Chapter 10 #3
“I remember he posted a picture in our group chat in March when we all celebrated Pi Day. I thought I caught a glimpse of candy stripes but figured it was a shirt.”
“You can eat pie whenever you want. Why do you need a special day?”
She slams the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Not the pastry, dinkus. The mathematical equation.”
“Wait. Did you call me a dinkus?”
“What’s the problem? Is it too early for insults?”
“Hey, I’m not the one throwing math parties.”
“You obviously like to learn or you wouldn’t have gone to law school.”
I snort. “Yeah, that’s why people become lawyers, a love of knowledge.”
She blinks. “Then why did you?”
“Parental pressure. Societal pressure.” I shrug. “Pressure.”
“Huh.”
I give her a searching look. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who makes life decisions based on the opinions of other people.”
“You don’t exactly strike me as someone who was in open rebellion against her parents. You’re even running the family business.”
“Because I wanted to. Nobody had to force me into it.”
“Have you even tried doing something else? What if you discover there’s something better for you out in the big wide world?”
She spreads her arms wide. “This is the only big wide world I need.”
“You’re not interested in travel?”
“Sure, especially in the winter. But travel only makes me appreciate this place more. I’m always happiest when I’m home.”
“Huh.” I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way about anywhere, not even my childhood home.
“Do you travel?” she asks.
“Not as often as I’d like. I have to meet those billable hour requirements each month.”
“I would hate that. Your whole life is dictated by numbers.”
“Isn’t everybody’s? We all need to make ends meet somehow. That’s capitalism for you.”
“I consider myself lucky. I inherited my house and my business, and I live within my means.”
“But think of all the money you could have if you sold the land. No financial worries. You’d be set for life.”
“I’m already set for life, Charlie. This camp is magical. How many people can say that about the place where they work or live? I have both.”
“You don’t get lonely out here when everybody’s gone for the season?”
“The Poconos are popular in the winter months too. People drive out here to ski or snowboard.”
“But you’re not doing those things. You’re hibernating in your house all by yourself. You don’t even have a Chewy or a Buffy to keep you company.”
“I’m fine with my own company. I don’t need anyone else.”
She’s holding back on me; I can feel it, but I don’t want to pry. “I have confidence LandStar would up their offer if you want to squeeze more out of them before you agree.”
She looks at me like I grew a second head in front of her eyes. “Are you ever going to give up?”
“It’s called exploiting your weaknesses.”
“It’s called being a dick.”
I’ve pushed her too far. Time to retreat. “I’ll leave you in peace.”
“Now that you’ve destroyed it. Gee, thanks.
” She gives her head a small shake. “You know what, Charlie? I take it back. You have your job to do, and I have mine. I get why you brought it up again, but let’s agree that it was the last time.
If you don’t accept my answer is final, then I’d like you to leave. ”
I contemplate her for moment. I can tell she means every word.
I’m also not ready to leave.
“I apologize,” I tell her. “I was being an asshat. It won’t happen again.”
To my surprise, she smiles. “I like a man who can admit when he’s wrong.”
I clutch my chest over my heart. “Did I hear you right? Did you admit that you like me?”
“Don’t get too excited.” She pauses. “Why did you cry?”
“Excuse me?”
“You told me the last time you cried was when you were a kid. I’m wondering what happened.”
“I have no idea.”
“But if you remember the last time you cried, you must remember the reason for it.”
“No. I don’t even know how old I was. I only know that I haven’t cried since then.”
“What do you do when you get upset? You’re not one of those rage-induced men, are you?” She seems genuinely horrified at the prospect.
“No, I tend to take everything in stride.”
“So if someone cuts you off on the highway, you shrug it off?”
“I might mutter a string of curse words.”
“What about when you lose a client?”
“Hasn’t happened.”
“When your dog died?”
“No pets.”
“When your favorite sportsball team loses their big game?”
“I say they’ll get ’em next year and move on.”
She regards me. “Huh.”
“What?”
“That all sounds healthy.”
“But…?”
“But not crying isn’t healthy. It’s important to feel negative emotions.”
“I feel them. I just don’t do anything about them.”
“Then you’re repressed, like a Jane Austen character.”
“Am I the heroine or the hero in this scenario?”
“Does it matter?”
“Just curious. For the record, I’m not repressed. If the right emotion came along, I’d express it.”
She laughs. “That’s not how that works. You don’t sit there watching the emotions pass in front of you like sushi on a conveyer belt. Ah yes, I’ll take the sashimi sadness.” She mimes lifting a plate from an imaginary belt.
“I thought this camp is supposed to be judgment free.”
“I’m not judging you. I’m helping you.”
“I agree. You’re helping me feel inadequate.”
She slaps a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. That isn’t my intention at all.”
“I didn’t come here for a therapy session.”
She angles her head and a sheet of chestnut hair dips alongside her face. “Then why did you come?”
“I told you. I wanted to experience the things you told me—a home away from home.”
“And how are we doing so far?”
My gaze sweeps the campground. “I’m starting to get it.”
“Are you?” She sounds uncertain.
“What will it take to convince you? I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“Yes, and I’ve got to be honest, it surprises me. I expected you to pack up after the second day, once you realized you couldn’t persuade me to sell.”
“I’m fitting in, enjoying all that your camp has to offer. I mean, where else can I crochet a penis?”
She cringes. “Esther roped you in, huh?”
I shrug. “One more skill to add to my resume.”
“Speaking of which, you know what I realized? You haven’t had a turn to feed Buffy.”
Now it’s my turn to cringe. “Not sure how I feel about that.”
“What do you mean? She’s sweet, adorable, and completely harmless.”
“She’s a rodent with wings. And not even cute butterfly wings.”
“Would that make you more inclined to feed her?”
“Not really,” I admit. “Why a sugar glider? Why not a cat or a dog?”
“Gloria says Buffy is easier to care for. She already has her mother, so she couldn’t be outside walking a dog multiple times a day.”
“How about a cat, though? They seem low maintenance.”
“Her mom is allergic.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
“Not really. She adores Buffy.”
“Did you ever have a pet?” I ask.
“We had a dog, Taffy. She was a golden retriever.”
“I’m surprised you wouldn’t want a dog now, living in an isolated area by yourself most of the year.”
“I considered it, but I didn’t want to get attached again. Taffy lived until she was seventeen. That’s old for a dog.”
I point at her. “Aha! I’m not the only one who has issues dealing with negative emotions.”
She opens her mouth to object, but no sounds come out.
“I’d ask if the cat got your tongue, but we both know you don’t have one.”
“This?” She sticks out her tongue.
“I’m talking about a cat, silly.” The ‘silly’ slips out. It has an intimate ring to it, like we’re close friends who’ve known each other forever and are comfortable with tacking on lighthearted nicknames. I feel a pang of embarrassment, but Cricket doesn’t seem to notice.
We’re not friends , my inner voice insists. I’ve infiltrated Comic-Camp as a tactic to get my client what he wants so that I get what I want.
Except the longer I stay here, what I want and why I want it are beginning to fade from memory.