Page 46

CHAPTER 46

Cami

Bestie Friend

Wear the pink one. My mom likes pink.

Me

Alana, I feel weird about this.

Bestie Friend

Come on, I’m fine. I go to therapy and talk about it there.

Me

Is that supposed to make me feel better?

Bestie Friend

That I go to therapy? Yes. And you should go too.

Me

I made an appointment

Bestie Friend

Omg! When? With Nicole?

Me

Yes, although I feel like it might be a little weird for us to share a therapist

Bestie Friend

Shhh. Good luck tonight. You got this.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror and fuss with my hair for the millionth time. I have already met Charlie’s parents, but this feels different. I haven’t seen them since my senior year of high school, and even then they weren’t around us much. They never really cared what Alana did, so we were at my house a lot.

I’m wearing a pink sweater and jeans, which feels a little too casual, but Lan and Charlie both assured me it was fine. I’m trying to clip a bracelet onto my wrist when two hands wrap around me and take the dainty chain from my fingers.

“Let me,” he says. He speaks directly into my ear and it causes me to shiver. He laughs at the way I respond to his touch and proximity.

“I’m nervous,” I say. Once the bracelet is fastened he drops his hands to my hips and pulls me back into him. I lean against him and lay my head back onto his shoulder. He dips his head and places a soft kiss on my forehead.

“Me too,” he says. “I’m not sure how this is going to go, and I don’t like you being collateral damage. I’m almost certain they had me bring you because they think it’ll keep me from blowing up.”

I spin in his arms so I’m facing him now. I lean back against the counter and he keeps his arms around me, slung low on my waist. Pressing up onto my toes I kiss him gently, snaking my arms up and around his neck.

“Well, then they underestimated me. I don’t care if you blow up. Actually, if it’s warranted I hope you do blow up. I’m ten toes behind you, superstar.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“So do we need a game plan?” I ask, ready to strategize if that’s what he needs. I want to ease his discomfort and do what I can to support him. “A code word or a signal or something?”

“A signal?”

“Yeah, like when you make bunny ears or double wink or something like that, I need to make some kind of excuse to get out.”

“You are something else, Cami Slate,” he says before kissing me again. I push him back and pout.

“I’m serious, I need to know what to do if things go haywire.”

“If things get crazy we’ll leave and I’ll have no problem getting us out. Don’t worry about that.”

Easier said than done, frankly. Everything in me is screaming to support him and help him, and one of the ways I want to do that is by planning our escape route if needed. I try to push that down though and focus on just being present. That is clearly the way he needs support right now, so I’ll do my best to be that for him.

“You ready?” he asks, stepping back and moving towards the door to the bathroom.

“Yeah pretty much, I just need to put perfume on and grab my bag. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I grab the perfume Charlie got for me for Christmas, it’s Dior, and spray a few times making sure to get my wrists and my neck. Grabbing my bag from where I placed it on the bed, I make my way downstairs. Giovanna is cleaning up from lunch, and I smile at her as I pass through the kitchen.

“Good luck tonight, Ms. Cami.”

“Thank you. I will take all the luck I can get.”

“Keep an eye on him, yes? They don’t treat him right.”

I nod, my stomach souring at the idea that things could actually go quite badly tonight. As much as I want everything to go smoothly and for this to turn out perfectly, I can’t push away the gut feeling that it isn’t going to work out that way.

We climb into his car and start the drive. Their home in Long Island is about an hour and a half away, so we turn on the music and I settle into my seat. He lets me pick the music and I shuffle a playlist of a few smaller artists I like. It’s calming and exactly what I feel like we need before this dinner.

A little while later, we pull up to the house and Charlie puts the car in park. I reach over and squeeze his hand.

“You ready?”

“No, honestly.”

My heart twists in my chest and I hesitate on what’s best to do here. I don’t want to push him, but I also want him to do this if he feels like he needs it. After thinking on it for a few seconds, I determine that I don’t need to do anything but stand beside him.

“We don’t have to go in. We can turn the car back on and go right back home if you want.”

“Thank you,” he says as he smiles over at me softly. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He gets out of the car and comes over to my side, opening the door for me and taking my hand as I climb out. I grab the wine I brought and we make our way to the front door. He rings the bell and after a few moments the door opens and his mom appears behind it.

Mary Cade is a petite woman with short dark brown hair. She’s just as I remember her, only with a few more lines on her face. She’s wearing an ankle length dress and an apron at her waist, the spitting image of the classic American housewife. Her smile is hesitant, but genuine, as she takes in her son before her.

“Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you,” she says as she pulls Charlie in for a hug. He stiffens at first, but eventually gives in to the embrace and hugs her back.

“Good to see you, too, Mom.”

“Cami, you look just like I remember, only a little bit more mature. Aren’t you beautiful?” she says as she places her hands on my shoulders and looks me up and down. She then pulls me in for a hug and I hug her back.

“It’s good to see you, too, Mrs. Cade.”

“Oh, please call me Mary. Come in, you two, you’ll catch a cold.”

It’s early February, so it is pretty chilly out still. Today’s high is somewhere in the forties, and we’re climbing back down into the evening temperatures in the thirties.

We step into the small home and I take it in. They’ve had this house for years, but I haven’t ever been here. The outside is navy blue with white accents, and that theme continues inside. The entry hallway breaks off to an office on the left and a half bath on the right, then further in it opens up into the living room and kitchen. It’s all one room basically, just an island separating the two. A small round kitchen table sits off to the side, and another hallway in the back corner leads to what I assume is the primary and guest rooms.

Peeking out the windows by the kitchen table, I see Charlie’s dad moving around outside.

“George is grilling up some hamburgers for dinner, he should be in shortly. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Water is fine,” he says. “Cami will have tea.” I smile over at him, happy to have someone who knows my drink order and who wants to take care of me. It feels unreal, like I need to pinch myself to be sure it’s actually happening.

A moment later, Mary hands me my tea and Charlie his water, only there’s ice in his. It isn’t wrong, necessarily, to put ice in someone’s water, but he hasn’t liked ice in his water for as long as I’ve known him. I glance over at him and he sends me a sad smile before taking a sip.

We haven’t even been here for ten minutes and I’m ready to give him the bunny ears signal and run. He’s been so open, so trusting, lately and I don’t want his parents causing him to close back up. I scoot my barstool closer to him and cuddle into his side, showing my support silently. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and rubs circles on my arm.

“Seeing you two like this is something else,” his mom says. “I never would have guessed, of all of the people in the world, you’d choose Cami.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, and I wish he hadn’t.

“Oh, nothing. I just always saw you two as best friends and couldn’t imagine you going further than that. I’m glad you’ve both found someone to settle down with though.”

I smile over at her and resist the temptation to say anything else. George waltzes through the back door, saving us from furthering this topic of conversation. Charlie stands and greets his father with a hand shake, which George takes and pulls him in to hug him, slapping him on the back a few times.

“Son, it’s good to know you’re alive,” his dad says with a laugh. “You get a new phone number?” he teases.

“Nope,” he responds. I tense at the teasing that is certainly not just teasing. The tension in the room is thick, and I brace myself for the rest of the evening.

“Why don’t we make our plates and head to the table,” his mom suggests, clearly trying to move to a different topic other than Charlie’s dad’s unanswered phone calls. “I can make yours, Charlie. Ketchup and mustard?”

“Mustard only,” I respond, not giving him the chance to answer for himself. I shrink, a little embarrassed that I interjected, but it was just an instinct. I notice, again, how little his parents actually know him. He leans over and kisses my cheek.

“Thank you, baby,” he whispers in my ear. He takes my hand and guides me to the table.

We all take a seat, and dig in. The table is quiet for a moment more than is comfortable, and his dad breaks the silence.

“So, how’s hockey going? Last game was a doozy.”

I cringe. Not only does Charlie resent the fact that all his dad does is talk to him about hockey, I know he hates when he gives him tips. The last game was a doozy, it was a shutout for the other team. Rangers lost three to zero.

“Hockey is fine,” he answers in a clipped tone. His dad doesn’t pick up on the tension and pushes forward anyways.

“What drills are you running? That coach of yours needs some serious help if he’s happy with the way you boys performed out on the ice. It was a shit show.”

“George, no need for the language,” his mom chides.

“What? Charlie knows I’m right.”

I can tell that something is shifting. It almost feels as if the air in the room has changed direction, and I shiver knowing something is about to happen that none of them will be able to come back from easily. I almost jump up and make some excuse to get out, but I’m not fast enough.

“How come you never ask about Alana?”

My heart breaks a little at the mention of my best friend and her broken relationship with her parents. She’s done nothing to cause it, but they seem to care very little for her or her wellbeing. It hurts to see her hurt, and it hurts even more to see Charlie hurt in tandem.

His parents bristle at the question, like they’re surprised he asked, although I’m not sure why.

“Do you two even know what’s going on with her? That she got a promotion? That she’s seeing an incredible guy and it’s serious?”

“We knew she was in Paris for work,” his mom answers.

“Right, because she called and left a voicemail telling you. You wouldn’t even pick up to talk to her. What kind of parents don’t answer their childrens’ phone calls?”

“What kind of children don’t answer their parents’ phone calls?”

“Oh, yeah. Let me pick the phone up after a game only to get yelled at and told everything I could have done differently.”

“You don’t want to get better? You don’t want to sharpen your skills?”

“You’re my dad, not my coach!”

The room quiets at his outburst. He never raises his voice, like ever. He is the one person I can always count on to be even tempered and calm, but he’s let go of any pretenses now and I can’t help but think he needs this. He needs them to know how he feels. They need to be called out.

“Your sister has always been able to take care of herself,” his dad says, ignoring the comment about his coaching.

“She’s your daughter. She needed her dad, and you weren’t ever there.”

“Please, she never needed me. I was busy helping you and if she needed me she should’ve spoken up or taken up something worthwhile that she could turn into a career. Maybe then we would’ve had something to pay attention to.”

Charlie stares at his father and I can physically see the anger building inside of him. I brace for whatever he’s about to say.

“I don’t understand what happened to the dad I knew when we were little. Back before hockey and traveling, when things were simple and we were young and you loved us.”

His mom reaches up and wipes a tear from her cheek. I feel sad for her. Even though I know she’s not been the best parent, I can see in this interaction alone how she follows behind her husband and takes his lead. It’s cost her the relationship with her children.

“People change,” his dad says with a shrug. He seems so unconcerned with this conversation, it’s baffling to me. My parents and sister hound me about my life choices and they aren’t always the kindest about it, but they are nowhere near this callous and cruel.

“We’re leaving,” Charlie says as he stands. He grabs my plate and his, and takes them to the kitchen, careful not to leave a mess behind. I turn and address his mother only.

“Thank you for having us, Mrs. Cade. I’m sorry our visit was cut short,” I say as I glare in her husband’s direction.

“You have something to say to me?” he sneers. Charlie enters back into the dining area now, pushing me behind him.

“You don’t say a word to her, you don’t even look at her. As far as we are concerned, you are dead to me. I have no father. You can stop calling because I will never pick up, and I will never speak to you again. If you can’t do something as simple as admitting your mistakes and choosing to love your children for exactly who they are, then we are done here.”

“Get the hell out of my house!” George yells.

“Gladly. Come on.” He takes my hand and I follow him to the front door. His palm is shaking in mine and my heart breaks for him. I can’t say I’m surprised, though.

When we reach the front door, Charlie grasps the knob to open it but is stopped by his mom’s hand on his arm. He turns to her, sadness in his eyes.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry. He gets worked up and?—”

“I love you, Mom, but I will not be around him,” he says, cutting her off. “I won’t speak to him. If you’re really sorry and don’t enjoy all of this, why do you let him get away with it? Stop being a passive bystander if you miss us. Take ownership and do something. If you ever want a relationship with me or with Alana, you might want to take that into consideration.” He turns, opening the door and stepping out. “You might want to call her, Mom. She misses you and she’s got a lot going for her right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a big event in the near future that she’s going to want her mom around for.”

His mom nods, clearly unsure exactly what to say after the evening we’ve all just experienced, and Charlie continues forward.

He opens my door and I step into the car, sitting down. He reaches for my seatbelt, as if he’s going to buckle me in. It’s like he’s on autopilot, moving through motions even though they don’t make much sense.

“I’ve got it,” I say softly. I bring my hand up to his cheek. “Do you want me to drive?”

“No, I need to.”

I nod and he closes my door and makes his way around to the driver’s side.

As he climbs into the seat beside me, I look over at his profile and something inside of me clicks into place. I have an overwhelming feeling that I am exactly where I’m supposed to be. The surety is something I am extremely unfamiliar with, always feeling the need to move from this thing to that, but this is different.

I might change hobbies and hair styles and nail colors every other week, but my love for the man beside me will never change. My love for him is steady and sure, and I realize that choosing something, or someone, doesn’t have to be scary. Life is all about having fun and trying new things, but it’s even better when you have someone grounding you while you experience it all.

I know that no matter what crazy activity I want to try, or what hobby I might pick up on whatever given week, Charlie will be by my side for all of it. The permanence in that, and my lack of fear, is a beautiful thing.