eighteen
brielle
The smell of lasagna filled the apartment. When Cam was at camp, I hadn’t made real meals just for myself. Now that he was home, I was cooking daily. Yesterday, it had been tacos. The day before that, it had been fried chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans. The day he had gotten home, it had been fettuccini Alfredo with fresh Gulf shrimp. I had missed having a reason to cook.
I finished folding the rest of the laundry and left it in little piles all over the sofa to go pull the lasagna out of the oven. Cam would be back by five for dinner, and I’d have him put the laundry away, so we could sit in the living room after dinner and watch the new Marvel movie he had been wanting to see. It was available to stream, and I’d already purchased it as a surprise.
The door swung open, startling me since it was at least thirty minutes sooner than Cam had said he’d be back from meeting Jeremy at the park. I spun around, and Cam ran into the apartment with a huge smile on his face. His drumsticks were in his left hand. He rarely went anywhere without those things. It had been that way since he had played for the first time. It was as if they had become a part of him.
“MOM!” he called out louder than necessary since he had my attention already. “You are NOT going to believe this!” he said with pure excitement all over his face.
In that moment, I knew. He didn’t have to tell me anything else. I knew. There were few things in this world that excited Cam that way, and I knew without a doubt what this was about. But I said nothing, and I let him tell me. I would smile and act as happy as he was. I would pretend for him. Because the truth was, right now, the man who had made my son so happy did the exact opposite for me.
He held out his drumsticks to me. “Look at that,” he said with awe in his voice. “Just look real close.”
Dean’s signature was on not one, but both of them. The fact that he had jerked me around emotionally and messed with my head didn’t seem to matter right now. He’d signed Cam’s drumsticks. I had never seen Cam this happy in my life. Except possibly on the Christmas he had gotten his drums. But even then, he hadn’t been glowing like this.
“Wow, bud, that’s awesome,” I replied.
“It’s crazy! Mom, he was right out there. Right outside our apartment. I was standing there, and he walked by with a hat and glasses on, but I recognized him. I saw the tattoo on his right arm first, and I knew it. I just can’t believe it. He talked to me. Said he’d play a set with me. He wanted to see what I learned at camp!!”
But would Dean give him pointers once he knew whose kid he was? I felt a sick knot in my stomach. I didn’t want Cam to be disappointed and all because of me. Maybe I could promise not to be here when Dean came if he was avoiding me. This was a moment I didn’t want to take from Cam. Even if it scared me.
“That’s—that’s—wow, Cam.”
I was going to have to talk to Dean. Make sure he didn’t change his mind.
“RIGHT! I gotta go call Jeremy,” he said as he raced from the living room to his bedroom.
I didn’t call after him to put his laundry away. I didn’t say anything at all. I stood there, staring at the wall. Trying to sort out how to handle this. What to do. If I could do anything. Was it best just to let it play out?
As if on autopilot, I went to the oven, took out the lasagna, placed it on the hot plate I’d put on the counter, turned the oven off, then stared at the lasagna the way I’d stared at the wall.
What should I do? Why hadn’t I just told Dean who Cam was? After the day in the office, I could have just told him and stopped the stubborn pride thing.
The doorbell rang, and I lifted my gaze from the lasagna to the living room. When I didn’t hear Cam’s footsteps running down the hallway, I moved toward the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and if it was Clara, I was not in the mood to hear her talk about stuff. I had my own problems.
I checked through the peephole, then froze. Placing a hand on the door, I steadied myself. He hadn’t wasted any time on coming through on his promise to Cam. Or was he here to confront me? I mean, I hadn’t done anything wrong exactly. The wrongs I had committed, he didn’t know about. I had just withheld information from him, but it was not his business. My personal life was never his business.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, and then I stepped outside and closed it behind me. I needed to speak to him a moment without Cam overhearing us.
“Hi,” I said, not sure how to start.
He cocked an eyebrow. “That’s how you’re going to start this?” he asked me.
“Uh, yeah, that, and thanks for signing Cam’s drumsticks. You have no idea how happy you made him.”
There. He’d deserved that. He had been kind when he wasn’t required to be. I appreciated it. More than he would ever realize.
“So, Cam,” he said, “isn’t your boyfriend.”
I sighed loudly and shook my head. “I never said he was. That was your assumption.”
“You’re twenty-eight. What else was I supposed to think?” he said pointedly.
“I didn’t see a reason to correct you,” I replied.
“Letting me make a complete ass of myself with my comments was a better idea?” he asked.