Cami
“This is the last bag,” I tell Mom as I carry a massive shopping bag in from the trunk of my new car. Well, a used car—it’s a used, white Honda Civic—but it’s new to me. Dad and Rhett talked at length about the best car I can buy within my budget and when the Civic—or Civiche as I’ve taken to calling her—became available, they negotiated a fair price. All Mom and I had to do was pick her up after we landed in Knoxville three days ago.
Since then, we met the landlord of the apartment I rented, gave it a deep clean, and have been shopping for home goods and decor. Now, we’re nearing the finish line and I must admit, my apartment has come together beautifully. Simple, but lovely.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I glance at the screen.
Ouch! That stings but…it’s a fair accusation. My palms break out in a sweat, and I drag them over my cut-off shorts. The thick watch strap I’ve been wearing to cover up my new ink catches on the pocket of my shorts. It’s been a constant reminder of that night with Leif.
I’ve been ignoring him and his messages for the past week, since I left Vegas and tried to unsuccessfully push my graduation celebration—my fucking wedding—from my mind.
It’s too reminiscent of the time I spent with Levi. And yet, it’s entirely different.
The conversation Leif and I had walking around Vegas was meaningful. There was a depth I never shared with Levi and that alone scares me. I don’t know if I can trust it.
Am I being naïve? Am I being carefree and impetuous Cami?
Or can I lean into my attraction for Leif and explore it further? Sure, marrying him was a mistake but I can’t deny enjoying the time we spent together.
I sigh. Either way, he’s right. I can’t avoid him forever.
I also don’t want to confront him with Mom here. That will make everything infinitely worse. No, when I speak with Leif, it needs to be just the two of us.
I can’t deal with Mom’s hysterics as she relives the nightmare that followed my time in Spain. The naked photos Levi took of me with drugs in the background. The toxicology reports that confirmed I had drugs in my system. The lawyers that needed to be hired to obtain the photos that could ruin my life before it even began.
The advice she doled out and I ignored. Again.
Take your time. Use your head. Be cautious.
Marriage in the middle of the night to a stranger in Vegas is the opposite of all her advice combined.
“Are you sure you want a green couch?” Mom asks for the third time, wrinkling her nose.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and sigh.
I should clarify—my apartment is lovely to me. “Mom, it’s sage. It’s soft and calming and—yes, I like it.”
“Well, it’s your apartment,” she agrees in defeat.
I hold back my comment. As much as I appreciate Mom’s help, three days locked in an apartment with her is starting to grate on my nerves. It’s the commentary that scrapes at me.
I dig through the final shopping bag and pull out towels and linens that I drop right into the washing machine. Then, I stand in the center of the small living room and spin.
The apartment has stark white walls but with a cream rug, light oak furniture I scored from Ikea, the sage green couch I thrifted, and framed photos on the walls that Mom and I had to watch a YouTube tutorial to hang, I love it. “It’s perfect.”
Mom sighs again but this time it’s less judgy. She wraps an arm around my waist, and I drop my head to her shoulder.
“We did it,” I tell her.
She gives me a little squeeze. “We sure did. I’m proud of you, Cami.”
I turn to look at her.
She gives me a small smile. “This job, this apartment, your move… It’s good for you. You’ll have more of a routine, a consistency—stability.”
I bite my bottom lip and nod. This is exactly what Mom wants for me. Even though she doesn’t say it, I know she thinks that once I’m settled down, she can relax and stop worrying.
Rhett and Jenna never gave her and Dad the hard times I did. While they move in linear lines, I’ve been zigzagging since day one.
Underage drinking in high school. Doing whatever Levi Rousell asked of me and believing everything he told me in the weeks before he entered rehab. Having to deal with the constant panic of those photos leaking on the internet.
For seeking out freedoms—little things like snow-tubing with my girlfriends at three AM and sleeping in late—that Mom likes to criticize and make me feel guilty for.
I don’t think she means to pick at my life as much as she harbors guilt for my mistakes with Levi. She doesn’t want a repeat occurrence. Her insistence on stability and routine, on accounting and safe jobs, has been her mantra for the past three years. Hell, for the entirety of my college career.
And I’ve tried to live up to it. I’ve tried to make her proud, even at the expense of myself.
I can’t deny Mom the peace of mind she’s after, but I’m also tired of tamping down my own hopes and desires.
Still, I give her the words she needs to hear. “Yeah. It will be good for me.”
Mom smiles brightly and glances at her watch. Surprise rolls over her expression. “Oh! It’s already three PM.”
“Okay.” I frown. Are we on a schedule I don’t know about?
Mom places a hand on her stomach. “We missed lunch.”
Man, her routine is stressful.
“Let’s go into the downtown and have a bite,” she says brightly. She smiles and for a moment, she looks like the mother from my adolescence. A lot calmer and more carefree. “We should celebrate—you’re all moved in.” She gestures around the space.
“Okay,” I laugh, moving to the front door to grab my sneakers.
“Oh, don’t you think you should shower first?” Mom asks. “We’re all sweaty and ugh, we should freshen up.”
I roll my eyes but nod. “I’ll rinse off quickly.”
Mom grins. “Great! I’ll take the guest bathroom. I think we should aim for four PM, okay?”
What is going on? “Okay.”
Mom grips the handle of her small suitcase and rolls it right into the bathroom.
My stomach grumbles as my phone buzzes again.
I groan. He’s right; I know he is. But, instead of replying, I do as Mom expects and enter the master bathroom. I flip on the showerhead, go through the motions, and freshen up for lunch.
Tomorrow, Mom flies home. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to Leif.
“Did I tell you I have a friend in Knoxville?” Mom asks as we walk toward a restaurant she looked up and wants to try.
“Seriously?” I glance at her.
She smiles and links her arm with mine. “Yes! She’s a friend from St. Paul but she’s actually in town this weekend. Oh, we’ve been friends for years.”
“Let me guess—she’s meeting us for lunch?”
Mom flushes and dips her chin, confirming my hunch.
I snort. “Why didn’t you say anything? I would love to meet your friend.” It’s true too. I appreciate Mom coming to Knoxville with me to help me settle in. The least I can do is have lunch with her and a friend she wants to visit with.
“Really?” Mom’s smile turns natural. “Good. I met her when I was pregnant with Rhett. She has six kids—”
“They must have the best Christmas mornings!”
Mom snorts. “I don’t think I could have done it, but Stella is better at the juggling act than me. Much more laid-back and always had a better handle on things.”
I give Mom’s arm a squeeze. What happened with Levi is hardly her fault and yet, I know it eats at her. I think that’s partly why I’ve gone along with her expectations and “suggestions” about how I live my life for as long as I have. I hate that she blames herself for my poor decisions.
“Why is she in Knoxville? Did she move here?” I ask.
“Oh, no. She’s visiting her son.”
I pause. “Mom.” Don’t tell me this is a setup. Worse—an ambush!
Mom widens her eyes and grins brightly. “It’s just lunch, Cami.”
“Ugh, come on,” I groan. “You didn’t even give me a heads-up.”
“I want you to know someone in this new city. A contact, someone you can reach out to, in case of an emergency.”
“I’m sure I’ll make friends at work.”
“I’m sure you will too. But would this really hurt? Stella’s son is relatively new to town, too. He’s a nice guy. A few years older than you. He travels for work so it’s not like he’s going to be a constant fixture in your life—just a friendly face to grab a Friday dinner with or call if you have car trouble.”
“Fine,” I agree, rolling my eyes.
I hate when Mom meddles like this. She hasn’t intervened since her plan to set me up with her dentist’s son failed. Sigh. At least with this dude, Mom will be back in Minnesota and if I never speak to him again, she won’t be any wiser.
“We’re here,” Mom says, gesturing toward a cute restaurant. She reaches for the door handle and pulls it open.
We enter and I freeze.
Because sitting at a table with a broadly grinning and frantically arm-waving woman is Leif.
My husband.
And he looks devastatingly sexy and downright furious.