Coincidentally Kismet

8. Cam

CHAPTER 8

CAM

“brAVE” - SARA BAREILLES

W aking up this morning, I am questioning all my life choices. My pillow has lumps in all the wrong places, I’m slightly nauseous, and last night is coming back to me in a slow rolling haze—the kind that reminds me of those pictures you see of places overseas where fog dances on cliffs. If my memories were cliffs, they’d be leading to things I probably don’t want to remember, but the fog is just enough for me to pretend I don’t, at least for a few more minutes.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand. Who the hell thinks it’s acceptable to call me at this hour? I roll over, picking it up with a groggy hello.

“Camerooni! Guess what?” My brother’s voice is far too chipper for...Shit, it’s ten thirty already. I guess it’s not a completely unacceptable time to be calling.

“W-what?” I clear my throat as I ask, rubbing sleep and yesterday’s mascara out of my eyes.

“I’m coming back next weekend. Make room on your couch. I fly in Friday and decided to stay until Sunday, so we can hang out. I expect debauchery.”

“El, that’s great. I can’t wait to see you.” My reaction falls flat. I can hear it in my tone and hope he doesn’t notice.

“What happened?” My brother groans on the other line. He knows me better than I wish he did.

“N-nothing. I’m half awake.” I will deny that my world was rocked last night.

“Do not even think about lying to me, Cameron Jane. I know better. What is wrong with you?”

“Erm . . . fine. So Lo and I went dancing last night?—”

“What kind of dancing? Did you meet someone? Tell me you finally met someone.” I can tell by his interruption that he’s intrigued.

“Elliott. Quit talking over me if you insist on forcing me to spill the beans,” I reprimand him because come on, dude. I’m about to tell him the biggest thing that has happened since the one time Dad’s prized bull got caught sneaking in to “visit” the mares in our farm’s other barn, and he won’t even let me get it out. “We went to this country bar on the beach. Everything was fine until I stupidly decided to do the barn dance, you know for nostalgia’s sake.”

“Oh no. Did you get paired with someone who didn’t know the moves? The horror.” He is mocking me.

“El, shut up. No, my partner knew the moves, that wasn’t the problem. The problem is it was...it was Will.” Silence. Pure, unadulterated, anxiety-riddled silence.

“What? You are fucking with me.” I can’t even say I blame him for not believing me. I think I’m still in shock too.

“No, unfortunately, I’m not. I didn’t recognize him at first since he had his head turned away from me, but yeah. It was him.”

“What did you do? Do not tell me you got back with him.” I can hear him rifling around in the background, probably settling in for me to drop a juicy bomb on him.

“No! Of course not. I freaked out and ran away. Well, sorta.” I sit up in bed, crossing my legs into a pretzel and punching the pillow to prop it up against the headboard with my free hand.

“What does ‘sorta’ mean?” I can tell he’s up and pacing, I can hear him practically burning a hole in his apartment carpet.

“Well...Lo had been hanging out with his friends, not that she knew it at the time. So when I ran to her and demanded to leave, she dragged my ass to the patio and convinced me to stay. To not let him ruin my night with his presence because, and I’m sure you will appreciate this part, according to Lo, I’ve let him dictate my life for far too long.” I huff out the last part. I don’t necessarily agree that I’ve let Will control what I do, but if I’m really being honest, some of my decisions have been made by trying to try to eradicate him from my life.

“Good. I’m glad you didn’t run...well, not completely anyway. You are the best thing that ever happened to him. I hope that he sat back and suffered, watching you have fun. Please tell me you flirted with his friends.”

I snort laughing. “I did. I can’t believe it, but I did. I went into full sass mode. Mom would have been horrified with my behavior.”

“Fuck yes! And you know what, Mom loves you but she hasn’t quite figured out how to marry her sense of duty with her ability to let loose. That’s not on you.” His reassurance has always comforted me when it comes to my mother-daughter relationship. My mom is really the best, it’s not like she denied us love or anything. She just has strong values, and when we don’t uphold them...well, she can be a bit judgy.

“Thanks, El. I mean it. I don’t know if I have really processed everything yet, considering I was asleep before you called. But I think I’m actually okay.” Bile nips at my throat, either from far too many drinks or the thought of Will living in the same town as me. Probably both.

“I love you. I’ll see you in six days, and I mean it when I say, plan something fun. We are not sitting in your apartment all weekend.” Elliott hangs up and I flop back onto my pillow, desperate for water—and a time machine to go back and skip last night. Well, one part of it anyway.

I can’t figure out what bothers me more about seeing Will again. Is it the fact that I still have feelings for him, or is it that he saw me when I’m not feeling like my best self? It’s not feelings, I decide. I mean, I will always care for him, I thought he was the love of my life. I just wish I had run into him after I lost the weight I’ve gained, after I had my own chair at the salon and a whole gaggle of clients waiting to sit in it.

Screw it. Monday I’m hitting the gym. I’m anti-workout. (I’ve always maintained that if I’m running, those around me should be too because something is trying to kill me.) Nevertheless, I can’t continue on this way. I have to get my life in order, not because of Will, but in spite of him.

“How are you doing, sunshine?” Lo inquires while holding out a mug of steaming hot coffee. I didn’t even see her come in. The girl would make a fierce cat burglar.

“I-I’m okay. I think.” Shrugging, I shift to sit up again and take the mug.

“Want to talk about it?” Lo levels me with a look while plopping down on my blush-rose down comforter, sloshing hot coffee over the edge of my mug. I can’t even be mad—caffeine is the only thing saving my ass this morning.

“Ughhh...fine. I was just thinking that if I had to see him again, I wish I was in a better place, physically and career wise. I absolutely am not ever getting naked in front of that man, or really any man, until I lose these fifteen pounds.” I admit my feelings to her cautiously, knowing she will reprimand me the minute the words leave my lips.

“You went from ‘I hate him’ to ‘naked’ real quick, my friend. But you’re joking, right? Cam, so you have a dump truck and more than a handful up top—you have a banging body, any man would be honored to see it clothed or otherwise.” Lo’s face is a mix of pinched annoyance and shock that I would think of myself so negatively.

“Okay, thanks, hype girl,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But I’m being honest with myself, and I know I don’t look like I used to. I’ve been binging too much, making unhealthy choices, and now I’m paying the price. It’s karma really.” I’m attempting to mask my vulnerability, but I know it comes off a bit rude.

“Nope, we’re not doing this. You’re getting your ass up out of this bed, we’re going to Sal’s, and then shopping. Put on your pj’s, grab a change of clothes, and let’s roll,” Lo says this with such confidence, I’m forced to drop the argument that’s begging to burst off my tongue.

Thirty minutes later, we’re walking into Sal’s just before the lunch rush. It’s our little tradition: grab the world’s best deli sandwiches and potato salad to soak up any remnants of last night’s overindulging, and eat on the beach. We always wear matching pajamas—well, ever since the one time I picked up Lo from the side of the road on a walk of shame, and a pajama set of pants adorned with pink flamingos and a turquoise tank top my mother sent me was the only non-club attire in my car. It was hilarious and Patricia was delighted when we called to ask for another.

Lo and I order quickly at the counter, grabbing our to-go bag and heading toward the beach. I don’t spot him immediately, but there’s an uncanny shift in the air and my stomach knows before my eyes do. I glance around, sure enough, there’s Will at a picnic table, toes buried in the sand, with Amy and enough food to feed ten people sitting in front of him. I shouldn’t approach, but on second thought, why should I have to pretend he doesn’t exist? Somehow we have managed to not run into each other in the year I’ve been living here, but it seems that my luck has run out.

“Geez, Rambo. Eating for two?” I ask, infusing my face with judgment despite the fact that I notice I’ve ordered the exact same lunch, minus the cake.

“Hey, Wright, forget to get dressed this morning?” he quips, a smirk blossoming on that smug, incredibly chiseled face. It irritates me beyond belief that he’s calling me by my last name. He knows how much I hate it after the relentless jokes spewed in high school about how Cameron always has to do the “Wright” thing. Sue me for being a rule follower.

“Actually, this is our tradition. We go out, drink our faces off, and go eat Sal’s on the beach in our jammies the next morning.” Lo scoffs, she doesn’t take kindly to anyone commenting on our attire. She’s feisty at times, but this...this could actually work in my favor if I want her to be annoyed by him.

“I think that sounds so fun,” Amy coos.

“It’s interesting, I’ll give ya that,” Will says. I want to smack the smirk right off his stupid face.

“We aren’t seeking your approval, Rambo. We just noticed your massive quantity of food, and I couldn’t stop myself from commenting.” I cross my arms and spin on the back of my heel, starting to walk away. I definitely don’t think about putting an extra shimmy into my steps.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, Wright. I’m flattered that you wanted to talk to me,” I hear him call out after us. Ugh...he’s the worst.

We find a spot about a five-minute walk down the beach, fanning out our beach towels just a few feet in front of a large swath of sea oats where the white sand is fluffy and undisturbed. Lo hasn’t commented yet on why I walked over to Will, but I know it’s coming.

“Sooo...were we looking for a fight this morning? What was the point of riling him up?” Lo asks around a bite of her Reuben sandwich.

“Honestly”—I huff out a long breath, taking a swig of my Diet Coke—“I just couldn’t stop myself. There’s something about giving him a hard time that feels too good to pass up.”

“It felt like the feeling was mutual. You know...it’s kind of poetic that you two are reuniting after all this time. Maybe it’s fate.” She fiddles with her hair, putting it up into a messy bun then taking it down again, refusing to make eye contact.

“It is not fate. It’s a curse. Do you know how long I spent wondering what happened to him? If he was okay, why he did what he did, all of those things you aren’t supposed to think about when you get dumped. It’s actually kind of cruel that he’s suddenly here and messing with my head again,” I say, defending myself. I’m actually a little mad that she would even suggest this is some Romeo and Juliet , star-crossed-lovers bullshit.

“Look, you might not like it, or at least not want to admit it. But there was something special there between you two, or else you wouldn’t have hung on for so long. The reality is, we had fun with that group of guys last night. I mean Smith...come to momma. If you are living in the same town, odds are you might run into each other again, and your going to need to figure out how you are going to deal with it. Do you go on hating him, be friends, or maybe something more?” She’s wiggling her eyebrows at me, clearly not grasping the magnitude of all my pain.

“Hate, I choose hate. But because I’m the world’s best friend, I won’t stop you from pursuing your man. Just please don’t force me to be around Will any more than is necessary. I can only keep from losing my shit for so long.” Do I think she is being a little selfish, putting her needs before mine? Yeah, I do. But I love her, and I would feel bad about coming in between someone else’s happily ever after. I’ll just have to find a way to power through it if things work out between Lo and Smith.

After finishing our food and changing in the public beach bathroom, Lo and I shopped all day long. That girl gives new meaning to the phrase “shop ’til you drop.” I think I modeled no less than seventy-five outfits, and I truly did come away with some remarkably smokin’ choices. Most of them are not practical for daily use, but if I’m going to be getting back out there, then I need to freshen up my look. And that’s the plan, I will be getting back out there despite my ex being back in my life.

My inner feminist is most excited about the lingerie I picked out. Something about wearing a little lace under your clothes gives you an extra sense of confidence. My mother always said your bra and panties must match because you never know when you might end up in the emergency room needing your clothes cut off, and there would be nothing more embarrassing than an orange bra and green panties underneath. Not that I’m delusional enough to believe your run-of-the-mill first responder would be truly comparing my skivvies to the next patient’s, but I do love romance novels and crazier things have happened.

I suppose Patricia would be pleased to know that tonight I’m going out with a matching plum lace set, the bra practically playing peekaboo with my nipples, and I feel luscious in a good way wearing it. Smith invited Lo to a party at his apartment. Because of her rules and general ability to throw an immature temper tantrum when denied something, I’m going with her. For safety’s sake, so she claims.

I opt to wear a flowy black sundress that hits just above my knees. It has thin spaghetti straps and the lace bra peeks out just a bit. Hey, there’s absolutely nothing in the rule book about not dressing cute if your ex is potentially going to be somewhere. In fact, I think the saying is, “dressed to kill.” I finish adding a quick bend to my hair so it’s in those perfect tousled waves again, then I throw on some gold hoops and a smidge of my perfect lipstick shade, Saucy Mauve.

When I finish dolling myself up, I find Lo waiting not so patiently by the front door. How this woman gets dressed so quickly remains a mystery to me. She side-eyes me, her annoyance at my extended primping obvious. Shrugging off her attitude, I grab her hand, leading us out of the apartment and into our Uber. I’m not at all sure what to expect at Smith’s. I know based on the address it’s an apartment, but how does a single military man decorate? Should I expect total frat house vibes, or is Smith more sophisticated with actual furniture and décor?

The ride doesn’t take long and Lo gives me a pep talk, citing things like my vivacious curves, killer lips, and hair that makes grown men weep. She’s laying it on thick, and I don’t believe most of what she says, but I appreciate the effort she’s making to boost my confidence. Especially after she was annoyed with me for taking so long to get ready.

I can hear the music bumping as we approach the apartment; nerves turn my stomach. I suck in deep breaths and roll my shoulders back as Lo knocks on the door. Smith opens it, greeting her with a, “Hey, baby girl, so glad you could make it.” She quickly responds with, “We wouldn’t have missed it.” To be clear, I absolutely would have missed it if she hadn’t demanded my attendance.

We step inside and are greeted by a myriad of top ten terrorist posters littered with bullet holes adorning the walls, a cheap red futon that’s seen better days, a TV on a cardboard box playing “Gin and Juice” by none other than Snoop Dogg himself, and a huge beer pong table. Honestly, I don’t know what’s worse: this place or a frat house. Either way, it’s cliché as hell and reminds me exactly why I was avoiding the Rambos of the world.

At least it doesn’t smell like vomit or stale beer. Smith has a single candle burning in the center of his kitchen island. The scent of vanilla cupcakes wafts into the air with each flick of the flame. Why does this man own a candle when his décor style screams give me a tent and a gun? I exchange hesitant looks with Lo in which I subliminally ask her if we should go, and she darts back at me a, Hell no, you’re staying rebuttal. I am grateful for our ability to silently communicate except that she doesn’t seem to understand the messages I am desperately shooting in her direction.

To think I was worried about seeing Will when in reality, I may need a blackout sleep mask to shield myself from the prying eyes of the terrorists dancing on the walls. What the heck did I get myself into? My anxiety spiral is interrupted when a firm arm wraps around my waist, pulling me into a side hug. “Hey, Cam, I’m so glad you came. Between us, I wouldn’t have if I was you,” Butler whispers to me as if we are conspiring partners about to unleash our evil plan. I like this one, he’s a good egg.

“Heyyy, I wasn’t going to miss a chance to see you again,” I say, hopefully sounding a lot more at ease than I feel. That’s it, Cam. You’re doing this.

“You ladies want to play beer pong? Butler and I are reigning champs, but we can take it easy on you,” Smith breaks in.

Okay, I can work with this. Will doesn’t appear to be here, and they have zero idea just how competitive I am or how often Elliott and I used to practice playing with cups of Kool-Aid in the backyard just so we could beat everyone when we left for college. What can I say? Preparation is the key to success.

“You’re on! Just please don’t take it easy on me. A girl has to learn somehow, and watching the masters is the best way, don’t ya think?” I reply, smirking at Lo.

Smith works on setting up the beer pong table while Lo and I quietly strategize about how we’re going to let them think they’re winning and then quickly take them down after we’ve each had three cups of beer. There’s no world where I would allow anyone else to win without it being absolutely fair and square, but we’re trying to get a little buzzed and we want them to believe it’s beginner’s luck.

The game gets going and our strategy is working even better than predicted. Who knew I could actually be pretty good at acting innocent and ditzy? I’m sure the blonde hair helps my cause. Butler sinks a ball in the cup closest to me, and I’m picking it up to drink when there’s a knock at the door. Smith excuses himself, telling us he’ll be right back and that I have to wait to drink because he doesn’t want to miss it. Like I would need to cheat to win? Yeah, in his dreams!

I’m holding the cup firmly in my right hand, flirting a bit with Butler because it’s fun and I can, when I hear Amy. I guess I’m not getting out of seeing the Davenports after all. Lucky me. This whole thing would be far less annoying if Will had gotten worse looking with age. Why can’t he be like the other guys that we went to school with who I’ve seen back home, you know with beer guts and bad facial hair that grows in a little spotty.

No, instead he’s sculpted like a Greek god. Think Thor swinging his hammer around. The muscles in his shoulders and arms are just begging to bust through his too-tight black T-shirt, and his brown hair is cut short but still long enough to be curly on top. Those perfectly coiffed ringlets that I used to love wrapping my finger around taunt me.

My gaze meets his against my will, and I’m struck still by those piercing blue eyes. They’re the color of the sky on the bluest and most clear day, utterly mesmerizing. I could get lost in them for days and not even care about life passing me by. Except, wait—is he glowering at me? I don’t think so, buddy.

“Wright, fancy seeing you here...with my friends.” His comment lands with a thud. Oh, did he think this was his territory? Are we about to get in a pissing match over who is allowed to be here?

“I was invited, Rambo. Cool your jets and get a drink. If I’m not letting it bother me, then I don’t see why you would.” I down the cup of beer that I needed to drink for the game, tossing it gently onto a camping chair where all the other empties have gone to die.

“Oh, it’s not bothering me. Just surprised to see you twice in one day. It’s almost like you can’t help but be around me at this point.” He gives me that irritating lopsided grin, lifting one shoulder to shrug, and turns toward the kitchen, presumably to get a drink.

“Alright, ready to continue,” Smith says, rejoining us at the beer pong table.

“She’s hustling you, Smith. She knows how to play.” Will’s shout comes from across the room, causing Butler and Smith to eye Lo and me suspiciously while Amy takes off stomping toward her brother. You go, girl. Tell him he’s being an asshat .

“Does it look like I’m hustling you?” I point to the even number of cups on the table to dissuade them from believing the truth Will can’t seem to help himself from spilling. I roll my eyes at Will in annoyance. This is the side of Will I hate to love, he doesn’t let me get away with any crap. Not in a controlling way, but when I was with him before, I wanted to be better. Be less petty, less of an overthinker, and more open, more honest, more willing to show love. He made me feel proud to be who I was, not who my mother, or anyone else for that matter, wanted me to be.

Butler and Smith shrug and the game continues. The game that I am most definitely hustling them at. I feel icky inside. Like my own personal judge is sitting in the other room looking on at my behavior, knowing I’m only here to support my friend, that I am once again letting people talk me into doing things that I don’t want to do just because I want their approval. Ughhh...it’s going to be a long night.