Chapter 10 - The Choice Nobody Could Make for Her
Ethan did not call Camille immediately.
That was the hardest thing he had done all week.
He wanted information.
He wanted certainty.
He wanted to know whether André’s return explained the silence.
Instead, he waited until evening.
Camille answered after four rings.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
She sounded tired.
Ethan sat near his apartment window.
Seattle rain traced the glass.
“Elise called.”
Silence.
Camille exhaled.
“I figured she might.”
“André’s back.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know he was coming?”
“No.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Yes.”
The answer cut deeper than Ethan expected.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Another silence.
“I didn’t know how.”
“That’s usually a sign you should.”
“I know.”
Ethan stood and paced.
“What happened?”
“He came to my mother’s house.”
“That sounds casual.”
“Ethan.”
“I’m trying.”
“No, you’re trying not to sound angry.”
“Because I am angry.”
“At me?”
“I don’t know.”
He stopped.
“I think so.”
Camille did not defend herself.
That made it worse.
“He turned down Dubai,” she said.
“I heard.”
“He also resigned from the firm.”
Ethan stared at the floor.
“What?”
“He’s moving back to Miami.”
Of course he was.
The moment Camille stopped waiting, André finally stopped leaving.
Life had a cruel sense of timing.
“For you?” Ethan asked.
“He says no.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Yes.”
That answer surprised Ethan.
“Then why does this change anything?”
Camille’s voice broke slightly.
“Because for thirteen years I told myself the only thing keeping us apart was that he wouldn’t stay.”
“And now he is.”
“Yes.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
There was nothing intelligent to say.
Eventually Camille whispered, “I hate myself for being confused.”
“Don’t.”
“How can I not?”
“Because people aren’t equations.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
He almost smiled.
Then she continued.
“I meant what I said when you left.”
“So did I.”
“I want to know what this is.”
“So do I.”
“But André coming back…”
“Changes the question.”
“Yes.”
The word hurt.
Ethan sat again.
“What do you need from me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Camille.”
“I don’t.”
Her voice sharpened.
“I spent years wishing he would make exactly this choice. Now he made it after I finally stopped asking.”
“And if I weren’t here?”
Another silence.
Ethan hated himself for asking.
Camille answered anyway.
“I would still be scared.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know.”
“Would you take him back?”
“I don’t know.”
There it was.
The sentence Ethan had feared.
He rubbed his face.
“Okay.”
“Don’t say okay like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re shutting a door.”
“I’m trying not to stand in the doorway while you decide whether you want somebody else.”
Camille’s breathing changed.
“Ethan.”
“I told you in Florida. I’m not competing.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“But if I call every night while you’re deciding between us, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“You’re not some candidate.”
“Then don’t make me one.”
The sentence landed harder than he intended.
Camille became silent.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
She sounded hurt.
“You’re right.”
Ethan immediately wanted to take it back.
But truth did not become less true because it wounded.
“I care about you,” he said.
“I care about you too.”
“So decide what you want.”
“Without you?”
“Yes.”
Camille inhaled sharply.
“That feels like you leaving.”
“No.”
He looked at the rain.
“It’s me refusing to become the new person you wait for while you avoid choosing.”
The parallel struck them both.
Camille whispered, “That was cruel.”
“I know.”
“Accurate.”
“I know.”
“That’s worse.”
“I know.”
Neither spoke.
Finally Ethan said, “Call me when you’re not deciding whether you want me.”
Camille started crying.
Ethan almost broke.
Almost told her to forget everything.
Almost offered to fly back.
Instead he sat in the pain.
“Goodnight, Camille.”
“Goodnight.”
The call ended.
For twelve days, they did not speak.
Camille worked.
She saw André three times.
The first meeting was coffee.
The second was dinner with her family.
The third happened on her mother’s porch.
André had rented an apartment in Coral Gables.
He had accepted a position with a local design firm.
Less money.
No international travel.
He did not ask Camille to move in.
Did not propose.
Did not make promises.
That was the problem.
He had become the man she once begged him to become.
And Camille discovered the strangest truth of adulthood:
Sometimes receiving what you wanted only proved you had changed while waiting.
On the porch, André asked, “Are you in love with him?”
Camille looked toward the street.
“I barely know him.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She laughed sadly.
“You two are annoyingly similar sometimes.”
“That is disturbing.”
Camille smiled.
Then became serious.
“I don’t know if I love Ethan.”
André nodded.
“But?”
“I miss who I am around him.”
“What does that mean?”
“With you, I remember everything.”
“Good and bad.”
“Yes.”
“With him?”
“I notice things.”
André waited.
“I notice the music in restaurants. I take different streets home. I bought peaches yesterday because he told me Seattle peaches are terrible.”
André laughed.
“That sounds deeply romantic.”
“It sounds ridiculous.”
“Most romantic things do.”
Camille looked at him.
“André?”
“Yes?”
“If Ethan didn’t exist, I still wouldn’t know if we should try again.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because I finally stayed.”
A sad smile crossed his face.
“And you still look like you’re waiting for permission to leave.”
Camille’s eyes filled.
That night she went home and opened the drawer beside her bed.
Inside was an envelope André had given her three years earlier.
It contained the receipt for the engagement ring she returned.
She had kept it for reasons she never understood.
Camille tore it in half.
Then again.
Then threw it away.
At 11:14, she picked up her phone.
Ethan’s name remained near the top of her messages.
She typed:
I made my choice.
Then she stared at the words.
Before she could send them, her phone rang.
Her mother.
Camille answered.
“Mom?”
Solange was crying.
“Camille, it’s André.”
Camille stood.
“What happened?”
May you like
“He was in an accident.”
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