Chapter 5 #2
Camila presses her lips together. “Of course you can,” she says, choosing not to stoke the argument her mother is clearly ready to start.
There’s a small huff on the other end, the sound her mother makes when she’s decided to be wounded. “I was thinking about you. Is that a crime now?”
“No.” Camila adjusts the throw blanket over her legs.
“Well, good,” her mother says, voice smoothing out. “Because you’ve been back in Washington for two and a half months now and have yet to come visit.”
Camila’s stomach tightens.
“I’ve been busy,” she says. “Work’s been a lot, and I’m still unpacking.”
There’s a pause and then a pointed, “I am your mother, Camila. I’d hate to think you’re avoiding me. Especially after the beautiful house your father and I bought for you.”
Camila looks around, takes in the walls, the rooms—a gift with a receipt attached. The words settle in her chest, rearranging the air. She stares at the floor, at nothing, already paying the cost.
She exhales. “I’ll come next Sunday,” Camila promises, not quite ready to commit to seeing her mother in a couple of days.
“Good,” her mother says immediately, “I’m glad to hear it. There’s a lot I need to discuss with you and would much rather do it in person.”
Camila’s stomach tightens. Conversations with her mother have never been easy, and she isn’t expecting that to change. “Okay,” she says, already reaching for the end. “I’ll see you then.”
“Sunday,” her mother repeats, satisfied. “At noon. Don’t be late.”
“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”
She ends the call before anything else can be added.
The phone goes silent in her hand. Camila stays where she is, breathing through the knot in her stomach.
She wishes her mother’s voice didn’t leave her feeling untethered, like she’s stepped half out of herself.
Their relationship has never been easy. There were always expectations she couldn’t quite meet, and love that only showed up when she did, which she hasn’t in a while.
She’d almost convinced herself the house was proof that her mother was trying. An expensive olive branch, if nothing else. Turns out it was just another way for her mother to manipulate her.
Camila glances at the screen, and the time blinks back at her.
Shit. It’s 5 p.m. She was supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago.
Panic propels her into the bathroom. In the mirror, she takes a quick look at herself.
She’s still in her usual work armor: a faded band shirt, cargo pants, and an oversized jacket thrown over.
It’ll have to do; she doesn’t have time to change.
Her hair, mercifully, looks perfect—thanks to her brand-new wolf cut, which somehow thrives on chaos, refusing to look messy no matter what.
Still, she grabs some pomade and mixes it in to keep it from going flat, reapplies deodorant, and sprays on her favorite cologne.
She runs into the kitchen and quickly feeds Miso, then kisses her on the head before speeding to the wine fridge to grab a bottle—she can’t show up empty-handed.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours!” Camila shouts to Miso before closing the door behind her.
The drive to Ella’s is similar to the one she took this morning. Her mind immediately drifts to Valeria, to whether she lives somewhere around here, and if that’s how she found the coffee shop.
It’s been happening more often lately, these stray thoughts drifting into her mind.
She catches herself wondering who Valeria is outside the vet clinic, what she does when she’s not chasing down new coffee spots, what her life looks like on a day-to-day basis.
She wonders about a lot of things, really.
There’s this persistent pull to know her better.
It’s unfamiliar territory for Camila, and a little unsettling to realize she sort of misses someone she barely knows.
Parking is easy. She finds a spot right in front, but she lingers in the car, fingers tight around the keys. You wanted to be here, she reminds herself. This is good for you. You need to make friends here. She exhales, steps out of the car, and knocks.
A voice calls from inside, letting her know they’re coming. A woman she doesn’t recognize opens the door.
“You must be Camila,” the woman says, smiling widely and easily.
“Yeah. Hi. Nice to meet you,” she says, reaching for the woman’s hand.
“Nice to meet you. Come in. I’m Alejandra. Isabella is finishing up in the back. Or I guess Ella to you. I forgot there was a time she refused to go by anything else.” Alejandra giggles.
“Who is it, Ale?” a voice calls from behind her.
“Bels’ friends,” Alejandra calls back, and the door opens further.
Camila stills, heart skipping as Valeria comes into focus.
“Camila?” she says, blinking in surprise as her smile grows into one that makes the doorway look like it’s glowing.
For a few seconds, Camila forgets what words are, and she just stares at Valeria while her heart does a little flip, excitement tangled with nerves, and she has to remind herself to blink.
Valeria looks . . . absolutely stunning out of her uniform. She’s wearing a black sleeveless vest top over acid-washed barrel jeans. Her blond hair falls loose around her shoulders, layered with bangs that frame her face perfectly.
Camila seriously regrets not changing right now.
“You know her, too?” Alejandra asks Valeria, and she nods.
“Yeah. She’s the friend I told you about. The one I invited who couldn’t make it.”
“Oh, small world.” Alejandra eyes them both carefully.
“Come in, come in.” Valeria reaches for Camila’s hand and pulls her in. Camila takes a hesitant step forward, letting herself be led further into the house.
Nerves take over her body. She half expects Valeria’s girlfriend to be in the kitchen, some invisible gravity she’s been bracing for and wishes she’d had time to prepare for.
But the only two people she meets are Lily—Ella’s girlfriend—and Clara—Alejandra’s girlfriend.
“You made it!” Ella says as she walks in from what Camila assumes is the backyard.
“I did. Thanks again for the invite.”
“How do you know Isabella?” Valeria asks, and Camila’s cheeks warm at the memory of her and Ella standing awkwardly outside of her hotel room after stopping each other mid-hookup.
Camila definitely doesn’t want to explain any of that, so she settles for the most technically accurate version. “We met at a conference.”
Ella and Lily chuckle, shaking their heads, which tells Camila that at least Lily knows the truth.
Valeria turns to them and smirks. “Ah! You’re that girl from the conference.”
Camila bites her lip as her entire face heats.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Lily says, mercifully interrupting. “Valeria has told us so much about you. How’s your cat?”
“She’s great, thank you,” Camila says, more than happy to change the topic. “Valeria’s been amazing. She’s answered every tiny question I’ve thrown her way.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Valeria says with a casual shrug.
“Do you want something to drink?” Clara offers.
Camila nods. “Sure.”
“Red or white?”
“Whatever’s open is perfect,” Camila says, remembering the bottle still in her hand. “Oh, and I brought this for you.” She hands the bottle to Ella.
“Thank you!” Lily and Ella chime together.
Clara pours Camila a glass of red, and Camila takes a generous gulp, hoping it’ll take the edge off. Liquid courage, she tells herself, a little something to help coax out the version of her that can talk to anyone about anything.
They all head to the backyard, where a big patio set circles a bonfire. There’s still a bite of early spring in the air, but the fire crackles enough to keep it at bay.
They settle into their seats, and that’s when Camila notices the game sitting in the center of the table. Wavelength. She’s never heard of this one before.
She must look as confused as she feels because Valeria catches her eye and grins. “Have you ever played?”
Camila shakes her head. “Nope. What’s it about?”
“It’s a team guessing game,” Valeria explains, leaning forward.
Camila does her damndest to ignore the flutter in her belly at the sudden closeness.
“There’s this dial inside that slides between two extremes, hot and cold, boring and exciting, or real and fake.
On your turn, you’ll see where the dial is set on the scale, you’ll pick a card between two extremes, and you’ll have to give us a clue that’ll help us guess where that spot is. ”
Alejandra jumps in. “So if the dial’s close to cold, you might say something like ‘ice cream.’ The rest of us will talk about your clue and try to figure it out as a group.”
Camila laughs. “So, basically, it’s a game about reading each other’s minds?”
“Basically.” Clara grins as she spins the dial. “You’ll see. It’s way harder than it sounds. I’ll go first so you get the idea.”
Clara gives the wheel a few spins before she flips over the first card. Reckless or Safe. Clara peeks at the dial, tapping her chin in thought. “Okay, my clue is . . . getting a tattoo on a whim.”
Lily laughs immediately. “That’s bold, top of the scale bold.”
Valeria shakes her head. “Depends. If it’s something small, maybe not.”
“Yeah, but she said on a whim,” Ella points out before leaning back in her chair. “No planning? That’s pretty reckless.”
Camila sips her wine, content to watch them volley opinions back and forth.
“Yeah, but this is Clara,” Alejandra says. “She’s done that at least ten times this year. I can guarantee she set it more toward safe than reckless.”
Ella laughs. “You’re right, you’re right.”
Alejandra adjusts the dial, settling it somewhere between the middle and Safe. “If that doesn’t get us full points, I’ll be shocked.” She flips the cover before anyone can object, clearly confident she doesn’t need their approval.
She’s right. Alejandra turns to Clara and dusts off her shoulders with a playful smirk on her face.
“You know me too well, babe.” Clara kisses Alejandra as everyone laughs.