With my mind energized, I started to go over the argument I’d had with Hugh.
He was right, I shouldn’t have declared my love for either of them before I knew whether we had any kind of future. It was confusing for all of us and liable to break hearts.
My worry for Cameron and the relief of seeing him alive had overwhelmed me, and I’d spoken too soon; I couldn’t deny that. But if they wanted me to stay, surely they’d beg me not to go. Even Cameron said I should do what was right for me, when I’d honestly expected him to tell me to stay. Perhaps they didn’t care much whether I chose them or left.
Perhaps they weren’t as into me as I hoped.
Hugh clearly wasn’t; his lack of respect for my job was disappointing, even if I had goaded him into admitting what he really thought.
I lacked a third party: someone to bounce ideas off and bottom this thing out. I checked the time; could Jasmine still be awake?
“Camvis, call Jas,” I said, but it went straight to voicemail. I tried Poppy too, but her phone kept ringing without an answer. I was bummed out, but I could hardly blame them for going to sleep.
I wracked my brain trying to think of anyone else I could call, ideally in LA, so there’d be a chance of them being awake. Of course, there was my agent, but all Alexa would do is tell me to get my hiney on a plane and start making money, so there wasn’t any point in trying.
I had a few other friends in California, but they were good-time pals. I wouldn’t trust any of them with my problems, especially ones this personal.
Which only left one person.
My mom would probably be awake; she often got insomnia after a storm, and ordinarily, she’d love to pass the long nighttime hours discussing someone’s love life. But her own daughter’s, when it was a pretty non-traditional love life?
I pulled over at the side of the road to think. If I didn’t pour my issues out to someone tonight, I’d never go to sleep, which meant I couldn’t make a decision in time, and my opportunities with both the boys and the TV show would pass by.
I had no doubt that Hugh was primed and ready to tell Cameron what a bitch I’d been to him, so I needed to act quickly.
“Camvis, call Mom.”
“Sweetie? What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I said, and her relief was palpable even through the phone line. “I’m just driving. It’s been a weird day.”
“Well, clearly, if you’re aimlessly driving around at this hour.”
“Exactly. Look, if you’re already awake, do you mind if I come over? I want to talk about something with you.”
“Sure, hon, come right now. I’ll have a cup of hot cocoa ready for you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I dropped the call and swung the car around.
By the time I arrived at my parents’ house, I was a nervous wreck. I had imagined a dozen different scenarios where Mom threw me out of the house and promised to never speak to me again. She told me to forget about the boys and go back to LA.
Would that really be such a bad thing for her to say?
The fact that my brain had filed it under ‘Nightmare Outcome’ definitely said something about how I felt, but so did the clothing logos I’d been preparing in my head to use after I got famous.
The house was lit up like it was early evening, and I briefly wondered whether they were actually nocturnal.
Locking my car, I headed up the path and knocked on the door shakily. Mom answered in her nightgown, robe, and big fluffy slippers, and she looked so comfortable, I was jealous as hell.
“Sweetie, what’s happened?” Her tone was so sympathetic that I collapsed in her arms. I cried, huge gulping sobs, and she stroked my hair tenderly as I let out all of my frustrations.
“You’d better not be staining my nightgown with that mascara of yours.” She grinned when my tears had started to subside. I had to laugh since that was pure Mom; at the same time hugely comforting and completely shallow. Perhaps the apple didn’t fall far from the tree after all.
“I’m not wearing any makeup,” I promised her.
She took my face in her hands and studied me closely. “Boy trouble. I knew it. Come and get your cocoa.”
I followed her through to the living room. “I don’t really want cocoa, but thanks anyway.”
“You’ll want this. Go on, drink it; it’s your father’s recipe.”
With a sigh I dropped onto the couch and picked up the mug. I took a sip of the warm chocolatey drink, and my eyes widened with joy. “Whiskey.”
“Yup. Figured you could use it.”
“I could use a vat of it right now.”