by Karr, Kim
Brooklyn sits there with his notebook in front of him and an amused look on his face.
Cam rolls his eyes. “What?”
“You’re different when you have a girlfriend.”
Cam shrugs, or maybe flinches, I’m not sure. “No, I’m not.”
Brooklyn opens his notebook and jots something down, then looks up. “You are. It’s good, man, though. It’s all good. In fact, I’m using you both as my muses for my screenplay.”
“Whatever, dude,” Cam comments.
Brooklyn shrugs and then waves the waiter over and points to the menu. “Three to start.”
“I’ll get those right away, sir,” the waiter answers.
“Wheatgrass shots,” says Cam. “What kind of restaurant is this, anyway?”
My gag reflex kicks in. No way am I drinking one of those. “Raw food,” I answer, turning around and pointing to the sign under the name. “You picked it, so I assumed you liked it.”
He shakes his head no. “Brooklyn suggested it.”
I feel a little more deflated. This was our lunch date and he let someone else pick the spot.
Stop it, Makayla. It’s no big deal.
Cam opens his menu. “Kale chips, sunchokes, seawitch? Are you kidding me? What kind of food is this?”
Ignoring him, I look at my own menu. “I haven’t eaten here. What’s good?” I ask Brooklyn.
Cam bursts out laughing. “Let’s just say whatever you order, you’ll want an early dinner.”
I glare at him again.
He tosses me a questioning look as if he doesn’t know why I’ve reacted that way. Especially since he knows I talk about Maggie and her food choices all the time. Again, I don’t know why I reacted that way either.
“Speaking of dinner,” I say. “I was thinking we could try to cook something together, like we’ve talked about.”
“I can’t, Makayla, I’m sorry,” he says, “but I don’t think I’ll be back before nine tonight.”
“Oh, right,” I say, “you and Brooklyn have a thing.”
Brooklyn looks uncomfortable.
I don’t want him to be, so I smile and make like all is good. Like I used to do with Sebastian.
Conversation during our meal is mostly about my jewelry business. I feel like I’m doing most of the talking. Cam seems preoccupied. Even with Brooklyn here, it feels strained and once we’ve finished eating, I feel a little impatient to leave and I stand up.
“Where are you going?” Cam asks me.
“I have to get back to work.”
“I’ll walk back with you.”
“I have some stops to make. I’ll catch up with you later,” I tell him.
I don’t have stops.
I want him to insist he walk me. Lame, I know. I want to feel like he’s putting me first. Lame again, I know.
“Okay.” He lowers his head to kiss me.
Again I turn my cheek.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he whispers.
“Nothing. I just have a lot to do. See you, Brooklyn,” I say, and turn and walk away. Tears leak from my eyes and I can’t stop them.
Okay, late PMS must be so much worse than normal PMS.
Right?
Don’t answer that.
It has to be.
26
Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole
Cam
I’m on the fence.
Worried as fuck to pull the trigger.
Punching numbers, plugging in costs, estimating marketing, determining profits. It all seems like such a crapshoot.
When my cell rings, I don’t even look to see who it is when I answer it. “Hello.”
“Camden, it’s your father.”
I freeze.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I should have looked at my screen.
I shouldn’t have answered.
He clears his throat. “I’m calling because that money I transferred to you more than two months ago is still sitting untouched in the holding account.”
Fighting back my fury, I slam my laptop down. “And…”
“And, as a businessman, you know leaving that much money in a non–interest-bearing account isn’t good business. I’d like to send you a list of companies you might consider investing in.”
Clenching my fists, I fight back the urge to say, “Fuck you,” and instead keep quiet.
“Cam, are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Listen, son, I know you’re angry at me and you have every right to be. What I did was wrong, but don’t waste your life because of it. It’s time you stand up and become a man.”
The fact that he is right only irks the living shit out of me. When Makayla and I thought she might be pregnant, it wasn’t having a child that worried me; it was how the fuck I was going to be able to take care of one. Take care of both Makayla and our child. That’s what terrified me. I need to get a real job.
He goes on. “I know Brandon didn’t have what it took to make it in this business—”
Anger swoops through me, and I cut him off. “Don’t you dare mention his name, not like that. Everything Brandon did, he did to make you proud, and because it was never good enough for you, he needed an alternate reality. He shot needles in his veins to forget who he was, to forget that he was your son. You might not have handed him that last needle, but you were the reason he used it. So you don’t get to talk about him.”
The line goes dead and I know I pushed him too far this time.
Good.
It had to be said.
Minutes pass and regret settles in.
I don’t really believe that.
Not anymore.
I’ve come to accept that Brandon’s fate was his own, and the life he lost was his own to lose. It doesn’t mean I won’t miss him. Or that I don’t love him. Because I do. It just means I know there is no one to blame.
Fury rips through me at what I did. I punch the wall. I shouldn’t have said that to my father. No matter how much I hate him, I shouldn’t have said that.
Finding a bottle of whiskey, I pour a drink, then another, and another, too.
Shoving it aside, I lay my head down and close my eyes.
Fuck my life.
When the door opens, I barely hear it.
“Cam?” Makayla calls from the living room.
With my head still down on the kitchen table, I slowly lift it. I have no idea how long I have been sleeping, but the pool of drool below me tells me quite a while. When she appears in the doorway, I try to make it seem like I’m fine. “Hey.” My words are only slightly slurred.
She comes rushing forward with some rather large file folders and her date book, which is never far from her side. “I’m so glad you’re home. I need some help. I can’t decide what to do.” Her voice is frantic and her words come so fast, I can barely comprehend them.
I rub a hand down my face. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”
Sitting next to me, she starts going through the items she just set on the table. “The jewelry orders,” she snaps, like I’m a mind reader and should have known.
Slow at the draw, I ask, “What about them?”
Her face creases and little lines of anger appear on her forehead.
I consider reaching over and smoothing them with my finger.
“Cam,” she says loudly.
No, I don’t think she’d like that.
Those lines have rearranged themselves around her mouth now because she’s pursing her lips. “How could you forget? We talked about all of this yesterday at lunch.”
I cock my head to the side. “How about you remind me?”
Fuck me, but with the state of mind I’m in, I can’t remember my own name right now.
Not giving me an inch, she huffs a frustrated sigh. “I have to decide if I should decline new orders on my jewelry until I can make the product? Or if I should accept the orders, but create a back-order sta
tus? Or if I should just process them and state a three-to-four-week shipping time?”
Oh yeah, now I remember. The thing is, my head was already pounding and now it’s spinning with her issues and my issues all mixing together. “Makayla, I already told you the first rule of business is never turn away business. But you have to figure out a realistic delivery date before you can do anything.”
She starts rattling on about the same things we discussed yesterday. What materials she has. Blah blah blah.
I push my fingers through my too long hair.
Shit, I need a haircut.
What she has to order. Blah, blah, blah. How long it takes to make each piece.
I already know all of this. “Makayla,” I interrupt. “Just tell me a fucking date, and then I can help you decide the best action.”
Those beautiful hazel eyes narrow at me. I’ve seen it before, and trust me, there is no calm before the storm. “Why are you acting like such an asshole?”
That’s it. I’ve been patient, but we’ve done this dance before. “Why are you acting like such a bitch?”
Makayla stomps to her feet.
Fuck, I regret it the minute it comes out.
Hurt is in her eyes and red is painting her face. “Go to hell.”
Her words stun me. “Makayla!” I shout, jumping to my feet. “I’m sorry, but I have my own shit to deal with right now.”
She grabs her things and turns away, toward the window. Bars of afternoon sunlight streak her body. “Then don’t let me bother you.”
I grab her upper arms. “Stop acting like this.”
“Let go of me!” she screams.
“I will when you cut the shit. Just leave all that stuff and I’ll look through it later. I just can’t do it right now.”
She shrugs out of my hold. “Forget I even asked. I’m not an idiot. I was looking for advice, not for you to swoop in and take over.”
“Take over? What the fuck are you even taking about?” I yell, grabbing the folders from her. “Just let me see your projections.”
In her attempt to yank the pile of folders away from me, somehow it ends up slipping from our grasps and smashing to the ground, and a whirlwind of papers cascades around us.
Makayla stares at the mess.
I reach for her again, and again she shrugs away from me. “Makayla,” I whisper.
Entirely out of sorts, she raises her gaze to look me right in the eyes and grits her teeth. “Forget it, Cam. I don’t want your help anymore.”
I punch my fist into the wall and I consider pounding my head against it. “Makayla, that’s enough. I told you I have some shit to deal with. Cut me a break here.”
Bending down to pick up her things from the floor, she looks up at me. “I can’t go through this again.”
“Go through what?”
“What I did with Sebastian. This is him all over again.”
“What do you mean, him?”
“The forgetting, the being too busy, the everything. It’s Sebastian all over again.”
“No, it’s not. You don’t understand, Makayla, I’m trying to figure something out.”
She raises her chin. “I do understand. And you know what, Cam? When you figure it out, why don’t you come find me. Until then, I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
I want to explain. I should explain. I don’t. “Son of a fucking bitch, will you sit down and talk about this with me?”
High color rises in her cheeks. “There’s nothing more to say, Cam. I meant what I said. I’ll see you around.”
“Makayla, I’m sorry,” I say again as she heads for the door.
She ignores me.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, over and over, but she’s already out the door.
What the fuck just happened?
27
Sending Up an SOS
Makayla
Things are moving fast.
Every jewelry piece I had in stock has been sent out. The semiprecious gemstones and metals are showing up everywhere from SoHo to Los Angeles. Last week a private equity firm based in San Francisco approached me about partnering with them to produce my designs.
After a lot of deliberation, I decided to accept their proposal.
That means this is happening. Really happening. Makayla Alexander will be launched as a real company by the end of the year.
I quit my job at the Gemstone Gallery the day Cam and I broke up, or took our break, or whatever it is we are doing. Just like I’d basically told him to get his shit together, I needed to get mine together, too.
As soon as I left him that day, I knew in my heart he wasn’t Sebastian all over again. Cam just isn’t like him. I should have seen that.
Here’s the thing, though: that part of himself that he buried with his brother was eating away at him. Who knows, maybe he is trying to figure himself out, maybe not. All I know is he helped me figure out who I was and I wish I could have done the same for him.
Sure, that whole awkward-turns-to-anger thing I had going on wasn’t pretty, but he didn’t even stay and fight for me.
I have no idea where that leaves us.
Are we are on pause?
Broken up?
Over?
I just don’t know.
He took off that night for New York City, two weeks earlier than he had planned to return for his mother’s wedding, and none of us have heard a word from him. I was supposed to go with him to the wedding. Obviously I didn’t.
The gaping wound in my chest is still wide open. I’ve typed out hundreds of text messages to him and have yet to send a single one. One day I’ll compose the right message. It will be one that tells him exactly how much I love him. Which is enough to set him free. To allow him to take the time he needs to find himself. And hopefully, like the saying goes, he’ll come back to me.
The container of leftover macaroni and cheese I brought home from lunch the other day is nowhere to be found. Searching amid the tofu and couscous that Maggie made last night, I can’t find it. Practically diving into the refrigerator, I begin to wonder if Maggie tossed it out, but then I find the white foam container in all its glory and try not to leap with joy.
It’s the little things that help me get through the days without Cam. Like carb-filled, grease-laden, fatty, and oh so good foods that Maggie normally outlaws.
Due to my delicate state of mind, she’s been easy on me. My taste buds and I appreciate it.
“Caught you,” Maggie scolds, shaking her finger at me.
I raise my palms surrender style and the macaroni and cheese falls to the floor.
Crap.
Crap.
Crap.
The container bounces twice, but to my amazement, it doesn’t open.
Small things. Like I said. It’s the small things.
I consider bending to pick it up, but wait to make sure Maggie doesn’t have a dastardly plan up her sleeve.
She casts a glance at the macaroni-and-cheese container by her toes, then at me. And then, because it is the small things that matter, she picks it up and hands to me.
“Thanks.” I take the food and ease past her to put it in the microwave. I look over my shoulder. “Want some?”
She laughs and shakes her head before opening the refrigerator and removing a number of items I’d prefer not to name. “I’m going to make black bean burritos. There’s plenty if you’re still hungry after you eat that artery-clogging meal.”
I give her my evil look. The one I reserve only for her.
Slapping her hand to her forehead, she looks right at me. “Right,” she quips, “how could I forget—heartbroken Makayla doesn’t eat healthy food. Silly me.”
I pick up my wineglass and throw her the finger around the glass with a smile.
She shrugs and grabs for a cutting board. “Still no word from Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broodyface?”
I shake my head. “No, and we are not talking about him, remember?”
At least she doesn�
�t call him an asshole like she did Sebastian.
“Oh, I remember,” Maggie says, slicing the end off an onion. Then, under her breath I hear her mutter, “And here are his balls,” and the knife slices the onion in half.
Ouch! Just the thought.
For someone who didn’t know how to cook three months ago, she’s become quite the chef. Ginsu knife and all.
The microwave dings and I remove the container, holding it toward her. “You sure you don’t want any? It’s really, really good.”
She shakes her head and points to the can of black beans. “These are going to be delicious, so save some room.”
Pulling a fork from the drawer, I find myself laughing. Believe it or not, the laugh sounds more genuine than any I’ve faked over the past three weeks. “I’m sure they are, just like the tofu tacos last night.”
“Those were a little overdone,” she admits.
Cardboard in a soggy whole-wheat tortilla shell—there are no words to describe it.
Just as I sit down and swallow my first bite of deliciousness, the kitchen door swings open.
“Hey, beautiful ladies,” Brooklyn greets us, looking like James Dean with the sleeves of his white T-shirt rolled and a pack of cigarettes tucked in one of them. He’s always got a cigarette tucked behind his ear or dangling from his lips, but I’ve never seen him smoking. “Anyone up for a movie? There’s a new horror flick playing in the Village,” he asks.
“I can’t,” I say to him. “I have an early morning meeting.”
Brooklyn gives me one of his sympathetic nods. The one where I can tell he wants to talk about Cam, tell me what a stand-up guy he is but doesn’t, because maybe he doesn’t believe it. Or maybe he doesn’t think he should. Guy code and all. They’re buddies and he would never talk badly about Cam—I get it.
Then again, we all seem to be staying quiet about Cam for our own reasons. Like we are waiting for the numbness of his abandonment to wear off. The thing is, I know Brooklyn must be in contact, if only because Cam’s best friend is his brother. Still, I don’t ask, afraid of what he might say, I suppose.
Averting his eyes from me, Brooklyn shifts his gaze to Maggie. “What about you?”