Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
SAVANNAH
Calliope’s Column
It’s Not Him, It’s You (Kind Of)
Rule Number 6: Don’t Sync Your Ovulation Calendars Before the First Date.
It’s official. I’ve developed an impossible crush on Camden Snow.
I suppose it’s not really a revelation so much as it is an acknowledgment of feelings that grow stronger by the day.
I can’t even blame the texts he’s sent over the last thirty-six hours, though I will admit that they’re just over the line enough for me to be concerned.
Daddy: I still can’t believe you sent me home with Snow by myself.
Me: LOL. You better take good care of our baby. He’s our love bear.
Daddy: Why don’t you come over and help me take care of him? See what a good daddy I am?
He sent pictures of himself and the bear in bed. Followed by another, assuring me he wouldn’t roll over on our love bear. This morning he sent me an image of them having breakfast together and watching SportsCenter.
The smile that hits me every time I think about it shows just how far gone I am already. Which is a problem.
But honestly, it hasn’t scared me away the way it should. The guy likes me. It’s nice. If I was any other person, a woman without enough daddy and mommy issues to fill a library, maybe I’d see where this goes.
Though a late-night phone call from my father followed by an early-morning one from my mother remind me that I still need years of therapy to deal with the trauma they caused before I can actually consider entering a real relationship.
What did my parents say in those calls to send me back to that way of thinking so quickly?
Just the run of the mill shit they always spout.
My father, in so many words, reiterated his opinion that I’m a spoiled bitch who ruined his life.
Every so often, he feels the need to remind me.
I should block him, yet I can’t. Why is it that I feel this familial obligation to a man who literally tells me I’m the worst thing to ever happen to him?
He was drunk, obviously. A month from now, on a night he’s sober, he’ll call and ask how things are, having no clue the devastation he’s wrought, because he’ll have no memory of spewing the hateful words that play repeatedly in my head.
My mother’s call was far less dramatic but equally disappointing. She wanted me to know that she can’t come for Christmas—which is no surprise and actually appreciated, since I didn’t invite her—but that she’d be sure to visit for my birthday.
My birthday was a month ago. It came and went without a word from either of my parents. Which is fine, really. I spent it with Josie, Addie, and Sutton. We took our first pole dancing class, and it was a blast.
The point is that my own mother doesn’t even remember my birthday, and that type of hit leaves a mark.
With all of that on my mind, it’s clear that seeing Camden again is a bad idea.
I entertained the arrangement to prove I could push him away, and tonight, that’s what I’ll do.
Then I’ll focus on my article. I’ll bust my ass to keep my job and my apartment, to remain where I am, surrounded by the people who actually feel like family.
My plan for tonight is diabolical. Heart thumping, I open our text thread and send Camden a link to my ovulation calendar. No man in his right mind wants to be with a woman who links her ovulation calendar before the first date.
“Savannah, sweetheart,” Rosalie asks from the stove. “Do you want extra red sauce with that?”
I survey the heaping plate of food I had no intention of eating before I entered this apartment and shake my head. “This is more than enough. Thanks.”
She watches me over her shoulder, waiting for me to take a bite, and I indulge her, because that’s what good girls do.
I’m supposed to meet Camden for dinner in a half hour, but now that he’s received the text, I expect him to come up with an excuse to cancel. It’s actually a relief knowing that this is almost over.
Though I can’t figure out how to stifle that part of me that wishes I could have a normal relationship with a man as incredible as Camden Snow.
It would take years of therapy to get there, so pushing him away now is for the best. And far less scary than showing him the real me, then watching him walk away.
Because no one chooses me.
But I’ll choose myself and that’s good enough.
“It’s Saturday. Why aren’t you going out?” Rosalie takes a seat in the chair opposite me, the plastic cover beneath her squeaking.
“She’s not dating,” Nick calls from the other room. Though his volume is closer to a yell, since he’s got the six-o’clock news blaring.
“Turn down the television,” Rosalie hollers. “We can’t hear you.”
He hits mute and repeats himself without lowering his volume. “I said she’s not dating.”
“Why are you yelling?” she yells back.
He’s ten feet away. This is kind of absurd. Even if I have to fight a smile as I watch them.
“Because you said you couldn’t hear me.”
I focus on my plate as they bicker, and when my phone buzzes, I ignore it. I’m not ready to deal with the repercussions of my most recent antics. If I don’t look, then Camden Snow hasn’t broken up with me yet.
Broken up with me. Ha. Like because I called myself his girlfriend for a few hours one night, what we’re doing suddenly qualifies as a legitimate relationship.
“Are you going to get that?” Nick asks when my phone buzzes again, his voice suddenly right behind me.
Startled, I glance over my shoulder.
He’s peering down at my phone, where it’s still vibrating on the table.
I shake my head. “No. Rosalie has a rule. No phones at the table.”
She snorts. “Like you’ve ever followed that rule. Five minutes ago you were sitting there texting.”
“Pick up the phone,” Nick hollers. “It keeps buzzing.”
“She’s right here,” Rosalie snaps. “Stop yelling at her.”
“I’m not yelling, I’m talking at a normal volume.”
He is in fact yelling, but it’s only because he can barely hear.
And now I can barely hear, so I finally snatch the device from the table. If I don’t, I worry one of them will.
“Hello?” I say, the single word coming out far too loud after the shouting match I just sat through.
“Savannah?” Camden asks from far away, like he’s pulled the phone away from his ear.
“Yeah, sorry.” I bring my voice down an octave. “What’s up?”
He clears his throat. “I—uh,” he stammers. “I got your text.”
Wincing, I brace myself for the brush-off. Dammit. I was counting on him doing it via text.
Why can’t he be like guys my age who probably wouldn’t have even replied to the text, instead choosing to cut ties by ghosting me?
Oh, because he’s a grown-ass man. That’s why.
“Yeah, um, just thought it was important information for you. And us. And you know…because of our relationship and how invested I am in our future,” I ramble.
Fuck, I was not prepared to actually explain the message to him, let alone in front of Rosalie and Nick, who are both staring at me like I’ve just told Camden I have a venereal disease.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asks.
Finally, he’s acting the way I thought he would. He thinks I’ve lost my mind. He’s questioning my sanity.
“Yup. Feeling great,” I tell him. Might as well go all in and make him believe that I think this is rational behavior for a brand-new relationship.
Just rip the Band-Aid off, Cam. Break my heart and let’s move on. I sent you a damn ovulation calendar, for god’s sake.
He clears his throat again. “Well, obviously, we don’t have to go out tonight.”
I thought I was prepared for the rejection. I thought my mental shields had been built high enough to block the blow. But I swear those words hit me like a frying pan to the chest.
“Yeah,” I croak. Fuck, why do I feel like I’m going to cry? What is wrong with me?
“But is there anything you need?”
“Anything I need?” I parrot, confusion washing over me.
Like a parting gift? I almost snort at the thought. That’s probably something Camden Snow would do. Send his ex a vibrator to keep her company since she no longer has access to him.
Okay, maybe that’s a bit much. But he’d probably send sympathy flowers or a fruit arrangement. Actually…I eye my full plate of food. A fruit arrangement would be nice. Especially if it was dipped in chocolate. “I guess I wouldn’t say no to chocolate,” I hear myself replying.
What the hell, Savannah?
“Of course,” he responds immediately. “Yes. Absolutely. I already picked some up.”
“What?” Jaw unhinged, I blink, then blink again. Disbelief hits me first, though it quickly morphs into anger. I texted him less than ten minutes ago, and he’s already purchased breakup chocolate for me? Wow. Jeez. “Do you keep chocolate stocked for all the girls you date?”
“What? No.” There’s some shuffling on the other side of the phone, and when he speaks again, his tone is more even, though still hesitant.
“I bought this for you. I also picked up a heating pad, and my sister says she likes salty foods when she’s on her period, so I’ll stop for fries as well.
I’ll be at your place in ten. Do you need anything else?
And think about what you want for dinner. We can have it delivered.”
“Delivered?” I peer down at my plate again. “You’re on your way? What are you—” I swallow back the question and shake my head. “Camden, what are you talking about?”
“You sent me the link to your app to tell me you’re on your period, right? I totally get that you wouldn’t want to go out when you’re feeling crappy, so I thought I’d bring dinner to you. Is that not what you want?”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, my nose tingling. Shit. I shift so I’m facing the wall because both Nick and Rosalie are watching me like I’m the nightly news.
He thought I was telling him I’m on my period. He’s not breaking up with me, he’s bringing me chocolate.
Without my permission, the tears fall. I’m crying about a man. And I’m not even on my period. Shit. Why is Camden Snow so perfect? And how the hell am I going to break up with him now?