we used to be. I miss the way we could be if everything—life, fate, even ourselves—would just get the hell out of our way and let us be.
But that’s a pipe dream. Too much has happened between us—too much is still waiting to happen—for us to go back to who we used to be.
When we were just friends.
When we weren’t sleeping together.
When I wasn’t in love with him.
The thought comes out of nowhere and I try to shove it back down inside of me, but it won’t go. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, maybe it’s just how depressed I’ve been, or maybe it’s my mother on the other end of the phone asking me if I want Luc in my life. Whatever it is, it triggers something inside of me. Something that makes me realize my feelings for him are much deeper than I ever thought they were.
Oh, I’ve always loved him. How could I not when Luc is such an all-around good guy? He’ll give you the shirt off his back, go out of his way to help you any way that he can, thinks about other people and what they need way more than he thinks about himself. But loving him is different than being in love with him—which I am very desperately afraid that I am.
Why else would I feel so empty without him? Why else would I be so angry and distraught and hurt that he doesn’t trust me? That he doesn’t want to be with me the same way I want to be with him?
My mind is reeling at the revelation and I don’t know what to do with it. Part of me wants to hang up on my mother and call Luc right away. Another part of me wants to curl up in the fetal position and suck my thumb until I stop shaking.
As it is, I don’t get the chance to do either. Because my mom is talking again and she’s saying things I don’t want to hear but can’t ignore.
“If you want him in your life, Cam, you need to tell him. You can’t expect him to guess.”
“It’s not that easy, Mom.”
“Believe me, I know how not-easy things like this can be.” She pauses and in her silence I can hear the distance of seventeen years. The distance of choices she made that can’t ever be undone. “I wanted to come back. A long time before now, I wanted to call your father up and beg him to let me come back. But I was afraid to ask him, afraid to open myself up to his rejection. To my children’s rejection—”
“If you’re trying to make me feel guilty—”
“You have nothing to feel guilty about. I’m the one who left and I’m the one who has to live with the consequences of that decision now that I’m back. I’m just trying to say don’t be too proud to let him know how you feel. Don’t wait until it’s too late—until you’ve lost seventeen years that you’ll never be able to get back—before you open yourself up to him and tell him how you feel. I know it’s a risk, know that you might end up hurting more than you already do. But do you really want to spend the better part of two decades wondering if you could have changed things?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her and I think it might be the truest thing I’ve said in a long, long time. “I don’t know what I want, don’t know what I can live with and what I can’t. Everything is coming at me so fast right now that I feel like I can’t breathe. Like I’m drowning—”
“Of course you do, Cam. And I’m not making it any better by pushing at you. I’m sorry. I just was afraid that if I let you off the phone without telling you this, I might never get another chance.”
I don’t dispute her assertion, because I can’t. I don’t know how I feel about her
after her revelations, don’t know if they change things between us or if they don’t. She still left, still disappeared for seventeen years without so much as a word. Being afraid doesn’t condone that, not when she had a husband and seven children waiting at home for her.
“Look, I have to go,” I tell her. “I need to think. I need—”
“Of course. And I know this may mean nothing to you, but please know that you can call or come by any time. If you want to talk. If you want to yell at me. If you want a shoulder to cry on. I know I haven’t been here for most of your life, but I’m here now. If you need or want anything.”
It’s too much. It’s all too much and I don’t know what to do with it. So I just say, “yeah, okay. Thanks.” And then I hang up the phone.
I know it probably wasn’t the response she was looking for, know it probably wasn’t what she wanted to hear. But my hands are shaking and I’m pretty close to freaking out and even though she said a lot of the right things, I still don’t trust her. I still don’t know if I want her back in my life.
No matter how I feel about her, though, some of her words have definitely gotten through to me. About waiting until it’s too late or being too afraid to open myself up because I don’t want to get hurt. Because she’s right. Luc’s in waiting mode—I put him in waiting mode when I demanded that he give me time—and if I want to change that, I’m going to have to make the first move.
No matter how terrified I am.
No matter how much it might hurt.
And so I reach for my phone yet again. It’s been months since I’ve called him, but he’s still number one on my shortcuts list and the phone is ringing within seconds.
It rings once, twice, and in the space between those two rings I die a thousand deaths. I think about hanging up a hundred times. I think about throwing the phone out the window. I think about—
He answers on the third ring.
“Cam?” It’s only one word, but he sounds as shaky and wrecked as I feel.
“Hi.”