I left them stringing beads onto rubber necklaces. Emma had long ago given up on fitting the beads on herself and now was telling Casey what order she wanted them in. “Geeze, okay, kid,” I heard Casey complain as I went into the living room. I was smiling but worry tugged at my heart. Was Emma bossy? Was I not raising her well? Whydidn’tI know more three-year-olds?
Back in Hawaii, Emma had friends she saw on the playground somewhat regularly, but I’d never arranged playdates with the other moms I knew. I never really wanted to fob her off on a peer and drink mimosas with one of my own. I liked how it was just the two of us most of the time, punctuated by long visits from Casey and quick ones from my mother and Robert.
In the car, I squashed the temptation to call my mom and ask what she thought. She was unabashedly biased. She’d tell me that Emma could have no better company than me, and that I was the best mom in the world. Far better than she had been, though she supposed she must have donesomethingright because look what an amazing mom I was. It was a funny, circular logic that made me dizzy. It made me feel like maybe she had some lingering guilt over the years before Robert, but once any shortcomings had been acknowledged, she smoothed them over. Then I’d have to corroborate her story and tell her she’d been a great mom. Still was.
Despite everything.
TheLavigne Beautylawyers had already filed their appeal. It was tempting to ruminate on it, worry about it, worry abouther,but I didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole. Instead, I focused on the business proposal I was about to spring on Landon at dinner. It was a multi-step plan for getting my life back on track. First, it involved a loan.
I wanted to go to Cal State LA’s naturopathic medicine program. I already had the undergraduate prerequisites, thanks to my Nutrition degree. It was a four-year program, and I’d need financial support during that time both for school and living expenses. But it was aloan, I would reiterate.
Once I graduated and set up practice, I would begin repaying him with interest. Then, there was the fact of Emma. I would tell him I was of course willing to share custody, but it couldn’t be 50-50. At least, not right away. We’d have to start off with supervised visits while they built up a bond, and then maybe start doing every other weekend. I wouldn’t ask him for child support considering I was asking him to fund me for the next four years.
Earlier, in my head, it all sounded very reasonable. But now as I stepped out of my car and handed off my keys to the valet, I was struck by an uncharacteristic fit of nerves.
Was I really doing the right thing, asking Landon to take my future in his hands?
And if it was the wrong thing, had I gone too far to turn back now?
5
LANDON
Garrett, one of my closest friends, could make a joke out of anything. He was a crisis manager who spent his time protecting people from themselves, no matter how much they resented it. It had put him in some absurd situations over the years, so I thought if anyone could find the humor in this situation with Cami, it was him. I called him on the way to the restaurant and told him where I was going and why. Then I sat back and waited for him to bring on his particular brand of twisted levity.
But his voice was dead serious when he said, “That’s fucked up.”
I stared at the red light ahead of me, glowing against the dusk. Garrett was telling me what I needed to hear–another crucial aspect of his job, but for some reason, my instinct was to defend Cami.
“I was an asshole about the commitment thing,” I said, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. “And I practically wrote in her Valentine’s Day card that I never wanted kids.”
Garrett wasn’t swayed. “Right, and I’m sure you told her why.”
A muscle twitched in my jaw. I didn’t know if I had actually told Cami why I didn’t want kids. That would have involved delving deeper than I ever wanted to go with a woman. Far below the superficial level of naked flesh and heated blood where I preferred to keep my relationships. You’d have to cut down to the bone and muscle of my being to learn about my sad, fucked up family history. To know why the thought of kids kicked my heart into a panicked gallop and made my palms sweat.
It boiled down to the fact that I wouldn’t be a good father, and I hated to fail.
Cami had no way of knowing, but she’d fulfilled that prophecy for me beyond my wildest dreams, and I hadn’t even had to lift a finger. I hadn’t just been a negligent father to Emma. I hadn’t just forgotten her birthday or gotten her accidentally told her Santa wasn’t real. I had been completely absent.
Thinking about it made me both unspeakably angry and strangely ripped off. If I’d failed on my own, that would have been one thing, but Cami hadn’t even given me a chance. Not until she needed money. Any instinct to defend her vanished, and I got off the phone with Garrett before my dark, bitter thoughts could poison the receiver. I wasn’t protecting her, exactly, but I knew myself well enough to know that this was a time to keep quiet. Process.
It was a shame the drive to the restaurant was only fifteen minutes. The sharpest edge of my bitterness didn’t have time to soften before I was walking in, my teeth gritted. Cami was already there, wearing a dress that I suspected was designed to soften me. It was deceptively simple until she turned and the slit that went halfway up her thigh revealed a long, tan leg that evoked memories of those legs bared in their entirety. Wrapped around me. Tiptoeing across the cold, tile floor in the morning, wearing one of my old t-shirts.
I gritted my teeth harder. If Cami was trying to remind me of our better days, she had succeeded, but not with the results I’m sure she intended. It didn’t soften me at all. It wasn’t just sex I thought of; betrayal was close on its heels.
When our eyes met, I could see she was nervous.
“Thank you for meeting me,” she said, her eyes scanning mine.
I smiled reflexively, but it was a wintry expression. My friend Dominic called it my serial killer smile. It appeared to have a similar effect on Cami because she looked away. The host led us to the table Potts had requested–an isolated booth in the back away from the door and the kitchens. I took the side facing the other patrons. I didn’t want anyone to see Cami with her uncanny resemblance to her notorious mother. It might make them interested enough to listen in on our conversation.
“I love this place,” Cami ventured, looking at me across the table. I had the feeling her words were designed to test the waters rather than start an actual conversation.
I smiled again, but not a fraction of warmth entered it. She looked back down at the menu.
I let Cami pick the wine off the vegan wine list. I didn’t have to ask anymore what the hell kind of wine wasn’t vegan. She’d already explained that it was the typical refining agents that weren’t vegan friendly on one of our early dates over four years ago. It was another memory I’d put away when she left, but now it sprang back, fully formed. The way she’d leaned across the table when she was explaining, her sensuous lips red and glossy. The V of her t-shirt deepening, but for once, I was more interested in what a woman was saying than what she was wearing. I found that happening a lot with Cami. It had surprised me, intrigued me. Made me want more of her than I should.
After the waiter had poured our first glasses and retreated, Cami took a deep breath. “I need to start off with an apology. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Emma.”