Chapter 24
Riley
The house is quiet without Noah here.
Most parents, probably specifically single parents, like the peace that comes with getting two seconds to themselves.
Their otherwise constantly busy, constantly noisy, constantly messy home being void of any of that while their child is at a sleepover for the night.
But I’m not most parents. I’m not even most single moms. I live in constant fear of a day when my house is quiet because he’s just… gone.
I refuse to think about it. I believe in manifestation.
Which is why, the minute I drop him off at Brianna’s house, I am manifesting finding something to do with the evening.
Something involving a cocktail. Maybe even a scary movie.
After all, nothing makes you feel less alone than watching a stalker movie based on true life events.
But as soon as I close the door, my phone buzzes. At first I’m thinking work. Or that Noah forgot one of his nine thousand support stuffies. But to my surprise (and maybe relief?) it’s Cameron. I open the text and immediately laugh.
Cameron- WYD?
Riley- You do realize that’s a pick up line right?
Cameron- It is?? I had no idea. How inappropriate of me.
Riley-It’s basically the equivalent of Netflix and chill…
Cameron- I’m so out of the loop. You wanna come over and you can fill me in?
I laugh, biting my lip like a giddy school girl as I type out the next text.
Riley- Why do we sound like high schoolers right now?
Cameron- Listen. I have stuff to make personal pan pizzas and popcorn for a movie but if you got friends with cooler snacks that’s fine. I’ll just watch Jeopardy by myself.
I laugh again and think about it. I’ve never been to his house but I bet it would take my mind off things at home.
Like most moms, I find myself not knowing what to do when I’m alone and end up cleaning or organizing something.
And to be perfectly honest, that is the last thing I feel like doing right now. So I text him back.
Riley- I’m going to need your address.
Cameron-2427 25th Street.
I get in my car without even bothering to look at my hair or make sure there’s no pancake batter spilled on my leggings (there isn’t, luckily) and type in the address on my phone. When it pops up, the air lets out of my lungs.
“Bougie…” I say, shaking my head and putting the car in drive.
And bougie it is. The thing about San Francisco is that it’s like Boston.
A lot of the homes are older and the face value isn’t what it would be in, oh say, Denver or Phoenix.
But most of them have been renovated and it’s all about the history.
That and location, location, location. And this location is nice. More than nice.
It’s doctors and lawyers.
I park in the drive right behind his car because the street is compact and if anyone got a hit and run fender bender, it would be me. Cameron opens the door before I even knock. Immediately, a smile stretches across his lips, easy and real with a hint of something mischievous.
“Hi,” I say, suddenly feeling as awkward as those texts felt.
“Hello. You look cute.”
“Yeah…no. I don’t. But thanks.”
“Next time I compliment you, cut the first part and just say thank you,” he says and it makes me smile. The snarky comments that would have gotten under my skin before have slowly started to grow on me.
I step inside his home and step out of my shoes before looking around.
I will be honest. Noah and I don’t always take our shoes off at home.
One, our home isn’t that nice. And two, I just don’t think about it.
But Cameron’s house, with its flawless refurbished flooring and pristine gray walls, thick, clean, white baseboards and crown molding… is a place you take your shoes off.
“Make yourself at home,” he tells me as he heads towards the kitchen.
“This is really nice,” I say walking behind him but more slowly as I pass an office, which is also perfectly staged, a sitting room with a large tv on the wall and an L-shaped couch that looks comfortable enough to sleep on.
“It’s a lot, I know,” he calls back. “I’ve thought about selling it but just haven’t put the time or effort into it.”
“Why would you sell it?” I ask. “You don’t like it?”
I step into the kitchen which is very much a chef’s kitchen complete with gas range, a double-oven and a smart fridge. Jesus.
But Cameron just looks around and offers me a one shouldered shrug.
“It’s alright. It’s just…big. For one person.
I also haven’t changed anything about it since I bought it.
It was a showhome for an agency that flips old houses to make them new and it actually came with most of the furnishings.
I planned to change a lot of things about it but… that didn’t happen.”
“What happened?” I ask, taking a seat at the counter where he has pizza crusts and toppings all splayed out. The oven is preheated, ready to go, and it isn’t until I look at the little bowls of cheese and sauce and meats and veggies that I realize how hungry I am.
“I got divorced.”
The answer pops me in the face like a lead balloon. “Oh. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking–”
“Don’t be,” he shakes his head, pushing a tray with a rolled out pizza crust my way. “It is what it is. I bought a house for a family and didn’t end up having one. What kind of toppings are you interested in?”
It’s the cue to change the conversation. And while I am curious about the rest of the story, I’m not going to press it.
“I’m going to have to go with the red sauce,” I say, spooning some onto my dough.
“A classic choice,” he says, doing the same but with something lighter in color. More orange.
“Is that…hot sauce?” I ask skeptically.
Cameron laughs. “Close. It’s buffalo.”
“Spicy,” I say as I smooth the sauce perfectly.
“Always. What’s next?”
“Cheese, obviously…” I answer as I reach for the shredded mozzarella.
“Of course. Nobody actually likes pizza without cheese.”
“Noah does,” I say and Cameron’s attention pops up to me.
“Really?”
I nod with a smile, dusting my hands off and grabbing an even number of fresh mozzarella rounds. “Yeah. He’s an odd little guy.”
“Own beat. Own drum. I love it. Your kid is remarkable.”
“He is,” I agree softly with tears stinging the back of my eyes. “Blue cheese?” I ask.
“Yes. For the full buffalo chicken experience,” he answers as he loads his crust with cheese and chicken. Then he watches as I sprinkle mine with sundried tomatoes before thoughtfully tapping my lips to see if there’s anything else it needs.
“No meat?” he asks and I shake my head with a smile, grabbing a few fresh basil leaves and placing them thoughtfully. “Ah. Margarita. Very classic.”
“It’s the best.”
“It is good, but not the best,” Cameron disagrees, placing both our trays in the oven and setting a timer.
“If you think your Super Bowl Sunday pizza is the best, you are very much mistaken, Sir.”
Cameron laughs and grabs two beers out of the fridge then studies me for a second. “Are you a beer drinker?”
“Absolutely,”
He grins, popping the top and handing it to me. “I knew I liked you.”
After that we cheer and he winks at me, freeing a whole jar of butterflies in my chest before we make our way to the couch, a giant leather sectional, to sit down.
There is a moment of quiet between us. A moment that recently, I would consider comfortable. He is very much not the same cocky man I met in the ER that day. He is not really who I thought he was at all. Which makes me wonder…
I can’t stop thinking about the tattoo. The way he kisses and the way his muscle feels under my hands. It’s…familiar. All of it. Enough so that I have been laying awake at night wondering if he is the man from five years ago.
I mean…think about it. It was a hospital charity event. An event that Reinhart has always made an appearance at, considering Arthur Reinhart's take on patient care. And while I couldn’t tell you which Reinhart was there, I know someone was. Maybe someone dressed as Santa Clause.
“You look far away,” Cameron’s voice breaks into my thoughts and I come back to the room.
“Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About?”
About whether or not I met you five years ago on a rooftop dressed as Mrs. Clause…
“Noah,” I lie.
“I’m sure he never leaves your mind,” he says patiently, taking a sip of his beer.
“You’re not wrong.”
“Being a single parent must be tough,” he empathizes.
“Very tough,” I answer, taking a sip too.
“So the dad is just…totally MIA?”
I nod once. “In his defense, he doesn’t even know about Noah. Because I don’t know who he is.”
“No judgement,” he shrugs. “Have you ever thought about finding him?”
“I wouldn’t know where to start. It was dark when I met him. And I don’t even know his name. God, that sounds so bad, doesn’t it?”
“Again, not here to judge. Things happen.”
His response earns a small smile from me. He really is a different man than I took him for.
“Did he leave you with anything?” he asks. “Anything you could remember or identify him by?”
You mean like…a tattoo?
“Not really, no. And honestly, I don’t know that I’d want to bring someone else in the picture now. It’s hard but…we get by. We survive.”
“But not thrive,” he says. “I don’t know.
I’m sorry. I guess I just…” he stops. He’s entering a no trespassing zone for himself and I can literally see him fighting with himself over whether or not to take the lock off.
“If I had kids? That would be it. Everything I am, everything I have would go into them.”
“I feel that,” I say softly. I also feel the tightening in my chest. His hands are metaphorically tinkering with the lock…so I press a little.
“Why didn’t you have kids with your ex? It’s obvious how much you love them.”
Cameron takes a long pull from his bottle and sucks his teeth afterwards. “I can’t,” he says flatly.
“You–” I chop my own sentence in half, confused.