From Brussels, With Love

by Emy Calirel

  TREVOR WAS on his desk phone with Valentina, talking about changes she wanted, and wondering how he would make them happen, when someone knocked on his door. Before he could answer, it opened a crack and Emma, the office’s mail clerk, leaned in. She wore bright makeup and big green earrings, her long blond hair braided and falling over her shoulders.

  “Package for you,” she mouthed, raising an eyebrow.

  Trevor smiled and nodded for her to come in. She quickly sauntered her way to his desk and put a brown box on the corner of it, with a pile of envelopes. She waved before closing the door on her way out, leaving behind the smell of her vanilla perfume.

  Trevor distractedly agreed to something Valentina said, but most of his attention was on the package. He was only expecting one, and the Belgium stamp and return address made his heart beat faster.

  “Mr. McGill?” Valentina asked, her Italian accent strong.

  Trevor coughed. “Excuse me, Valentina, could you say that again?”

  The phone tucked between his shoulder and cheek, Trevor reached for the box and put it on the floor, keeping it out of sight while he tried to decipher what his client was saying. Valentina always mixed Italian and English when she was excited, and even though Trevor spoke some Italian, he always had to guess some of what she was saying.

  WHEN THEY finally hung up an hour later, Trevor’s stomach twisted with hunger and his ear was hot and buzzing. Before he went to get the salad waiting for him in the communal kitchen, he couldn’t resist opening his package. The box was bigger than what was needed for just his phone, and Trevor lifted the flap with anticipation.

  He frowned at the white bundle of fabric taking up most of the space. When he picked it up, it unfolded, and Trevor smiled when he realized Jerome had used a T-shirt from his store to protect the phone. He folded it carefully and tucked it in the bottom drawer of his desk before he turned on his phone. While it booted, he reached for the postcard Jerome had added to the package. A sketched black-and-white brussels sprout had the words “Sprout to be Brussels” written underneath. “From Brussels, With Love” was scrawled in small letters in the top right corner. Trevor’s cheeks burned when he realized Jerome had heard Hannah use his nickname, yet he couldn’t help but snort at Jerome’s humor. “New design. It made me think of you. If you ever come by Brussels again, come say hi” was written on the other side.

  Trevor propped the card against the small plastic cactus resting next to his screen before going to get his lunch. His phone was still pinging with new notifications when he came back, and Trevor spent almost another hour listening to his recorded messages and reading his texts. All the while, his attention kept going back to the postcard.

  Part of him wanted to leave his weekend behind. Keep it an amazing memory but just that. The other part of him wanted to talk to Jerome again. Learn more about him. What he liked and what made him tick. What made him laugh or cry. Even without including the mind-blowing sex, Jerome had been great company. He had made Trevor laugh, made him feel relaxed and at ease, and Trevor believed they could have been good friends.

  But Brussels was far away, and he and Jerome had also been very different. The reminder for an upcoming meeting popped up on Trevor’s screen and he sighed deeply. He took the postcard back and, after a second’s hesitation, put it in the bottom drawer with the shirt. It was time to let it go and focus back on work.

  “HE LEFT me his phone number.”

  Trevor stood at Hannah’s front door, his phone clutched in his hand. He had been going through his contacts, looking for the architect he had worked with the previous year, when he had found Jerome’s number and froze. Ten minutes later, he was down two stories and knocking on his best friend’s door.

  Hannah didn’t say anything, but she opened the door wider for him to come in. She was already in her pajamas, a pile of papers and a half-full glass of wine resting on the sitting room table. Trevor took his usual spot on the couch and tucked his feet under the fuzzy blanket always there, gratefully accepting the glass of wine Hannah handed him. When she was settled back next to him, he showed her his phone, Jerome’s number still on the screen.

  “I’m not sure I see where the problem is. I thought you two had a good time.”

  “We did. We had an amazing time, but part of it was knowing I only had two days with him. When have you known me to have one-night stands? It was a fling. A one-off.”

  “You don’t have them,” Hannah agreed. “But it wasn’t one night, it was a whole weekend, and you two seemed to click. Hell, you looked like an overexcited puppy when he invited you over on Sunday.”

  “This,” Trevor said, raising the phone, “wasn’t the plan. The plan was to have fun, relax, and then get back to reality.”

  “Well, plans change. You can’t predict everything.”

  “My whole job revolves around me predicting and planning everything.”

  “And you’re good at it, but this is life, not work. Although with you, one could think they’re one and the same.” Trevor looked pointedly at the stack of papers on the table. “Don’t even try to compare us. I work a lot, sure, but I also know when to let go and chill out.”

  “My job isn’t the point. What do I do with this?” he asked, reading Jerome’s phone number once more. A couple more times and he would have the damn thing memorized.

  “What do you want to do with it?”

  Trevor bit his bottom lip. “We did have a fun time. And not just in bed either.”

  “So what’s the matter? What have you got to lose?”

  “My dignity and another piece of my heart?” Trevor grimaced. “I haven’t even started putting back together the pieces Ronan smashed.”

  “Ronan is a piece of shit,” Hannah spat. “He used you for four years to get his rocks off, and when he was tired of you, he threw you away. You were nothing more than a toy to him, and he never deserved you.”

  “Ouch,” Trevor whispered, swallowing around the lump in his throat, his eyes burning with the veracity of her statement. He had been such an idiot.

  “Hard truths hurt. Deal with it.”

  Trevor drank more wine to cover his emotions, and Hannah’s voice was kinder when she spoke again.

  “Jerome didn’t seem to be taking advantage. He showed you around the city and spent time with you just for the sake of it. Hell, the guy had breakfast with me, when I don’t think Ronan even knows my name. I’m not telling you to marry him or even to jump into a new relationship, but he could be a good friend if nothing else.”

  Trevor nodded, his focus fixed on his phone. “I could text him to say thank you for sending this back to me.”

  “You should. It would be the polite thing to do.”

  Before he could second-guess himself, Trevor sent a quick and generic thank-you message. When he looked up, Hannah was grinning.

  “I’m glad my distress is amusing you, but it’s not very friendly of you.”

  She snorted. “You’re not distressed. You’re a chicken.”

  “What about you? Any news from Eric? You two planned on seeing each other again now that he’s single, or was it just fo—”

  Before Trevor could finish his sentence, his phone rang, and Trevor jumped.

  “Who the fuck calls instead of texting back?” he yelped. Before he could think, he hit the red button.

  “Did you just hang up on him?” Hannah asked, appalled.

  Trevor looked at her, his eyes wide and palms sweaty. “I panicked?”

  “What the hell, Trevor! Are you forty-two or twelve? Pick up your balls and call him back. But first, get out of my place. I’m waiting on a call from Eric.”

  “So, things are going well between you two, then.” Trevor reached for a reprieve even as his stomach was in knots. He couldn’t believe he had hung up. Whatever happened at work, he was always calm and collected, and here he was, fretting like a teenager because of a simple phone call.

  “Get out,” Hannah repeated, standing up. “Yes, things are g
oing well, and we’re going on a date on Thursday. I’m hoping we can become more than just a weekend fling, but you’re not roping me into being a distraction. I’ll call you and tell you about it tomorrow during lunch break if you want, but for now go back to your place.” She led him to the front door and opened it.

  He knew she was right. He was being an idiot and a coward. Worst part was, he did want to talk to Jerome, no matter how scary the realization.

  He kissed her cheek on the way out. “Thank you for the talk.”

  “Anytime.”

  Trevor had barely reached the stairs when she called out to him.

  “Whatever happens, I’ll be here to pick up the pieces if you need me to, but life is about taking chances. You need to live a little. That’s what our weekend was all about,” she said, her gaze serious.

  Trevor nodded. “I hope your thing with Eric works out, but if you need me to pick up your pieces, you know where to find me.”

  “You’re calling him back?”

  Trevor pressed the green button on his phone and showed her the dialing screen. “I’m calling him back.”

  She smiled as she closed the door.

  Trevor was halfway up the first flight of stairs when Jerome picked up, sounding wary.

  “Trevor?”

  “Heya. Sorry I hung up on you. I slipped up.”

  Jerome didn’t answer right away, and Trevor winced. “That’s okay,” Jerome finally said tentatively. “How are you? Was the phone still in one piece when you got it?”

  “Yes. The shirt protected it really well. Thank you.”

  A mix of climbing stairs and nervousness made Trevor short of breath.

  “Are you running?” Jerome asked. “You sound winded. I didn’t mean to interrupt if you’re busy.”

  “I was at Hannah’s when you called, just going back to my place now. It’s a bit embarrassing how easily breathless stairs make me, which is why I tend to avoid the elevator nowadays.”

  “Are you guys neighbors?”

  “Same building. She lives two stories down.”

  “You two seem really close.”

  Trevor could hear some thumping in the background, and he wondered what Jerome was doing. “We grew up in the same small town and went to school together. We didn’t really connect until we attended the same university in Dublin, but I feel like I’ve known her forever. In another life, we probably would have ended up married. It would have been a catastrophe.”

  Jerome snorted. “I dated one of my friends when we were in high school. Our moms were close, so we saw each other often. Mariam is great, and we’re still friends, but dating was a disaster. A lot of awkwardness and fumbling around.”

  “That’s when you realized you were gay?” Trevor asked, finally reaching his apartment.

  “I’m bi, actually, so her gender wasn’t the problem. It was more about having a hard time transitioning from being friends to more. Kissing her was always kind of strange, and she felt the same way. She’s married with kids now.”

  “I never dated a friend,” Trevor said, sitting on his couch and putting his feet up on the glass table. “Or a woman.”

  The conversation was easy, and Trevor started to relax. He wasn’t sure why he had thought talking to Jerome on the phone would end up being awkward, but he was glad to have been wrong.

  “You always knew you were gay?”

  “It’s more like I wasn’t interested in dating. I didn’t care for girls when I was in school, but I just assumed I was a nerd focused on my studies. It was true, but then at uni, I met this guy and suddenly it all made sense. Walden was a revelation and my first boyfriend.”

  “Are you guys still in touch?”

  Trevor sighed. “No. He only stayed in Ireland for two years before going back to South Africa.” Saying goodbye to his first lover at the airport had been one of the hardest things Trevor had ever had to do. It had also been the first time Hannah had picked up his pieces.

  Silence stretched between them, but now that Trevor had Jerome on the phone, he didn’t want to hang up anymore. “Are you working on new designs for the store? I really like the card you sent me.”

  Jerome groaned over the phone. “I’m always working on new designs. According to Quentin, we can never have enough. Let’s not talk about the store, though. I was having a good day. Tell me what a project manager does in his spare time?”

  Trevor scoffed and ran his hand down his face. “You say that like I have any spare time. There’s always something to be done. I could work every hour of the day and still have things to do, but when I need a break, I play card games on the computer. Don’t tell my boss.”

  “Cross my heart,” Jerome said, a smile in his voice. An alarm beeped in the background and Jerome sighed. “I need to get going. I’m glad you called back.”

  “I’m glad I did too.” Trevor bit his lower lip. “Would you mind if I called you again?”

  “I would really like it if you did. Good night, Trevor.”

  “Night,” Trevor whispered after Jerome hung up.

  He lowered his phone to rest on his thigh and dropped his head back against the couch, a small smile on his lips.

  Chapter 8—Jerome

  THEY DIDN’T call each other again that week, but they texted every day. Jerome preferred direct conversations, but it had been clear from Trevor’s reaction the last time Jerome had called that Trevor did not. Maybe calling instead of answering his thank-you text by message had been a bad idea. Trevor didn’t seem to like being caught off guard.

  Jerome let himself into his apartment, his soaked jacket dripping onto the carpet as he toed off his muddy sneakers. He texted Worst tour ever to Trevor before going to hang his coat in the bathtub to dry. His phone started ringing just as he made his way back into the main room, and Jerome groaned. After today, the last thing he wanted was more talking with people. Trevor’s name was on the screen, though, and Jerome’s intentions of not answering immediately vanished.

  “Hi.” Jerome padded barefoot to his kitchen. After the day from hell, he needed and deserved a snack.

  “I thought you were working today and never did tours on weekends,” Trevor said, easing into the conversation like they hadn’t just switched media.

  “I was, and I usually don’t, but I do night tours here and there. Since they start after the store closes, I can do them on weekends when I need the money.”

  Putting the phone between his shoulder and cheek, Jerome fought to open the bag of M&M’s he had grabbed from his cupboard. He was almost to the couch when the bag burst open, spilling its contents all over the floor.

  “Putain de merde!” Jerome cursed, dropping to his knees to chase the stray candies. The phone slipped from his shoulder and clattered on the floor despite Jerome’s fumbling to catch it. When he picked it up, the call had disconnected, and his breath caught in his throat. Before he could decide if he should call back or not, Trevor did. “Sorry I dropped you,” Jerome said, his voice strained.

  “Are you okay?” Trevor asked.

  Jerome sighed deeply. “I’ve had a really long day.” He dropped his forehead on the couch, the fabric muffling his voice. “Scratch that, I’ve had a really long month. The only highlight was last weekend.”

  “One step at a time. What happened on your tour tonight?”

  “Well, first of all, it’s pouring rain.” Jerome picked up the M&M’s scattered around his place. “So half the people scheduled didn’t show up. Of the ones that did, some didn’t stay to the end, and only one couple actually paid me. They were really nice, and the only reason I made it to the end, honestly. And then there was that one guy, early twenties, wearing stupid camo pants and a punk T-shirt, who kept nagging at me. He kept complaining the tour wasn’t scary, but that’s not what I’m offering. I only use ghost stories and legends as a backdrop for actual historical facts. And then he saw my rainbow bracelet and became unbearable.”

  “Homophobic jerk,” Trevor spat, the venom in his tone som
ehow comforting. “We have some at work, too, and I can’t stand them.”

  “It’s not my first jerk. Not even my first disastrous tour, far from it. Tonight was just the water drop making the vase overflow.” Jerome finally got the last candy from behind his ficus. Drained, he sat on the floor with his back against the couch. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just drop all that on you.”

  “I don’t mind. Want to talk about your month of hell?”

  “It’s Saturday night. You don’t want to listen to me complain.”

  “Try me.”

  Jerome reached for the bag of candy, careful not to spill the few remaining treats. “I never wanted to own a store, you know? That wasn’t my dream. I just wanted to make art,” he said after a moment. “I was in a very bad place when Quentin pitched me the idea, but I can’t blame our decision to go through with it on that. I was excited about the project, and focusing on making it a reality probably helped me a lot then. And most days I do enjoy working there. I like talking to people and the creative side of the business.”

  “But?” Trevor asked.

  “But I don’t think either of us really realized what we were getting ourselves into. Quentin always worked in retail, so he knows what he’s doing, and I don’t think we made any rookie mistakes, but it’s constant work. We opened a year and a half ago, and the store doesn’t really make us any money yet, but things were starting to look up. And then this month, everything went sideways. Our machine to print the postcards broke, the local artist who made the snow globes for us decided last Sunday to retire and move to Thailand with his wife, and our shirt supplier tried to scam us. He used shitty fabric instead of the one we paid him for.”

  “The shirt I got from your store looks fine. I washed it, and it hasn’t moved.”

  Jerome scoffed and put his hand over his eyes. “You should have seen the new batch. They’re unsellable, and that asshole doesn’t want to hear about it or admit to anything. We spent a lot of money we can’t spare on things we now have to stock and can’t sell. Quentin says we should fight back and sue him, but I think it’ll lead to us spending even more money, and probably for nothing. Justice is slow, and no one cares about a small souvenir shop.”