“How lucky she is to have a champion, someone who gave her a shot when literally no one in their right mind would.”
“Neevah is more talented on an off day than you are on your best,” I say, my voice not raising. “Is that what you want me to tell you? She’s the best thing about this movie, and there are a million great things about Dessi Blue. It’s the role of a lifetime, and I understand why you resent not getting a shot at it, but it wasn’t a fit for you.”
“No. If you had let me—”
“I tell her things that I tell no one else,” I continue softly, injecting the words with truth so she can hear that I’m not lying. “I want to be with her all the time. It has been torture pretending I don’t want her and hiding that we’re together. I’m proud of her, and because of what you did today, now everyone knows.”
“Son of a bitch,” she hisses, but the hurt slips through. I hear it. What she did was low, but what I just said, though honest, was low in its own way, because when it comes down to it, I know why Camille got me fired. I know why she lashed out publicly. I know why she threw her tantrum today.
Hurt people holler, Mama used to say.
When something hurts, you scream.
“Look,” I say, switching lanes on the interstate to exit as carefully as I’m changing the tone of this conversation. “Things ended badly between us, and we never really talked about it.”
“Oh, you talked about it. You eavesdropped on one phone call and decided I’m a bitch and you couldn’t be with me.” She pauses, draws a shaky breath. “That wasn’t fair, Canon.”
I heard what I heard and I know what I know. Anyone who would do what I overheard Camille doing, saying, is not for me, but that is not the point to make right now.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
I could have said it—sincerely said it—when we broke up, but maybe I didn’t understand the power of acknowledging someone else’s pain. Not that I would take her back, do it differently, or choose her over Neevah if given the chance, because hell naw. But Camille was emotionally involved, and I knew the break would hurt. Still, I never had this conversation with her. If I had, maybe we could have avoided all the subsequent shit that soured things so badly, so publicly between us.
“You did hurt me,” she says, her voice less sure, less hard. “I thought we . . .”
I know what she thought.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her again.
There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to apologize at all. Of course, there is. She hurt me, too. Tried to publicly embarrass me. Tried to damage my reputation. She was in the wrong. At this point, though, I’m more concerned about making things right than I am about being right.
“Are you . . .” She inhales sharply like someone does before they take an icy plunge. “Are you serious? About her, I mean?”
“Yes.” Lying won’t help. “I care about her a lot.”
“So that shit you said, about telling her things you don’t tell anyone else, you weren’t saying it just to get at me? You’ve opened up to her?”
“I have. I do.”
“I always wondered what that would look like,” she says, her voice softening around the edges some, almost wistful. “Canon Holt, open.”
“Do you remember what it was like when you first started, Mille? Before things got this big and before you felt like you were living in a den of vipers. That feeling of just loving the work and being grateful for a shot?”
“Yeah, I remember. It’s been a long time, but I remember.”
“I don’t want to fight with you, and I don’t want her caught in the middle. She shouldn’t be. Your problem, your real problem, was with me, and I’m saying I’m sorry.”
“Because of her you’re saying you’re sorry.”
“No, because of you I’m saying I’m sorry. Yes, I want this to stop, but also, I hurt you and I’m sorry.”
“So I guess now I’m supposed to apologize, too?” We used to make each other laugh, and some of that humor shows in her words.
“I won’t hold my breath.” I chuckle. “But know that when I say it, I mean it.”
“Yeah, well . . .” She sighs, her voice soft if not humble. “I’m sorry, too.”
“Thank you,” I tell her as I arrive at my house and pull into the garage. I park and wait for her next move because I’m out of them.
“So a truce, huh?” she asks.
“I’d like that, yeah.”
“Alright, whatever,” she says, her voice going brisk. “Truce.”