I'm happy to be here today. I find myself questioning my choice to have stayed away from Marcel for so long. Was it childish of me to push him away these past few days? I don't think it was necessarily the right thing to do, but it's what I did. And I can't change that fact.
These last few days alone made me question myself, my desires, and I let myself get bored to find some of the answers I didn't know I needed. Being lied to again like that, I wouldn't have let it slide one more time. I needed to get in sync with myself again. I'm maybe only sorry it meant to be away from Marcel.
Seeing him teach, it felt so natural. It made him so approachable. A man speaking from passion, knowledge, and talent. I didn't know him to be a great orator. He is. I'm very happy to have stepped on my pride and joined him.
"Qu'est-ce que cette scène révèle sur nos personnages? Qu'est-ce qu'elle révèle sur l'environnement dans lequel ils sont? Et comment l'auteur s'y prend-t-il pour véhiculer sa critique de la société qu'il a dépeint sur nos personnages et leur environnement?" Marcel's voice speaks confidently, a thoughtful question I find myself not able to answer right away.
No one raises their hand to answer. Nobody even types anymore. I even stopped taking notes. We all looked at him. Lost in thought, trying to think of clues in the text of his PowerPoint projected on the big screen in front of us. He finally answers with the next slide.
My attraction to him doubled despite my best effort to maintain a steady heartbeat. I love this man more than anything in this world, that's why the betrayal cut so deep. I stopped listening for a moment, to gather my thoughts and focus on why I came here in the first place.
If my heart was filled with betrayal from the build up of my loneliness of the last two weeks, it's vanished now. No matter the lies, how much he has hurt me, the man in front of me amazes me and I love him. Before judging his actions any further, I will do what I should have done instead of running away like I always do, I will listen to him. I made my point, even if I punished myself by staying away from him for so long. He shouldn't have lied to me. What could have happened that night to make him think he couldn't tell me the truth? What could be that truth?
Although this whole situation is fucked up and we both seem to have done things we shouldn't have, I don't regret any of it. I handled things on my own. I was scared as shit to face another country alone and do my business without Marcel, because he has always guided me every step of the way. It made me realise that I didn't need him as much as I thought either. I could have done my book tour alone with a simple assistant helping me set up my stand and deal with the merchants. I didn't need newly turned editor Marcel to be with me. And probably, if Edith had really accompanied me as it was initially discussed, maybe she would have been with me for only the first few dates and let somebody else take her place. It's been two and a half months since my book came out. A lot has changed since then.
A lot has changed since then.
"C'est tout pour cette leçon. Si vous n'avez pas plus de questions, Professeur Popovic vous retrouvera la semaine prochaine à la même heure. Merci." Marcel concludes the class graciously with a soft smile to the class before resting his gaze on me.
I sigh from afar, tension already building from the words that are thought in our minds, syncing despite the buzzing of the students around us. Someone gets up from his seat and leaves the classroom, breaking the momentum between my mate and I. I look down and close my notebook to pack my things. I follow the two students that sat next to me down the row and down the steps to the front of the class. Marcel is closing his tabs on his computer, until they all vanish and only the picture of us remains as a wallpaper. Through the projector, I see him turning off his device and we fade to black on the white board on the wall.
I step towards the front of the desk, looking at him slide his computer in his leather satchel once we're left alone in the room. He straightens to meet my gaze in silence. His eyes run on me, from one eye to the other, his lips parting, until the rest of his body talks before a word even leaves his mouth.
He took three steps to join my side, his hands trapping both sides of my cheeks so that I had nowhere to run but to mould into him. His mouth pressed on mine telling more about his desperation than words could. He simply parts our lips to entrap mine more contently.
He is sorry.
He loves me.
I part from him, saddened by that thought. I step back, his hands sliding away from their hold on my cheeks.
"Why did you see no other choice than to lie to me when the call troubled you so?" The words left my mouth before I could even gather my thoughts. I was speaking from the heart, not my head. "Didn't you trust me with the truth? Why didn't you tell me what troubled you at all instead of lying to me? Do you have so little faith in me that I wouldn't understand the truth?"
My tone was soft. My eyes were analysing him. And my heart wanted to give him the chance he deserved so bad. Meanwhile, my head was shouting to stop always expecting the best out of people to shield me from feeling betrayed and disappointed again.
He looked down, and leaned his weight on the table on the front row. I mirror him. He sighs, looking down. I don't feel passionate at all. My emotions are at bay, ready to hear him out and not overreact.
"I..." He stops himself, his arms rising and falling with the weight of his conflicted mind. "Even if I want to tell you the truth, I don't think you would want to know it, and I don't know if it would be best for you to know."
"That's what I don't understand, Marcel... What could have happened for you to question this so much? I'm your girlfriend. I'm your mate. We are talking about a future together. How could you question me like that? Whether I would be distraught by it or not, your lie damaged something between us again. Wouldn't you prefer to face whatever this is with me by your side instead of fighting it alone and fighting me at the same time? I don't understand you. Weren't we a team? That's what hurts me more than the lie itself."
"I didn't think of it this way..."
"Marcel, I don't want to fight you. I want to fight with you. Whatever was that call, I want to deal with it with you."
"I can't... I can't tell you what the call was about. But I shouldn't have lied about it."
"I don't know if it's enough, Marcel. Why would you want to keep things from me at all?"
"It's not like it's fun for me to keep things from you, Grace. The last few weeks have been really hard, and I want to share everything with you. But it would be so selfish of me to burden you with it all."
"You don't have to protect me if it means pushing me away. I'd rather face hell with you than heaven without you. I've said that before."
"You really mean that?"
"How many times must I prove it to you?"
"But we've been through so much already?"
"And I still chose to be with you despite it all. I didn't just give myself to you for nothing. I've invested myself in you. I believe in us. I believe in our future together. Isn't that worth anything to you?"
"Of course. It means everything to me."
"I can see how heavy this burden is to carry, Mace. I've never seen you so conflicted before. Who the hell called you that night?"
His face twitches with pain, and it scares me. What the hell could he lie about?
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and it breaks our gaze. I breathe out and dig my hand into my jeans to get my device out, ready to deny the call. The screen lights up as I bring it up to reveal Logan's face. My eyes rise up to meet Marcel's and answer the call.
"Hi Logan. How are you?" I greet him and turn my back to Marcel. I walk a couple steps away for a little privacy.
"I'm doing great, Grace. Thank you. I was wondering if you would like to meet tonight. There are some things I would like to talk about with you, and I'd rather do it face to face."
"Tonight? What time?"
"How about at 7? I'll come pick you up at your hotel. We'll go for a drink."
"It's alright with me. See you there."
I hang up and look at my phone for a moment. I have plenty of time to get back to my hotel room and get changed. That all depends on how much time Marcel still wants to take. If he doesn't want to tell me the truth, I don't think there is much left to say on this matter tonight.
"You are meeting him tonight?"
"I am. He wants to discuss something in person. He has his retreat in a couple of days. I'm going."
"What is it?"
"He rents a chalet up north for a couple of writers. He gives little lessons, he shares personal tools, habits and tricks. But it's just a chance to have a getaway and write for two weeks."
"You'll be gone for two more weeks."
"Yes. I said to Shelley that I would write articles about the lessons and the experience as a whole."
"Were you going to tell me?"
"I thought I already did. Sophie and Edith know. You were aware. I think he even told you himself when we met him in London. He invited you to teach if you wanted to share something with the group."
"Do you think I could still take him up on his offer?"
"I don't know. You walked out in the middle of the conversation to take yet again another shady phone call."
"Grace..."
"I am trying, Marcel. But by not knowing the truth, I imagine the worst. Do you have an affair? Because we can call it quits right now and walk our separate ways and never see each other again."
"Of course not. How can you think something like that, Grace?! Why would I cheat on you after fighting for you for so long?"
"I don't know because I don't know, you see? I want to be with you, Marcel. But realise that some of my trust has been broken again, and it won't recover until the truth is out."
"So you are not leaving me?"
"No, I'm not. I love you, but I'm at a point where I'm deeply disappointed in you, in us. So tonight, I will have drinks with Logan. I can ask him if you can come. I don't think it'll be a problem since you'll lodge in my room, but there's definitely some distance between us and it's not because of me. So figure your shit out, and I'll text you when and where to meet me for the retreat if you can and want to join me."
I leave him without waiting for a response. I've grown dull and I hate it. I've always given him my hundred percent and I don't feel like he is reciprocating it right now. What could he hide from me that consumes him so?
-
"Didn't you teach at the University of Montreal? Isn't that where you met your wife?"
"Indeed. I taught for a semester. It was pretty intimidating."
"Intimidating? To you? I'm having a hard time picturing it."
"Why?"
"You always tackle everything with confidence. I thought it was easy for you to speak in front of people."
"That isn't the part that I struggled with the most. I felt like a fraud for the longest time. I had never attended University. When I was at that age, I didn't have the money, nor the grades. It was never considered. I didn't have the easiest upbringing."
"Tell me about it. What has drawn you to literature?"
"It wasn't literature itself. I was a little prick. My dad abandoned me and my brother when I was a kid. Mom had troubles making ends meet. I quit school to work to help her. I ultimately left when boyfriend number three started being violent not only to her, but to my brother and me."
"I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. I took a lot of abuse, and didn't do shit until I had some money to get me and my brother away. I wrote everything down to make a court case against each of the men that had laid hands on my mom. It didn't do anything but get me my first deal with a publishing house. Since the cops didn't do anything about what I had shared with them. I had to get my voice heard elsewhere. And that book not only launched a career for me, but got boyfriend number three arrested. I returned to school after that. But I never saw myself as worthy of going to College."
"I'm a firm believer that nothing happens for nothing, but I'm still sorry about what you went through."
"That's a bit why I do these retreats and I encourage charities that help young people to get interested in literature, or at least, get better in French. I always say, teaching maths is important, but not everybody will need to know the value of pi or the equation for a parabola, but everybody will write and speak for the rest of their life–French, here in Quebec. And I want to make it accessible to all, at any age, any level of wealth, any educational background."
"I think it's admirable. Is that why there are different levels of retreats?"
"Of course, we are heading on a two-week retreat for people that want to write, but maybe haven't got the time in their everyday life. It's like a two-week NaNoWriMo. To give the time to those who don't take the time. We are heading out of the city, to a large cabin where we will take turns to make dinner to accommodate everyone's writing schedule, and every morning, we'll have a coffee meeting where we'll discuss different topics to help everyone grow as a writer before heading off in the afternoon to do our own things."
"That seems like a dream."
"It is. I do this every year, and I try to have an outline ready so that I can dive into a story without having the blank page syndrome. I know exactly where I'm going and the story just writes itself."
"Is that the secret to having published that many stories?"
"I don't think it's the secret per se. I like this technique, because it often gives me half the year off to enjoy some quality time with my wife."
"But isn't she a writer as well?"
"My wife wears many hats, but she does come to the retreat to write something every year. She doesn't necessarily go through with it, but she loves these retreats."
"I feel like I know her so much already. I can't wait to meet her."
"I can't wait for you to meet her as well. The resemblance is uncanny. You'll know it's her when you see her. Will Marcel be joining you?"
"I'll ask him. I'm sorry if he seemed impolite the other day, walking out like that..."
"No need to apologise to me. The man has a business to run, I perfectly understand. Does he write or is he just an editor?"
"He wrote a story."
"Did you read it?"
"Yeah... I loved it, actually."
"Why does it sound like there's more to the story than that?"
"Because there is. The story has two versions. The one I read was beautiful. It's about our love story, in a way."
"Really? And the other?"
"It's still about us. But it's the story of him and his editor."
"They were involved?"
"They were..."
"And that's it?"
"That's it for now... It's a pretty hardcore story, if I'm honest, and one I'm not totally over yet."
"You are still very young. It's ok to take a step back sometimes to evaluate some things with a different perspective."
"Yeah... I tried that, but life has its ways to bring us back together. And I know I've found my soulmate, and that is priceless to me."
"I get you. How did you say it? Nothing happens for nothing."
"Indeed. Wise words, Mr Kent."
"I try."
"So why did you want to meet with me?"
"Yes! I want to ask you something. Our emails have given me a lot to think about. And I thought this through with Emma. I would really like to take advantage of our relationship."
"You make it sound a little risqué." I chuckle as I take a sip of my drink.
"It isn't." He mirrors my smile. "It's entirely up to you, but I'd really like the opportunity to work with you."
"Is it for the retreat?"
"You could if you want to. You could maybe talk about your experience publishing in the UK. It's such a different public than Quebec is. I think lots of writers would like that insight. But no, it isn't fundamentally about the retreat." He leans his elbows on the table between us, granting me the utmost attention. "I would like to partner with you for the translation of my books."
"Oh wow!"
"I know it seems like a big deal, but it would be an honour to have you translate my French work."
"And it would be an honour for me too. What made you think about this?"
"Honestly? I didn't really like the translated title of my book. When we met in London, I was heading out to complain to my wife about it." He chuckles and runs a hand through his locks as he leans back against his chair. "It might sound ridiculous, but I really enjoy the articles you have written for Shelley, and I think we know each other enough for you to know the essence of my writing. I think you would do a splendid job."
"This is a lot to take on."
"I know... I know you have your own career. And I'm sure you don't need another work load, but I don't want to sign another deal if I'm not a hundred percent satisfied."
"You know what? I think I may have an idea."