Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“You could’ve hurt yourself. Can’t you just take it easy for once?”
“I don’t do losing.”
“Ever? Even if it’s for your own good?”
“Even if it kills me.”
“Cam?” Sam yawns loudly. It’s late but he wanted to read one more chapter of Harry Potter, and I didn’t have the heart to say no.
“Yeah?” I say, reaching to turn off Sam’s bedside lamp.
“Are you going to marry my uncle?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“I saw you kissing.”
Umm, this is awkward.
“Not everybody that kisses gets married, Sam.”
“’Cause if you do, maybe I can live with you guys.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can live here…for good.”
“What about your Mom? She’d really miss you.”
“No––she wouldn’t.”
I take a moment to decide how to handle this very delicate situation. “Sam, you’re Mom is sick. You know that, right?”
“Uh huh, she says she can’t help it. Why can’t she help it?”
“I’m not an expert, but I know that your grandmother had the same sickness.”
“Does that mean I’ll get it, too?”
“No. Your uncle doesn’t have it. But I’m not a doctor so maybe we can find one to explain it to us. Would you like that?” He nods vigorously. “Okay, tomorrow we’ll talk to your uncle about it.”
Chapter Nineteen
Of all the holidays, the Fourth of July has always been my favorite. Hot summer nights, sparkly fireworks, a sense of togetherness, of common ground. Have you ever heard anyone say ‘I hate the Fourth of July’? No, you haven’t. Know why? Because nothing bad ever happens on the Fourth. Everybody’s too busy having fun.
It’s still early afternoon when we head over to my parents’ house. I glance at the man sitting in the driver’s seat. He’s wearing a simple white polo and long khaki shorts. His hair is getting longish again. Sam is in the backseat wearing the Beats headphones that Cal brought home for him the other day, watching The Secret Life of Pets and giggling every two seconds.
It all looks so domestic. Like we’re a regular family going to a barbecue. My spirits sink to the bottom of the shitter when I realize Amanda will be here any day now to pick up Sam and I’ll be…who the hell knows where I’ll be.
“Why do you look like that?” His voice is gentle, concerned.
“I’m going to miss you.”
Just like that, it comes flying out of my mouth. I watch his nostrils flare and his pouty mouth pinch. Great––I’ve embarrassed him. He doesn’t know how to respond to my mopey confession. The silence grows excruciatingly uncomfortable. Though, thankfully, I don’t have to bear it for too long since we’re only a block away. He parks the Range Rover on the street and we head over, walking around the side of the small saltbox house I grew up in.
In contrast, my parents’ back yard is quite large, the first reason why they always host the Fourth. The second reason is that we get a perfect view of the fireworks celebration the town holds every year, and the third is my father’s green thumb.
“Wow,” Calvin offers when we step into the backyard. My father could give Martha Stewart a run for her money. The landscaping is meticulously cultivated, every flower imaginable in full bloom. I notice this year all the flowers are white. And then I stop noticing the flowers because every head in the area, from my estimation fifty or so, swivels in our direction. My face goes up in flames while the man standing next to me remains one cool customer.
Cal drapes an extra muscular arm over my shoulders, pulling me closer, and my color goes from hot pink to tomato red in seconds. And that arm…sweet Jezuz that arm. It wraps around me like a security blanket, the heat of it sinking all the way to my bones. I want to lean in so badly it hurts. I want to wrap my arms around his waist, tuck into his big hard body, and bask in the comfort. But I don’t. I can’t. Because I’m a fugazi girlfriend. I don’t have a right to lean, touch, think, consider, or have any kind of feelings for him. That truth needs to get straight in my head.
Standing with my father and a passel of other males I don’t recognize––some young, some old––is Amber. Her face goes from joy to surprise to confusion in a span of seconds. Then it spirals down to suspicion. Her refined features contort into a really cute scowl. She raises her Amstel bottle at us in salutation.
My mother approaches us beaming, and I mean beaming. “Camilla Ava Maria you didn’t tell me you were bringing your…” This is priceless. Ange looks momentarily perplexed as to how to address Calvin.
“Boyfriend,” he adds, coming to her rescue with a smile. Yes, an honest to goodness smile, a real one. And as I stare at it, my heart does strange things inside my chest that it’s not supposed to. Ange gives him her toothiest grin in return. Gawd, I can practically hear her drawing up the wedding list in her head.