by Mia Faye
“I’m sorry. I’m rambling. The thing is, Cam. We can’t do this here. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I like you, obviously, but I don’t want this to complicate the job for me.”
“What do you mean, you don’t want to do this here?” Cam asked. I thought I noticed an edge creep into his voice.
“I mean us,” I said. “This. Whatever it is. It was one thing when you were just my neighbor. But my boss… it changes things. It’s different…”I was failing miserably at getting my point across, but somehow, I knew Cam understood exactly what I meant. I knew, because his face went from puzzled to shocked and then to casually indifferent, and it was heartbreaking.
“I get it,” he said. He adjusted his tie and brushed off imaginary lint from his coat. “No mixing business and pleasure. I totally get it.”
Before I could say anything else, he opened the door and walked out, and I was left standing by the window, my lips still throbbing from his kisses, but with the sinking feeling that I had just ruined everything.
Chapter 6
Cameron
My old man was waiting for me in the driveway. He always did, every time I visited. And it always made me feel guilty as if I didn’t visit them nearly enough, and so he wanted to make the most of the time I was there.
Even at 70, Richard Palmer was still in excellent shape. Full head of thick grey hair. Sharp, intelligent eyes hidden behind thick glasses. Skinny—he had always been skinny—but strong and healthy. He stood tall and regal, waving a hand as I pulled in, a slight smile on his face.
“Son,” he said as I got out of the car.
He reached out a hand, at the same time I was stretching out for a hug. We paused, comically frozen in our individual poses. I went to switch mine, reach for his hand instead, but he had the same idea, and he dropped it just as my hand was coming forward. It was exactly the kind of relationship I had with my dad; neither of us was comfortable with expressive affection.
In the end, he clapped me on the arm, and I nodded.
“Hey, Dad.”I reached back into the car and pulled out the box I had brought with me.“I didn’t have time to gift-wrap it, but here you go.”
He took the bottle from me, a pained look on his face.
“What?” I asked him. “What’s wrong?”
“Is this a Macallan 25?” he asked.
“Yeah. I tried to swing for the ’72, but it would have bankrupted me. I’ll work on it for your next birthday, yeah?”
Dad shook his head, still staring at the whiskey.
“Seriously, Dad, what’s going on? I’ve never seen you look so mournfully at whiskey.”
“This is a lovely gift, son, but I can’t accept it.”
I scoffed.
“Or, I suppose it’s more accurate to say, your mother won’t let me. She’s trying to get me off the bottle.”
“Shit, really? Since when?”
“A couple of months.”
“Has she?”
“For the most part, yes.”
“Why, though?”
“Something about taking care of myself now that I’m advancing in years.” He brought his hands up to do air quotes, drawing a smile from me.
“Come on, Dad. You’re the healthiest person I know. Certainly the best looking 70-year-old I’ve ever seen.”
“Hey, what can I do? You know what your mother is like.”He tried to push the bottle back to me, but I shook my head.
“It’s your birthday, Dad. Keep it. I’ll talk to her about letting you have a glass every once in a while.”
“Good luck with that,” he said.
We walked to the house together. I started to ask him about his plans for the birthday, but I got my answer as soon as I stepped into the house.
The house was decorated and set up for a party. It looked nothing like the house I grew up in; the walls were covered in streamers and brightly colored decorations. Dad’s photos were strewn all over the place, most of them featuring his trademark frown. The living room was filled with people, all of whom turned around when we walked in.
“You didn’t tell me there was a party!” I whispered to my dad, but he only shrugged. Which meant it had not been his idea; knowing Mom, she had probably been organizing this for weeks, and Dad only learned of it today.
She came walking up to me, smiling broadly. Unlike Dad, she had no problem showing emotion or affection, and she wrapped me in a tight hug.“We weren’t sure you’d come,” she said, stepping back and examining me as if determined to commit my features to memory.
The one thing the Palmers all shared was that tall, proud gene; my mother was just as tall as my dad, but where he was restrained and almost shy, she was the exact opposite. Everything about her screamed ‘life of the party.’ She was beautiful and social, and she always knew just what to say. Dad liked to joke that they would not have gotten together if she hadn’t made the first move; that’s just the kind of person she was.
“I wouldn’t miss Dad’s 70th,” I said. “Or this party. When did you do all this, Mom?”
“Oh, it was nothing. Made a few phone calls, that’s all.” But she beamed with pride as she said it. “Your father wanted a small dinner with just us; can you believe it? I told him it’s not every day people get to celebrate 70 years.”
Dad threw me an exasperated look. I knew exactly what it meant; she had overruled him.
“Well, it looks great, Mom.”
“Aww, thanks, darling. Of course, if I knew this was what it would take to get you to visit…”
“Oh, stop it, Sheila,” Dad interjected, coming to my defense. “You know how busy Cameron is with the company.”
“Right,” Mom said, but her face fell, and I felt a pang of guilt. “Of course. We’re happy to have you, darling.” She patted me gently on the cheek. “Come. I’ll introduce you to our guests.”
Their guests consisted of people from their immediate circles, Dad’s oldest law school buddies along with his friends from the neighborhood, and Mom’s ‘gang,’ her tight circle of girlfriends she had maintained since her college days. Most of them were familiar; I had met them on occasion or knew them from childhood. Still, Mom made a point of marching me through the room, her hand tucked securely in the crook of my elbow, and introducing me to every single one of them.
The pride in her voice was evident; from the way she spoke about me, I could tell she had been talking me up to them for some time, and she was finally getting to show me off in person. I smiled and made small talk as best as I could, but my attention was slowly being drawn to something else.
I had noticed it when I entered the room, but only peripherally. There were a lot of younger ladies in attendance, none of whom I knew. Mom’s trip around the room with me in tow somehow skipped all the younger women, and it was only when we were done that I felt bold enough to bring it up.
“Is that everyone?” I asked her, smiling.
“Hmm?” Her eyebrows shot up in a perfect imitation of surprised confusion.
“I couldn’t help noticing your introductions didn’t extend to… everyone at the party.”
“Well, I thought you could do the rest on your own. Do you know? Makes a better impression when you do it personally.”
“Why would I need to make an impression, Mom?”I kept my eyes on her, searching her face, letting the intensity of my gaze roll over her and beat down her defenses. She had an excellent poker face, but I knew her well. She was definitely up to something.
“Mom?” I asked. She pretended to wave at someone in the far corner of the room. “Are you trying to set me up?”
She gasped, her hand going to her chest in mock horror. “I would never!” she said.
“Right.”
“But now that you bring it up… is there someone you would like me to introduce you to?”She was very slick; I had to give her that. Not at all subtle, but definitely slick.
“We’ve already talked about this, Mom,” I said. “I’m not really looking to get into anythin
g serious. You know what happened the last time I did.”
“Just because you have one bad experience doesn’t mean you should shut yourself off completely. Victoria wasn’t right for you. But someone else might be.”
“Someone at this party, you mean?” I smiled despite myself.
Mom shrugged, which I assumed, was meant to appear innocent.“How is Victoria anyway? And how’s my granddaughter?”
I shook my head. “They’re fine. I’m supposed to be spending this weekend with her. Emma that is.”
I was supposed to. Up until it happened, I had no idea whether or not it would happen; that had been the unfortunate thing about planning to spend time with Emma. More often than not, something came up, or Vicki and I failed to agree on the minutiae.
“You should bring her over some time, you know,” Mom said. “Spend some time with us.”
I nodded. She wasn’t wrong. But it wasn’t a discussion I was ready for, and thankfully, she realized that. As if on cue, one of the young ladies chose that moment to walk over to us, and Mom shushed and nudged me in the ribs.
“So, you are trying to set me up,” I whispered to her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mom said, but she couldn’t hold back the smile.
By which time the lady had gotten too close, and I had to bite back the retort that sprang to my tongue.
“Hi,” the young lady said, extending a petite, well-manicured hand.
She was actually very pretty; she had short brown hair that framed her oval face perfectly. She was tall, and she had a nice, full figure. I reached out to shake her hand and was struck by just how green her eyes were.
“I’m Melody,” she said.
“Cam,” I told her. I turned to introduce my mom, but she had vanished into thin air. Very slick.
Melody held my hand in place a little longer than necessary. Her smile was knowing, almost like she understood the situation and was as amused by it as I was.“I know this is weird,” she said. “My mom has been trying to set me up for months too.”
“Only months?” I commented. Melody threw her head back and laughed. It was a high, trilling sound that was infectious. I pictured her mother watching us from a corner in the room and nodding in approval. That’s right … laugh at all his jokes. It helps.
“Yours too, huh?”
“Oh, she has been on my case for years,” I said. “The minute I finished college… actually no. Even before I went, she was always engineering these situations where I would bump into someone, and I was supposed to fall in love with them. She got pretty good at it, too.”
“Why would she need to?” Melody asked. “I mean, you’re a gorgeous guy. Surely you don’t need any help with the ladies.”
Someone passed by over Melody’s right shoulder, throwing us a suspicious look as she went.
“I could ask you the same question,” I said.
“Oh, I definitely need help,” Melody said. “I don’t really have time for dating. Or any social situation outside work, really.”
“Funny, I’m a bit of a workaholic myself,” I told her.
“Ah, then we’re perfect for each other.”
“You think so?”
“Totally. We would make such an efficient couple. Quick breakfasts while on the commute, check-in twice a day at work, meet back at home after eating out. It would be a partnership more than anything else, really.”
I laughed, trying to imagine what that arrangement would look like. “Sounds like a business arrangement.”
“Why not?” Melody asked. Her tone turned serious, and she took a confident step toward me. I gulped, jerking my head upward to stop myself from disappearing down her cleavage. “Most marriages are based on some archaic notion of love and companionship. Do you know what has a better foundation? A business partnership. Two parties coming together, each clearly stating what they want from each other. No false attachment. Just a practical arrangement that works for them both.”She was uncomfortably close to me now. I could smell the fragrance on her neck, the wine on her breath.
“I’m sure what you’re proposing has its merits,” I said because I had no idea what else to say.
“So how about it then?”
“How about what?”
I felt the contact first. I looked down, and Melody’s hand was on my chest, her fingers working their way in.
“Do you find me attractive?” she asked.
“What? I mean, of course, but…”
“I find you attractive as well. We’re both adults. We might as well do it.”
It took a moment for her words to sink in, for me to understand exactly what she was trying to say. Apparently, the hypothetical scenario she had been drawing up wasn’t very hypothetical.
“I’m… I don’t…”My mouth felt dry, and I suddenly couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Her hand was still on my chest, and I felt her growing bolder with every passing second. It was actually shocking how quickly we had gone from innocent banter between strangers to a straight-up proposal. And very unnerving.
“Can I borrow you for a minute?” a voice said from very close behind me, and I turned around with relief to see my dad standing there.
“Yes, please,” I said, turning and walking away with him before Melody could say anything else.
Dad put an arm around me and led me away, and it was only when we were well away from her that I felt it was safe to talk.
“Jesus Christ, Dad, thanks,” I gushed, letting out a deep sigh.
“Sure,” he said, smiling. “Looks like you needed rescuing. I know your mom invited a few neighborhood ladies.”
“You knew about this?”
“Not exactly, but come on. You know your mother.”
“Well, women are definitely getting more confident. The woman just proposed to me, Dad.”
“Really? Within minutes of meeting you?”
“Yup.”
“I know her father. She’s some cutthroat business manager.”
“I got that impression, yeah.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be a party without someone being inappropriate. Come on, let’s sneak away and try that whiskey. It is my birthday, after all.”
We grabbed a couple of mugs from the kitchen and let ourselves out through the back door. Mom was lost in conversation with her gang, and she didn’t notice us leave. Dad grabbed his coat, within which he had hidden the whiskey, and we walked around the house to the clearing on the side of the house.
It was the spot of many heart-to-heart conversations I’d had with my dad over the years, most of them about the trajectory of my career. He put his coat down, and we sank onto it with identical sighs.
It was almost religious, the way Dad opened whiskey bottles. Once the cap was off, he lifted it to his nose and took a deep breath. His eyes slid shut, and when he opened them, they were misty.
“This is very rich,” he said, pouring a little into each of the mugs.
“Happy birthday, old man,” I said, lifting my mug to his.
“To many more,” he said as we clinked mugs.
I took a tentative sip, then a deeper swig. The whiskey burned straight through my chest.
“How are things with your daughter?” Dad asked me after some time.
I took a deep breath, looking up at the moon. Suddenly, I wished I was back here, a young boy with no worries in the world, no expectations, and no complicated problems to deal with.
“Okay, I guess,” I said, but only because I knew what the old man was really asking, and I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“You know what I’m most grateful for today?” Dad asked, looking intently at me.
I brought the mug to my lips and tipped it to avoid the piercing glare.
“The fact that you still have full mobility?” I joked, but Dad’s lips barely twitched.
“You,” he said seriously. “And your mother. I know you haven’t even begun to worry about legacy and all that, but let me tell you, son.
There’s no greater joy than family. Money and career are all very good, but at the end of the day, you’ll look around you, and the thing you’ll be most content with will be the family you’ve surrounded yourself with. Now, I know things between you and Vicki are complicated. But that’s no reason for things to be complicated with Emma as well. Children have a way of giving us perspective. Think about that, yeah?”
I nodded. A lump was forming in my throat, the old guilt I had grown accustomed to pushing down.
“I’ll make more of an effort to see her,” I said after a quiet pause.
“That’s all you can do,” Dad said.
Chapter 7
Yvette
The first days have always been difficult for me. They give me so much anxiety, and I literally overthink everything.
It started way back in elementary school when I got so upset at my mom leaving me with strangers I cried for the rest of the day. And then that memory became the lasting one in the eyes of my classmates, and it became a running joke for the rest of my time in school.
From that point, I tried to dodge the first day altogether. I would call in sick and show up the next day or hide away in my room until the buzz and excitement of the first day died down, and then I would venture out.
But none of my experiences in the past were as nerve-wracking as my first week at work.
It seemed destined to go downhill right from that initial disagreement with Cam. I never got a chance to speak with him again after he walked out of my office. I tried, but there was already a mounting pile of work needing my attention, and I think he was avoiding me. It would explain why I didn’t see him the whole week, even though I was sure he was coming in to work. Several times I walked past his office in the pretext of going over to the printer, which happened to be just around the corner from his office. But he wasn’t in any of the six times I checked.