Pack Up the Moon

by Kristan Higgins

  “I feel a little sick.”

  “That’s a good sign!”

  Seconds later, Radley’s phone chirped. His face lit up. “She says she’s in, text me his info.” Radley looked at him. A few more taps, and Josh’s info was delivered. “Let’s order some food, okay? I’m starving.”

  * * *

  CAMMIE WAS INDEED wicked, wicked pretty. In fact, Josh’s mouth dried up when she walked into the same bar four days later. Holy crap. She wore a formfitting white dress with a deep V in the front, high-heeled red shoes and a red leather jacket, and everyone in the bar turned to look at her. Dark tumbling hair, very long but natural-looking eyelashes, red lipstick. She had a tattoo of black barbed wire around her wrist, and somehow, it all worked.

  She was incredibly hot. You know. If he was being objective.

  “Josh, right? How you doin’?”

  He closed his mouth and stood up. “Hi, Cammie. Uh . . .” His brain wasn’t working. “Nice . . . nice to meet you. Um . . . is Cammie short for anything?” Was he making sense? It didn’t seem like it.

  “Short for Cameron,” she said. “My mom was hooked on those shows where girls had boy names. 90210, Gilmore Girls, you know.” He didn’t, but nodded anyway. “Is Josh short for anything?”

  He hesitated. “Joshua.”

  “Oh, right.” She extended her hand for him to . . . kiss, it seemed. He took it and shook it awkwardly, as if it were Pebbles’s paw. “Very nice to meet you, Joshua,” she said. “I was totally psyched when Radley texted the other night.” She sat down, and Josh did the same. “What a doll that guy is, right?”

  “Absolutely.” He swallowed.

  “How did you meet him?”

  “He . . . he helped me in Banana Republic and we . . . well, we became friends.” He opted not to tell her about the sobbing.

  The server came over, his eyes glued on Cammie’s breasts, which, to be fair, everyone could see a lot of. It did seem a shame to hide them. “Welcome to the Eddy. What can I get you?”

  “Grey Goose straight up with a twist of lemon, stirred,” she said.

  “A woman who knows what she wants,” the server murmured to her cleavage. It took him another minute to force his eyes to Josh. “Sir?”

  “Oh, I’ll have, um . . .” Josh fumbled with the menu. “The Apple Double Dutch?”

  The server couldn’t keep from a slight eye roll. It was one of the more precious drinks on the menu. “Any food for you two?”

  “We’ll have a charcuterie board, hon. Some meat, some cheese, you choose for us,” Cammie said, and Josh liked that she was bossy and friendly at the same time. The waiter drifted away, leaving them alone.

  She smiled. Wow. Could he be attracted to her? She was certainly beautiful. Tall, curvy, great legs, confident. She also seemed nice. There was nothing not to like so far.

  “So Josh, tell me about yourself, honey. Radley says you’re a good guy.”

  “I’m a medical engineer.” Boring, hon, he could almost hear Lauren say.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I design medical devices.” Still boring.

  “Like what? Like . . . I don’t know. Stethoscopes?”

  “Well, those have already been designed, but yes.” He ran through some of his easier-to-describe devices—the needle that sensed blood flow, the chair for people with mobility issues.

  “Oh, pissah!” she said, clapping her hands together. “I mean, that’s awesome, Josh. You must be wicked smart. My uncle Lou? He could use one of your chairs. My God, that man does not take care of himself. Diabetes, but does that stop him from drinking regular Coke all day and eating shit? No. It does not.”

  Their drinks and food came, and the waiter smiled again at Cammie’s breasts. Josh took a swallow of his cocktail, which was really quite delicious.

  Cammie took a delicate bite of cheese. “So tell me, Josh, how is a good-looking guy like you in need of a . . . whatchamacallit. A matchmaker.”

  Here it came. It was still so hard to say. “My wife . . . died last winter.”

  “Oh, fuck me. Hon, I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. Thank you.” He took a big swallow of his drink, appreciating the warmth and floatiness that wafted through him. Girly drink or not, it was doing the trick.

  Stay in the game, Josh. Don’t be a loser.

  Cammie leaned forward and covered his hand with her own. Her eyes were impossibly blue. Blazingly blue. Did people still wear tinted contact lenses, or was she just blessed with actual turquoise eyes? “So you’re lonely,” she said.

  Such a simple sentence. He felt himself getting choked up. Do not cry now, loser. Another swallow of the appley drink. He nodded, then shrugged, trying for a smile.

  “Aw, honey, you poor baby. Of course you need a little guidance, then. Ease back into the dating scene. Radley was a hundred percent right in texting me.”

  His drink was gone, and so was hers. His head felt a little detached from his body, but when she gestured to the waiter for a second round, he didn’t contradict her. “Where are you from?” he asked.

  “Worcester.” She pronounced it “Wistah,” instead of “Wooster” like everyone else in New England, marking her as someone who’d grown up there. The waiter brought their second round and food. Josh’s drink tasted even better now.

  “So what do you do, Cammie?” he asked.

  “A little of everything, frankly,” she said. “I’m a hairstylist part-time.”

  “Your hair is very pretty,” he said. “So shiny.” Was that a dumb thing to say? Probably.

  She beamed. “Thanks!” Maybe not, then. She picked up another piece of cheese and nibbled on it with her perfect teeth. Her lipstick somehow did not smear on the cheese, or her martini glass, for that matter. Women and their magic. Their good smells and lotions and makeup and hair stuff.

  He liked women.

  Josh realized he was a little drunk. Not necessarily a bad thing in his case, socializing-wise, and he’d walked here, so driving would not be an issue. “What’s your dream job?” he asked, surprising himself. Thanks, alcohol!

  “Oh, my God, I can’t believe you asked that. What a great question! Most men are just interested in . . . well. You know.” She straightened up. “I would love to have my own business. A salon, but also a cocktail bar, right? Get this, though. It’s just for women.”

  Josh sat back, the better to listen (and not wobble).

  “So you come in, see, and you get your nails done or hair cut”—Cammie gestured extravagantly—“and there’d be this makeup bar, like at Sephora? Except not grubby. Super clean. And so you could beautify right there for a small fee after your mani or haircut, with a consultant or not. Your choice. And then—this is the genius part if I do say so myself—you go to the back room, or maybe the front room, and there’s cocktails and a cute bartender!”

  “Amazing!” Josh said.

  “Right? So you could talk with your friends, make some new acquaintances, maybe, and hang out.” She sat back, pleased by her pitch. “I’m gonna call it Shine, because, like, your nails, your hair and your personality can all shine.”

  “What a great idea,” he said sincerely. “I would go there. I mean, if I were a woman.”

  “I know! Tell me the truth. Your wife would’ve loved a place like that, wouldn’t she?”

  “She definitely would have. And all her friends would’ve, too.”

  “See! I just gotta save some more money, and then it’ll happen. Dream big, my ma always says. So in the meantime, I do a little of this and a little of that. I’m saving up.” A big smile.

  He did like her. Very much.

  They smiled and sipped and chatted, and while there was a pleasant rolling feel to the floor, Josh was actually having a good time.

  “Tell me more about your wife,” she said, and he did. He told her abo
ut how happy they were, how many fun things they did, the places they’d gone, how even when she was at her sickest, Lauren never stopped being positive and kind and perfect.

  Cammie had tears in her eyes. “I hope I meet someone like you someday, Josh,” she said, which was odd, because that day was today, wasn’t it?

  “She wrote these letters for me to read every month after she died,” he said, again surprising himself. “She said she wanted to walk me through this first year without her.”

  “Oh, my God.” Cammie’s mouth wobbled, and she took a cocktail napkin and carefully wiped under her lashes. “That’s beautiful.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “Your guardian angel.”

  He hated that term, but . . . “Exactly. And every month in the letter, she gives me something to do, so I’m not just sitting around our apartment, lost.”

  “Seriously? What does she tell you to do?”

  “Well, the first thing was just go to the grocery store. Then, you know, have people over for dinner. Get a new couch. See a, um . . . a medium.”

  “Oh, my God! How was that? Was it amazing? I’m a total believer.”

  “It was pretty incredible,” he admitted.

  “My cousin? She has flashes like that? Totally random, but it knocks your socks off. Like once? She said my grandmother had made my dress for my first Communion? She’s like, ‘Grandma is showing me the dress she made for your first Communion,’ and I’m like, ‘Oh, my God, I loved that dress.’” She smiled fondly at the memory. “It had pockets. Then my mother said that my cousin would know that because Gran made all the first Communion dresses for her granddaughters, but still. She knew about the pockets, right?”

  “Yes,” Josh said, though he wasn’t sure if that was an appropriate response. “This lady was very . . . accurate.”

  “Such a gift. God bless her.” She made the sign of the cross, and Josh’s eyes followed her hand up to her shiny hair, then down to her lovely cleavage, then left, then right, and whoo! His eyes were getting a little rebellious, weren’t they? A little maverick, those eyes.

  Their second round of drinks was gone, the room was spinning slightly, and Josh decided, what the hell, he’d tell her. “So for this month, my wife wanted me to kiss someone. A woman.”

  He probably hadn’t needed to add that last part.

  “Seriously? That was her thing for you?”

  “Yes.”

  Cammie’s brilliant eyes welled again. “I think that’s so . . . kind. So fucking romantic.”

  “Me, too,” Josh said, though again, he wasn’t quite sure his answer was appropriate, since he couldn’t exactly remember the last sentence out of Cammie’s mouth. No more drinks for him.

  “I don’t usually kiss my clients, but I’m gonna make an exception for you.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled. A second later, a distant bell chimed. “Wait. What . . . what did you just say?”

  “I’ll make an exception for you, sweetie. Abso-fuckin’-lutely.”

  “You called me . . .” What was the word she used? “A client?”

  “Sure.” She shrugged. “But I could see us becoming friends, too.”

  So nice! “Me, too.” What were they talking about again? “Um . . . the client part.”

  She tipped her head, her shiny hair falling to one side. “What about it, hon?”

  “Why am I your . . . client?”

  She frowned. “Oh. Radley didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” Josh asked.

  She rolled her eyes, then smiled. “Okay.” She lowered her voice. “I’m a working girl.”

  “Sure. You cut hair.”

  “And I’m also a working girl.” She laughed a little, a nice sound.

  But Josh’s foggy brain couldn’t quite make the . . .

  “I’m a member of the oldest profession,” Cammie said, clearly amused.

  The riddles weren’t helping. He didn’t quite get it and sensed he didn’t want to.

  She leaned forward. “I’m a consensual sex worker,” she whispered.

  “Oh.” Josh said. A second later, he remembered to close his mouth. “Radley . . . Radley knows this?”

  “Of course! That’s why he called me, Josh.”

  “Oh.” He rubbed his hand across his face. “I thought we were on a . . . date.”

  “We are, hon. You just pay me afterwards.”

  “Oh.” He was saying that a lot.

  “I’m my own boss, and I make quite a good living,” she said. “Another year, I’ll have about a hundred grand for Shine.”

  “Wow. That’s . . . wow.”

  “I like the work,” she said and she gave him a wink. “Do you have a problem with a woman who does this for a living?”

  “Is it legal? Like, are you breaking the law right now?”

  “Not a hundred percent legal. But I pay taxes. I tell the IRS I’m a consultant. Which, you know, I like to think I am.”

  “I see.” Was he breaking the law right now?

  “Check, please,” Cammie called, and the waiter came over. Josh felt like he was blinking a lot. He took out his wallet and left a big tip.

  “Should we go to your place?” Cammie said.

  “Here’s the thing,” Josh said.

  “Let’s talk outside,” she whispered. “In case there’s any undercover po-po around here.”

  He followed, because he wasn’t sure what else to do. Undercover po-po? That would suck! Was he about to be arrested? Oh, God, what would his mother think? She’d kill him. Jen would never let him see the kids again, and—

  It was a cool night, and the air helped the brain fog lift. They walked down the alley, like any good prostitute and her john. About halfway down, Josh stopped.

  “Cammie, I don’t know how this works, but—” he said.

  “That’s fine, sweetie. We can do whatever you want. You just have to Venmo me three grand.”

  Jesus. That was a lot. Not that he’d ever paid for sex before, but that was a very high hourly rate. Focus, idiot, he told himself. “What I mean is, I don’t know how it works, but I don’t need to know because . . . I don’t want to sleep with you.” He felt himself flush, afraid he might hurt her feelings. “Also, I feel like I might be breaking the law,” he said. “Which I generally don’t do.”

  “Oh. A good Catholic boy?”

  “Lutheran.”

  “Most of my clients are Catholic. I mean, this is Rhode Island.”

  “Right.”

  Cammie thought a minute. “Okay. Here’s the deal. You’re sweet. You’re lonely. I love your story, and you’re cute. I’ll kiss you for free. Anything else, you pay.”

  “I didn’t want anything else. Not because you’re not beautiful or . . . you know. You’re very sweet and likable. And beautiful. I’m just . . .” He swallowed. “I’m still in love with my wife.”

  The words sounded huge in the alley.

  “Aw, sweetie. I get that. I do.” She leaned against the brick building. “I would kill to have someone be that in love with me.”

  “I’m sure there are many people in love with you,” he said honestly.

  She shrugged, smiling. “True. I just haven’t found the one, as they say. Well.” She tilted her head. “You ready to be kissed?”

  “Oh. Um. Sure.” His face felt hot, and his hands were clammy.

  “You want tongue?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “God. The manners on you.” She smiled, then leaned in and kissed him, their lips interlocking. His hands went to her waist. Her lips were very smooth and firm, and it was . . . nice. Quite nice. Lovely, in fact. He didn’t hate it. It just felt . . . new.

  Then he pulled back. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you, too, hon.” She wiped a little lipsti
ck from the corner of his mouth. “We could be friends, you know.”

  “I’d like that.”

  She ruffled his hair. “Okay. Well, I got another date at ten, so if you don’t need me anymore . . . ?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Okay. Can I call you an Uber? I’m getting one for myself.”

  “I’ll walk. Take care, Cammie.”

  “You too, hon. See you around.”

  He started walking toward the river, then turned around. “Hey, Cammie.”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you want an investor for Shine, let me know.”

  She folded her arms and gave him a fond smile. “You. You’re the sweetest thing ever. I just might take you up on that.”

  He lifted his hand and turned around. The walk should clear his head. Two cocktails were one and a half too many, he thought. He pulled out his phone and tapped Radley’s name.

  “Hello, hello!” Radley said.

  “Cammie’s a working girl,” he said.

  “I know. So how was it?”

  “You set me up with a prostitute.”

  “I thought I made that clear.”

  “You did not.”

  “Whoops. Um . . . are you super angry?”

  “No,” he said. “She’s great. Very genuine.”

  “Did you . . .”

  “Kiss her? Yes. And that was it.”

  “Got it. Let’s try to be more clear with each other moving forward, okay?” Radley said.

  “I’m not the one who—”

  “I have a date. Gotta run. Bye!”

  Everyone had a date tonight, it seemed. Jen had asked him if he would babysit so she and Darius could go out (his mother had leaped at the chance when he said he was busy). Sarah had mentioned she was going on a rare second date. Radley now. Cammie, even if hers was a business transaction.

  Well, he’d had a date, too. Sort of.

  Cammie wasn’t his type, of course. His type was Lauren. He’d only ever been in love once. He might not ever be again.

  But he’d kissed a woman tonight, and it had felt nice. He hadn’t crumpled in grief, he hadn’t yearned for more. More than anything, he was glad it was over.