The next day, Camila was woken up by Zach bringing her coffee. He was dressed but rumpled, and he told her he had to go open the shop and check on Irene.
“You should come over tonight,” he said.
“To your house?” Camila asked.
“Yeah, to my house. With my terrifying sister. I’ll make you dinner.”
She tried to think of a polite way to decline, to draw a boundary. He wasn’t a guy who stuck around. He was a guy who couldn’t be bound by her city, or her. She was getting attached and she knew it. It could only end badly.
But she wanted to enjoy it before it did.
“Sure. Text me the address. 6? 7?”
“7 is good,” he said, before planting a kiss on her. She’d tried to turn her cheek and spare him her morning breath, but he caught her right on the lips.
Camila spent the rest of the day cleaning, knitting, completing some exercises in her newest DBT workbook, and panicking. Her search history for the day included the following:
easy appetizers that look impressive
gifts for teenage girls that they won’t make fun of you for
are teenage girls really mean still
how to fake amnesia
how to fake your own death
longest anyone has successfully faked their own death
“Just bring some fancy cheese and a toothbrush and be a normal person for once,” she told herself, slamming her laptop shut and picking up her phone.
Camila
Zach
Camila
Zach
* * *
At 7 sharp, Camila was at the front door of a stately red-brick Victorian, carrying $50 worth of sorbet and ice cream because she’d decided against the cheese. Heart in her ass, she rang the doorbell.
“I’ll get it!” a feminine voice said.
The famous Irene opened the door. Camila had seen pictures of her, but she was even more petite than she had imagined after seeing images of her next to her tall brother. She had strawberry blonde hair, and green eyes like Zach’s accented with a sharp blue cat eye. She had freckles on her nose and cheeks — some real, some possibly drawn on — and wore shiny gloss with a hint of gold glitter. The girl’s makeup game was on point, and it made her appraising, amused look all the more intimidating.
For a second, Camila thought Zach hadn’t been joking about her hating everyone. She expected Irene’s amusement to turn cruel, a flash of the mean girls of Camila’s teenage nightmares.
But instead, Irene gave her a warm smile.
“Hey, Camila. I’m Irene. Come on in.”
Camila said hello and commented on the big painting in the foyer, a flock of geometric birds against a pink watercolor sky.
“I feel like I’m meeting an artist I follow on social media or something,” Camila said. “Zach shows me your work and I’ve been fangirling from afar.”
The girl frowned. “You’re sweet. This one isn’t my best work, though. Things never quite turn out how they look in my head.”
“That’s life,” Camila said. She instantly felt geriatric. By the end of tonight, she was certain she’d call Irene a whipper-snapper and ask her to pull her finger.
Zach rounded the corner of the staircase. “Hey! What’s all that?” He gave her a peck on the cheek while gesturing at the bags.
“Ice cream. Irene, I didn’t know what flavor you liked, so um, I got every kind…”
“I will eat all of them, thanks,” she said, taking the bags into the kitchen.
Camila was a keen observer, so she was good at noticing when someone was observing her. And she knew Zach had been watching her interaction with his sister carefully.
She gave him a sweet smile. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” he said. Then he gave her a kiss so scandalous, she parted from him out of anticipatory mortification if his sister walked back in.
Zach laughed at her pitiful whine. “Come on, let’s go hang out with the kid. For whatever reason she was excited you were coming over. That makes me suspicious.”
“Don’t worry,” Camila said. “I’ll go in shields up.”
In the living room, Irene was curled up on the loveseat with her tablet and a stylus. She was half sketching, half watching the giant TV.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Zach asked. It was adorable how nervous he seemed, trying to be the perfect little host. “I got some of that strawberry pop.”
“That sounds good, thank you,” she said. She recognized the show on the TV. It was a drag queen competition she’d binged one weekend when she had the flu.
“Is this the season when Julienne Nebula wins?”
Irene shot her a death glare, glossed mouth gaping. “Spoilers!”
Camila went cold.
“I’m so sorry,” she stammered.
Zach was glaring at Irene as he passed Camila her soda. Five seconds passed before Irene snorted.
“Relax. This is the third time I’ve watched this season.”
Camila didn’t usually get played like that. She sat on the longer couch, legs crossed.
“Reenie. Let’s watch something else, OK?”
“Watch something else on your tablet!”
“You’re literally on your tablet right now. And I’ve seen this episode as many times as you have.”
“I’m busy!” she said. She turned her tablet to reveal an intricate drawing, like a stained glass window. It was partially colored in, reds and oranges shot through with purple geometric designs.
Camila wanted to take a closer look. Instead, she looked at Zach. “This is a really good episode, though.”
He groaned. “Fine. I have to check on the food anyway.”
“Already checked,” Irene said. “They need like five more minutes.” She kept her eyes on the TV, with brief interludes to add shading with her stylus.
“Wow, look at you doing something without being asked!” Zach said. He sat on the arm of the loveseat and pet Irene’s head like she was a puppy. “Attention and praise!”
Irene swatted him away. Glancing at Camila, she asked, “You willingly hang out with him?”
Camila watched Zach ruffle his sister’s hair and felt so tender toward him, she wanted to clutch at her chest. “Yeah, he’s not so bad.”
Zach joined her on the couch, keeping a few feet between them.
They watched the show in silence until the timer and the smell of cheese and garlic alerted them to the stuffed shells being done.
“Can I help?” Camila asked.
“No, you’re a guest. Irene,” he called to his sister, “can you set the table?”
“Already done,” she yelled back, annoyed. “Jesus, you made me mess up this line.”
The stuffed shells were delicious. They were seasoned to perfection with salt and pepper and a more complex spice blend Camila would need to get the name of, and they were served with a side of thick, buttery Texas toast. Once Irene got up for seconds, Zach took his plate to the living room and lunged for the remote, switching to a science fiction show. Irene briefly protested, then yielded once she realized it was an episode she’d missed.
Camila enjoyed watching their dynamic. She knew she was someone who tended to change based on who she was interacting with — she’d catch her body language or speech patterns mirroring the person she was across from, or find herself matching their pitch. That made being in a group setting exhausting — so many personalities to balance.
But Zach seemed to always be himself no matter who he was around. And yet, she hadn’t seen this playful, concerned side of him be quite as pronounced as when he was around his sister.
“It’s nice out. Do you want to go sit on the back patio?” Zach asked. “We have a pitcher of lemonade.”
“Wow. Actual lemonade not from a gallon jug? You guys are so fancy.”
“Oh no, it is from a gallon jug. We just decanted it,” Zach said, making the word “decanted” sound French.
“That was one of Mom’s little tricks to make it look like she made an effort,” Irene said.
Camila reflexively looked at Zach. His expression was neutral, but she could see the chill that went across his body, how it stiffened his shoulders.
“She did try,” Zach said. “In her own way.'”
They were quiet for a moment. “I’ll get the glasses,” Irene said.
She returned with three glasses of lemonade on an ornate metal tray. The trio walked to the patio in silence. The evening was warm, but not as muggy as the past few days had been. Camila could hear summer’s insects stirring, cicadas and bees making the air crackle.
“Can I draw you?” Irene asked suddenly.
“Sure. You’re going to make me look good, right?”
Irene pursed her lips and put a finger on her chin, as if debating a diplomatic answer. “I will capture you accurately.”
“Ouch,” Camila said, eliciting a giggle.
Camila tried to ignore Irene’s hand gliding across the page. She’d gotten her paper sketch pad out for the task. Zach distracted her from the discomfort of being scrutinized and replicated by asking her for her thoughts on a storytelling podcast he’d recommended. She’d binged six episodes the previous weekend, and they swapped favorite stories and recurring performers.
“Oh, she’s doing the hair now,” Camila said. Irene’s pencil moved in loops and swirls, approaching the very edges of the page.
She erased one stray line and looked at her work. “OK. Done. Wanna see?”
“I’m dying to, but I’m also scared,” Camila said.
Irene turned the pad. She had promised to capture her accurately, but Camila didn’t think she’d done any such thing. Camila knew she was attractive, but Irene had made her look ethereal. Her curls, delicate yet wild, surrounded her like a glowing aura. Her face had such detail. She’d seen enough of Irene’s work to know the kid had talent, but to witness it in real time, to be the subject of it, blew her away.
“Wow,” she said, reaching for the sketchpad. “This is so beautiful. I can’t believe how fast you did that.”
“Thanks,” Irene said, shrugging but looking pleased with herself.
Zach got up and stood behind Camila. “Holy shit, Irene. You should frame this one.”
Irene rolled her eyes. “You’re only saying that because it’s a picture of your girlfriend.”
Camila realized she’d be crushed if he reacted negatively to the word “girlfriend,” but she needn’t have worried.
“Well, my girlfriend is gorgeous, and I want to frame it.”
“Can you make me a copy?” Camila asked.
“Sure,” Irene said. She quickly scrawled her signature in the bottom corner, then snapped a picture with her tablet. Within a few seconds, she’d emailed it to both of them.
“This is getting professionally framed and put in my living room. Thank you so much.”
“She drew me once,” Zach said. “She gave me horns and a tail.”
“Like I said, I capture people accurately,” Irene said, dissolving into giggles.
“Horns and a tail, huh?” Camila said. “That’s kinda hot.”
Irene gagged.
The sun was setting now, and the chorus of cicadas was joined by grasshoppers, and lighting effects courtesy of the ubiquitous lightning bugs that usually grossed Camila out. She wasn’t the outdoors type. She didn’t even like eating on the patio at cafes. She’d had a terrible experience once with flies and honey at a charcuterie place with outdoor seating.
But being here, laughing and relaxing with these people, she wasn’t worried about sweat or bug spray, or desperate to play with her phone. She could just breathe in the honeysuckle-scented air, and chill.
When they’d all run out of steam, Irene retreated to her room, and Zach led Camila into his. She’d perhaps expected it to have his high school furnishings still, or have been remade into a craft room or something with a futon thrown in when Zach moved back. But it was lovely. It had one of those mattresses that had the squishy gel cells — Zach explained that his mom had been hoping to rent out the basement as a furnished unit, so she’d replaced all the furniture there recently and he’d claimed this mattress. The walls were painted a peaceful jade green, and the blue bedding was soft and cool to the touch.
“Make yourself at home,” Zach said. “I’m going to make some tea.”
She got into her pajamas — one of her nicer oversized T-shirts and some cute shorts she’d bought during a frantic Target run this morning — and tucked herself in. The soft knock that interrupted her mindless scrolling was expected, but it still made her heart skip.
“Come in,” she stage whispered.
Zach walked in holding a couple of mugs. He narrowed his eyes at her. “What is on your head?”
“My bonnet,” Camila said. She patted the big pink satin cap. “It keeps my curls intact. And what of it?”
He set the faded Pirates mug on the nightstand, his smile going all soft. “I always think you can’t get more adorable, and then you have to go and do something like wear a bonnet.”
“Shut up,” she said. “What flavor tea is this?”
“Lemon ginger,” Zach said. “With honey. I know you have a sweet tooth.”
Moments later, they were sitting in bed, drinking tea next to each other. Camila waited for the urge to vomit and roll her eyes at the cozy image of the two of them, but it didn’t come. Instead, she was getting sleepy. She let out a loud yawn.
“Look at you go,” Zach said. “I just saw all the way to China.”
She chuckled. “You know you have a dad sense of humor, right?”
He scrunched his face and pretended to be aghast. She always found this adorable — the way his chiseled features were malleable as Play D’oh, how he never seemed to worry about looking silly if it could make her laugh. “But like a sexy daddy, right? Like Oscar Isaac or Pedro Pascal?”
“You’d make a good silver fox,” she said.
He reached out and twirled a tendril of her hair slipping out of her bonnet around his fingers. “I could see you with a gray streak.” He leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes. “I think I get the dad humor from my mom. I slip into some folksiness because of her, I think.”
“I’m surprised to hear you describe her as folksy. I thought your family was, like, real upper crust.”
“Neither of my parents came from money,” he said. “You know about my dad’s parents, who came over from Greece. Pappous became a mechanic and Yiayia was a nurse, and they made a solid living. But my mom was from the sticks. The wood stove, dogs roaming until supper, walk 10 miles in the snow sticks.”
“No shit,” Camila said.
“Yup. She was a scholarship kid when she met my dad. They both studied business and went in on the store. She’d apprenticed with a jeweler in college to afford rent, and she stuck with it.” Zach’s smile got sad. “She would have been better off selling it, but she was stubborn. I think she wanted it to succeed just to spite everyone who doubted her or thought she was a gold digger, even though my dad wouldn’t be where he is now if not for her.”
He seemed to remember Camila was in the room. She squeezed his leg under the covers.
“She sounds a little like my mom.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, my mom grew up dirt poor. My grandpa rode a donkey to work at his farm every day when she was growing up and tied it to a phone pole at the end of the block every night.”
“That didn’t happen.”
“Oh it sure fucking did. Don’t worry, I’ll ask her to dig up a photo. So anyway, she married my dad young, divorced young, finished college while I was in elementary school, and now she’s a badass salon owner. And you wouldn’t know it because she’s this adorable little ray of sunshine, but I swear she got where she is out of pure spite.” She pondered this more. “But like, adorable spite.”
Zach’s laugh was dark. “I would not call my mom adorable.”
Camila stroked his leg, soothing him. “What would you call her?”
“If I’m being charitable? Complicated.”
Camila nodded. “Aren’t we all?”
She yawned again, stretching luxuriously.
“Are we calling it a night?”
She wanted to protest, but she was exhausted. “Are we at that point of our relationship? When we have sexless sleepovers?” she joked.
The amber in his eyes warmed. “Did I just hear you call this a relationship?” he teased, his voice just surpassing a whisper.
She felt herself blush. “Well, you did call me your girlfriend earlier.”
“Is that a problem?” he asked, lifting her shirt and drawing circles on her belly.
The next words she said were slow, careful. “It should be. It should be a problem because you don’t know if you’ll even be here a year from now. It should be a problem because neither of us is a relationship person. We said that. It was a whole thing.”
He kept up the circles, not looking at her. “What if I was a relationship person?” Now he looked at her, an impossible mix of resolve and pleading in his eyes. “What if I stayed?”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” she whispered. “I would never. I couldn’t ask you for anything like that.”
“I don’t have any plans. You’re the first thing in years that’s made me want to make some.”
The lump in her throat hurt. “But you want to sell the store.”
“And I’ll find another job,” Zach cut in.
“But what if we don’t work out?” Camila asked, begged. “Then you’ll have stayed for nothing.”
Zach shrugged. “Starting over isn’t something I’m new at. And you know I’m not afraid of risk.”
“I am such a huge risk,” Camila said. “You have no idea.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t scare me, Camila Moore. But I think I scare you.”
He was right. Camila was terrified. Terror mixed with a million scattered feelings, but the one rising to the top was exhaustion. She was tired of being afraid to feel anything at all, when Zach had only made her feel good things.
“OK,” she said.
Zach lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yeah? You want to give this a shot?”
Camila laughed. “I mean, you’ve already seen my bonnet. I guess that’s leveling up.”