Coincidentally Kismet

4. Cam

CHAPTER 4

CAM

“MISS ME MORE” – KELSEA BALLERINI

I nserting my key into the deadbolt, I grab the door handle and push it open, drinking in the sweet relief of being home early and one step closer to being braless. The microwave clock glowing in its emerald green shows the time is approaching eight. It’s a shockingly early time to be home after a Friday at the salon. Fridays are typically chockful of last-minute walk-ins trying to squeeze in a blowout or fresh cut before the weekend.

Daveed is headlining a big hair show in Orlando this weekend and needed time to prep, so we closed early, even turning a few guests away. Shows like this are pretty standard for someone of his caliber, and he usually brings all of us along. There’s something awe-inspiring about watching him dazzle a room full of people while his hands magically transform the model’s look. This time, he left Micah and me behind, opting to break in the less experienced assistants, since we’ve both been with him for nearly a year.

I should be jealous of the assistants who get to go, but I can’t remember the last time I had a Saturday off. Three days of no work is music to my ears—minus the fact that I won’t be making any tips, which is remarkably bad for my bank account.

Slinging off my purse, abandoning it on the table, and toeing off my flats, I plop down on the edge of the well-worn blue suede sofa. This thing has seen better days for sure. Lo says it’s in style and fits our mid-century modern meets boho meets Goodwill style, since neither of us is exactly raking in the cash.

Our apartment is small, a boutique sort of place with two bedrooms, a living room, and a small kitchen in between. It’s not fancy. The cabinets could use an upgrade since best-case they were installed in the eighties. Yellow Formica counters add a unique and funky “vintage” flair. Lo calls the apartment “dated chic.” In other words, it’s fucking old.

She’s always able to pick out the best thing about a person or place, always able to see the silver lining, which is one of the many reasons I love her. Being overly optimistic doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m more of a tell-it-like-it-is, goofy kind of girl, who’s a little fun and a lot self-conscious. I suppose that wasn’t always the case, but you know...a heartbreak and fifteen pounds will have an impact on a person.

I lean back into the couch, trying to get into the coziest part of the corner. I have absolutely zero intent on leaving this position for the foreseeable future. All weekend, I’m going to sit here, look at my phone, and try to find inspiration for the new-and-improved Cam. Daveed suggested I create a storyboard to hang in my room, he wants me to really lean into who I want to become. But that would require things like glue, poster paper...Ugh, who even has the time for that?

Raising my hand to no one at all in this empty room, I admit it’s me, I do. I’m just too lazy and maybe a little too worried about putting something out in the universe that I’m not one-hundred-percent sure about. Trying to decide who I want to be when I’m not even crystal clear on who I am—well, that’s proving to be extremely hard.

Finally settling into my comfy spot, I hear a key slide into the doorknob and sigh, knowing I need to prepare for battle. I swiftly roll my shoulders back and get ready to list the pros to my butt not leaving this seat for at least twenty-four hours. In strolls Lo.

“Oh good, you’re home. How’s my favorite shampoo girl?” she asks in that sarcastic but loving tone she uses when she’s giving me a hard time, otherwise known as mocking my mother. It’s her favorite pastime, ever since Patricia and I ran into her conning one of the neighbors into taking her trash out on move in day. My mother thought she was lazy. But I knew based off of a single eye roll that the roommate I had secured through some diligent online searching would soon become my best friend. Lo and my mom have a fantastic relationship now, she just loves teasing me.

“Yep, I’m home, in my spot, not leaving for at least twenty-four hours, maybe even forty-eight.”

“What? You don’t have to work tomorrow?” Lo eyes me wearily.

“Nope, Daveed is prepping for that show in Orlando, so he closed the salon. I’m officially off work for three days straight. I know, it’s a miracle, right?”

“Umm, you know what this means don’t you?” she asks with a charming and devilish spark in her eyes.

“Nope, no, nada. You’re not dragging me anywhere. I’m sitting here and contemplating my reinvention for as long as it takes,” I whine, sounding slightly less decisive than I had hoped.

Lo eyes me suspiciously, as if some sort of alien life-form has taken over her roommate. She could never sit still in one place for days on end, and she would definitely never contemplate reinventing herself.

She’s adorable, confident, and everything I wish I could be. Lo is tall, five foot nine to be exact, and has legs for days. She has curves but is also thin enough to pull off any outfit. Her long, thick brown hair has the perfect bouncy waves that she doesn’t even have to try for, and she’s an expert at makeup and always knowing what outfit is best for which occasion. Essentially, she’s the opposite of me.

I’m on the shorter side at five four, I have curves that are only getting bigger with my emotional eating habits, and blonde hair. I guess I do love my hair, it’s long and also thick, but it takes a lot of work and frizzes easily. I could never just wash it and let it air-dry like Lo.

“No, no, no.Don’t do that, I can tell that you got your hair done today, it’s perfectly styled, has lighter pieces, practically moves when you’re sitting still, has so much dimension. For once, we’re both single ladies, and we both don’t work tomorrow, so you know what that means.” She points her finger at me in shame.

“You want me to scoot over so you can sit with me for the foreseeable future?” I guess, knowing it’s not the answer she’s looking for.

“Absolutely not. It means we’re getting dolled up, dancing the night away, and shooting back tequila like the real women we are!” she exclaims, so loudly that I’m ninety-nine-percent sure she just told all of our neighbors we’re hitting the streets tonight and they can feel free to rob us blind because we’ll be too drunk to care. It’s not that I don’t want a night out, I adore a carefully curated girls’ night. It’s just that seeing Elliott this week, the date with Mr. Fish that led to the nightmare about Will, and having a long-ass day...I don’t want to spoil her fun with my crappy mood.

Lo deserves a better wingwoman, someone who will instigate her shenanigans, not be the Debbie Downer in the corner sulking.

“Please do not make me beg,” she pleads, her eyes full of mischief.

If I’m going to transform myself, I need to start now, with the little things. And it’s not as if I had even a hint of an idea for this vision board...

“Okay fine, let’s do it. But I’m borrowing your clothes and your new lipstick,” I bargain.

“Yes, that’s my girl.” Her arms shoot up as a sign of her clear victory. “Let me just think about this for a second...first we will get ready, then do a couple of shots here, and then go dancing.” Genuine glee sparkles in her eyes, silently mocking me over breaking my commitment to the couch.

“Where are we dancing, not downtown again right? The place we went last time was kind of lame.”

“Nope, we’re going to the Waterin’ Hole, momma. I’m taking you back to your roots where you can shake it like the backwoods country girl you are.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

“A country bar? In Tampa? Where?” It’s unusual that I haven’t heard anyone at the salon talking the place up, but then again, the other assistants aren’t really the line-dancing types.

“It’s actually on St. Pete Beach. It’s a whole vibe, and here’s the best part...the Uber is the same. The bar has a fifteen-dollar sink or swim, and I plan on sinking, babe. Let me just get you my shortest shorts, and you can wear that fitted lace crop top I bought you last week at the thrift store. Get them old shit kickers out, we’re going to have the men begging us for a dance.”

I giggle at her enthusiasm because if there’s one thing Lo can always do, it’s make things a party. I love dancing and country music is my jam. Maybe this is the exact thing I need to get back to being the real Cam, and I may even snag myself a cowboy to dance with.

I hop up from the couch, making my way into my room to find the top I’ve been commanded to wear. Spotting it stuffed in my underwear drawer, I quickly grab it and yank it on. There is very little room for my boobs, to the point where I’m forced to go braless. At least that’s one win for the night!

The top is bright red like cherry lip gloss, fitted around my ribs, and ends just above my belly button. It almost looks like a swim top; the lace pattern and hint of sparkle really pop. I dig around to find my black boots and then run into the bathroom to give my legs a quick shave. A bit of bending, cursing, and strenuous jumping is required to plaster myself in Lo’s black denim cutoff shorts. I’m a half a size bigger than she is, but these things do hold in the small pooch I’ve been earning through diligent donut eating. Who needs to breathe, am I right?

I curl my hair just slightly, touching up those perfect tousled waves, and smear on some black winged eyeliner to go with Lo’s red matte lipstick. Grabbing my black crossbody, I shuffle into the kitchen just in time for Lo to hand me a double shot of tequila. “Here’s to being a real woman who shoots tequila, has fun, and rides a cowboy tonight!” she bellows.

I clink my shot glass to Lo’s toast and head out the door at her heels, already feeling better about my choice to follow her on this adventure and about getting back to the real me again. As cheesy as it may be, I’ve missed myself.