Chapter 33 Cody
Throughout the following month, the vibe in the apartment starts to change.
Then, during a weekend, it finally escalates.
I think I saw it coming. I’ve been trying a little too hard not to think about my conversation with Luc’s father, the fact that I don’t know whether we’ll have a wedding cake, and all the things Luc keeps telling me we still have to arrange.
Maybe it shouldn’t surprise me when Luc turns on me, but it still catches me off guard.
Probably because he seemed fine yesterday, boasting about everything he did at the cake shop.
Today, though, he’s anxious and snippy as soon as he wakes up.
“T’as déjà cherché des lieux de mariage?” he says. Not that I can make that out—he’s talking French even faster than usual.
“Sorry, what was that?”
He sighs at my inability to understand him and at having to repeat himself. “Have you looked at wedding venues yet?”
“No,” I reply, confused. “I thought you were doing that. Or that we’d do it together at least.”
Apparently, that was the wrong answer. He looks annoyed now, talking to me like he’s explaining something that shouldn’t need explaining.
“We need to start planning, Cody!” he says, sounding stressed.
“And we need to divide some tasks, or nothing will happen! So, how about I arrange the cake, and you start looking at venues?”
I curse internally, my stress levels rising to match his. Did he really have to bring up the wedding cake? Now I’ll have to try to talk him out of it without telling him why—while he’s angry.
“Actually, I was hoping you’d leave the cake to me.”
As I feared, the question makes it worse. “Are you crazy?” he asks me in French before switching back to English. “It’s the one thing I’m good at! And now you’re telling me to stay away from my own wedding cake? I don’t want someone else to do it and mess up!”
“They won’t mess up. I’ll make sure of that. You focus on anything else you want to focus on and let me handle this one thing.”
At that, he starts mumbling in French again, pacing around the room until he finally stops and talks English, either because he remembers I can’t comprehend much of what he’s saying or because I wasn’t supposed to understand his mumblings.
“I don’t get you! Why are you holding me back? The wedding is in five months, Cody! Do you even want to get married?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why aren’t you doing anything?! Did you even send out the save the dates?”
“I already told you I did.”
“I don’t even know if my dad will come; he hasn’t replied. Are you sure you sent him one?”
What Luc says is true; his dad hasn’t contacted me about the wedding either. If he had, I would have said something to Luc to calm his nerves. But now that we’re on this subject, I think I can see us getting to the root of the problem: Luc’s stressed about his father.
“I definitely did. He has it; I know he does.”
“How do you know?”
Great question. I quickly make up an excuse. “Because I checked the address three times.”
“Then you can’t know if he has it! Unless you work at the post office,” he says cynically. “Have you switched careers and not told me?”
“Of course not. You’re just really tense, baby. It’ll all work out, I promise.” I step toward him, reaching out for him, but it doesn’t have the effect I’d hoped for. If anything, it does the opposite. He takes a small step back.
“Don’t patronize me.”
I sigh. “Honestly, Luc, what’s this all about?”
He gives me a cold stare. I expect him to continue talking about his father, but he doesn’t. “It’s about how I seem to be the only one who cares about our wedding day!”
“Are you kidding me?!” I scoff at him. “You seemed ready to plan the whole wedding when I was away!”
“Because someone has to!”
I sigh. “I’ve been at work, Luc. I’m busy.”
“So am I!”
“Not the way I’ve been.”
He balls his fists, and his jaw clenches and unclenches.
We’ve been together eight months, so it was bound to happen sometime: our first fight.
Given everything that happened with us moving to a different country and dealing with everything, I think we were able to postpone it for a pretty long time.
I can almost see him go through responses in his mind. I didn’t accuse him of not working hard, and I won’t, but we both know he hasn’t been putting in as many hours as I have. Also, I make more money than he does. We both know that too, but it seems like a bad idea to say it out loud.
“At least I give people joy with my job! I feed them. All you do is make more money for a bank that already has too much of it.”
I don’t like that he has a point there. “So what, now you hate my job?”
“I hate the fact that you’re using it as an excuse! I feel like I’m doing everything! Even when you’re home, it doesn’t feel like you’re here.”
I suck my teeth. “You didn’t hate the job when we used my salary to move here! Because that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? That’s why you’re marrying me, so you no longer have to be poor while living in a city you hated!”
The silence that follows is almost deafening.
I think we’re both surprised by my outburst. It wasn’t something I planned on saying.
I wasn’t even really thinking about it. But now that I have .
. . I must admit, part of me still fears that’s all I am to him: someone with money who allowed him to move to his favorite city.
I told him from the start I wouldn’t be his sugar daddy, but who knows?
Maybe I unintentionally became that anyway.
Or the other possibility . . . all of this is nonsense, and I let Luc’s dad get into my head.
His eyes widen in shock, and his lips part. “What did you just say? You think I . . .” he says in French, softly and slowly. Then he shakes his head, mumbles something I can’t hear, and before I know it, he turns around and storms out of the room.
I consider saying something to stop him, but to be honest, I’m too upset to do so.
I can’t console him when I need more than anything for him to console me.
And the fact that he’s not denying it, isn’t expressing his love for me right away, makes it impossible for me to be there for him.
Because if anything, it seems like a bad sign.
***
Half an hour passes without any sign from Luc. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he left the house, but I’m in the living room, and he’d have to pass me to get to the front door, so I know he’s still here. I just don’t know what he’s doing. Maybe drowning in his misery like I am.
I sigh deeply and let my hand slowly run down my face.
Things have really gotten out of hand. I can’t wait to get married to Luc.
I think even a stranger could see that. But maybe Luc’s right, and I’ve been avoiding the topic of our wedding.
Maybe, deep down, I’m more than happy to have Luc arrange it all so that I only have to show up and see that he hasn’t changed his mind in the meantime.
That’s not what’s happening, is it? Because if it is, then Luc was right, at least about some things.
I hate having to admit that what Luc’s father said touched a nerve inside me.
His story about his painful divorce, about how I’m Luc’s longest relationship, and talking about how Luc eventually always tires of everything he does.
It got to me. I didn’t want it to, but it did.
It doesn’t help that it’s his dad; he’s been with Luc since he was born and knows him best. Or so he should, anyway.
Now, I can’t help but worry that I’m being used.
It sucks because on the one hand, Luc deserves better than to have me think about him that way, and I hate myself for it, but on the other, I can’t shove the thought down.
I have more money than Luc does; that’s how it is, and I won’t deny us a certain lifestyle simply because he can’t afford as much as I can.
Only now, for some reason, I can’t stop thinking that Luc knows that just as well as I do.
If only I could blame it all on Luc’s father.
Pierre showed little faith in his son but wasn’t hateful or denigrating toward him.
He said Luc has style and the potential to achieve great things, which he does.
So, and this is the worst part, that means my doubts come from somewhere deep within me.
What the hell am I supposed to do about that?
I don’t want to mention a prenup, like Pierre suggested.
I know many people do it, and if I were talking to anyone else in my shoes, I might encourage them to get one.
Maybe just to put them at ease. But bringing up a prenup feels like I might just as well tell Luc I don’t trust him. I’d feel like an asshole if I did.
I wonder how he’s doing. Has he been in the bedroom for so long because he’s just as confused and miserable as me? I have no idea, and I’m conflicted about whether I should check on him.
Not long after, my question is answered.
When he finally comes out of the bedroom, I feel like I’m hanging by a thread.
Still, I sit upright and look at him, ready to continue our conversation, but what I see is not what I expected: he seems to be doing okay—better than me, anyway.
He actually changed his outfit and did his hair for some reason.
“I’m going out,” he says, calm and determined.
I blink fast and tense up further. This can’t be good. “Going out? With who?”
He shrugs. “Just some people from work. I’d ask you to come, but I don’t think you’ll say yes.”
He’s got that part right. I don’t feel like going at all, but I don’t want him to go either. A lump forms in my throat, and I stand up, too restless to sit still. “Is it a gay club?”
“No, probably a regular club. Although I don’t know where we’ll go after. Pourquoi?”