Chapter 12 #2
Camila can’t tell if Zoe is being intentional about it, or if the flirtatious stare is her default. Regardless, Camila has never been on the receiving end of one that instantly makes her blush the way Zoe’s does.
“Sit, sit.” Her mother motions at the chair next to Camila. Zoe takes it, and they all sit.
Now Camila feels exceptionally underdressed.
Her father and Zoe are both in suits, her mother is in a beautiful floor-length floral dress, and she is in her trusty parachute pants and a fitted muscle tee.
Had she known her mom would try to set her up with a beautiful woman, Camila would have tried harder.
Lunch goes surprisingly smoothly. Camila learns all about Zoe, who just moved to Washington—a point her mother highlights several times as she pushes them to exchange numbers so they can “hang out.” She learns that Zoe has a golden retriever named Picasso, and, more importantly—or at least something her mom really wants her to know—that Zoe is on the market and gay.
So, Camila thinks it’s safe to assume this is indeed a setup, but a far more welcome one than any in the past. Still, it’s left her reeling.
After lunch, as predicted, Camila’s dad retires to his study, and her mom guides Camila and Zoey to the garden, where she sets up a dessert table she barely touches because as soon as she’s done, she remembers she needs to call a caterer for a party she’s helping someone named Marlene host. An excuse, Camila knows it, but she decides not to call her out on it.
“I’ll be back shortly. You girls have some dessert, and get to know each other better,” Camila’s mother says as she sets coffees and pastries in front of them.
“Thank you, Mrs. Oliveira,” Zoe says sweetly.
“Oh, please, call me Sandra,” her mother says before walking back toward the house.
Zoe takes a deep breath, and when Camila’s mother is out of earshot, she says, “I’m guessing they didn’t tell you I’d be joining you guys for lunch?”
“How’d you guess?”
Zoe laughs. “You looked surprised when I walked into the dining room.”
“I was,” Camila says honestly. She won’t tell Zoe why, because telling people her mother is—was? Camila doesn’t know right now—a touch homophobic isn’t exactly something she likes to share. Especially not with someone who has to see her more than Camila does.
“I’m sorry.” Zoe exhales, rubbing the back of her neck. “I hate when my mom does that to me. Now, I’ve somehow become the forced date. How the mighty have fallen.”
Camila chuckles. “No, don’t be. If it makes you feel any better, this is the first time my mom has set me up with someone I could actually be into. My shock was more from that than anything else. I was expecting a dude.”
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t disappoint then.”
“Far from it.” Camila smiles.
“I would love to see you again. Grab coffee? Maybe dinner?” Zoe asks, her voice trailing off slightly as she meets Camila’s gaze.
A foreign excitement courses through Camila; she’s never been asked out by a woman before. She’s always had to make the first move, but honestly, this feels great.
“Sure, yeah, that sounds nice,” she answers shyly, utterly incapable of looking at Zoe.
“Are you only saying yes because of your parents? Because I won’t be offended if you’re not interested.”
At that, Camila’s head shoots up. “No, I’m not only saying yes because of my parents. If anything, I’d say no because of them. Rebel child and all.”
“Noted,” Zoe laughs.
Just then, Camila’s phone rings. She reaches for it and sees it’s a message from Valeria.
“Sorry, I have to take a look at this,” Camila says to Zoe.
“Please.”
Valeria 1:56 p.m.:
Hey, I’m so sorry I haven’t been replying, I’ve had a terrible few days.
Camila 1:56 p.m.:
Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you’re alive. I was seconds from contacting the FBI lol. Everything okay?
Valeria 1:56 p.m.:
Yeah, everything is fine. Brooke drama . . . if you’re free later, I’d love to grab coffee or dinner, there’s so much to catch you up on.
Camila 1:57 p.m.:
That actually sounds nice. I’m at my parents’ right now, and I could use a drink or 10, it’s been a wild day.
Valeria 1:57 p.m.:
Perfect, the coffee shop we like serves alcohol after 5, so we can meet there.
Camila 1:58 p.m.:
Perfect. I’ll see you then.
Camila lets out a long sigh.
“Everything okay?” Zoe asks, eyeing her carefully.
“Yeah, just making plans with a friend. I hadn’t heard from her in a few days, and I was starting to worry she hated me or something.”
“You seem impossible to hate,” Zoe says, her eyes tracing Camila’s face like she’s memorizing her. Camila’s cheeks grow warm with the attention.
“How’s it going over here?” Camila’s mom asks, walking down the path to the garden.
“Great,” Zoe answers cheerfully. “These fruit tarts are delicious.”
“Oh, good! They are Camila’s favorites. Did you try them?” her mom asks, looking straight into her eyes.
“Not yet, but I’m sure they’re amazing, Mom, thank you.”
“Good. Zoe, Eduardo was asking for you. I think he has a question.”
“Oh, sure.” She says, finishing her bite of tart before standing. “Is he still in his office?”
Camila’s mom nods.
Before walking away, Zoe turns to Camila. “I look forward to seeing you soon. It was very nice to meet you,” she says with that smoldering look of hers.
“Same here.” Camila smiles, feeling her mother’s eyes trained on her.
Zoe smiles one last time before turning toward Camila’s father’s office, where they’ll both probably be for the rest of the day.
“So, what do you think?” her mom asks as she takes Zoe’s chair, with a smile so wide that Camila is sure it hurts.
“I think I’m confused. Since when have you accepted my sexuality to the point of trying to set me up with a woman?” Camila doesn’t mean for it to sound so rude, but the tone comes out rough, anyway.
“Oh, Camila, can’t a woman evolve?” her mother asks, exasperated.
“Sure, I just didn’t think you were capable.”
Her mother spins around, drawing in a sharp breath, looking genuinely hurt.
“What a rude thing to say.”
“You sent me to a Christian summer camp to try and pray the gay away,” Camila reminds her. “So I’m sorry if I’m having a hard time with this entire thing.”
“It was not for that; I only wanted you to get away from your friend. I thought she was influencing you and that you needed wholesome people in your life,” her mother states.
Camila scoffs. “Why now? Why, after all these years, have you accepted it? And why is the way you decide to show that support by setting me up with someone? Why couldn’t you talk to me like you are now? You know, like a normal person would.”
“I can’t ever do anything right with you, can I?”
“What? I think these are perfectly reasonable and valid questions.”
“Do you enjoy making me feel bad?” her mother asks with a raised eyebrow. “Is it fun for you to see me that way?”
“Okay, Mom. That isn’t what’s happening. I’m just surprised. My entire life, you’ve either ignored the fact that I’m a lesbian and set me up with every guy you came across or made me feel bad about it. So excuse me if it’s taking me a little longer to wrap my head around all of this.”
“I almost died, Camila,” her mother says, looking out into the garden. There’s a hollowness in her eyes, a faraway look.
“I know,” Camila whispers. An icy dread seeps into her limbs.
“When I was on the floor, waiting for an ambulance, all I could think of was that I’d die and you might feel . . . relief, and I couldn’t blame you. I wanted to, but even in that state, I knew that our not being close was my fault. I didn’t accept you for who you were, so you pushed me away.”
Camila reaches for her mother’s hand, holding it tightly as tears gather in the corners of her eyes, her heart pounding hard against her chest.
“I don’t want to do that anymore,” her mother continues.
“I know my time is limited, and I want to be a part of your life. If that means seeing you fall in love with a woman, so be it. I’m so tired of not being there.
You’re our only child, and I’ve missed so much of your life.
Sometimes I only know what you’re up to because of social media. ”
A lump forms in Camila’s throat. She wants to say something meaningful, something to ease the pain, but words fail her.
“When you first told your father and me, I didn’t know how to react.
I had all these plans for what your life would look like, and you being .
. . into women was never part of it. Selfishly, I was mourning the life I had built for you in my head.
So I tried to fix it by sending you to that camp to help you get back on track.
That was my biggest mistake. I realize it now.
When you came back, you were so mad at me. ”
“That summer changed me, hardened me a little, especially to you. I couldn’t believe you hated who I was so much that you’d send me off,” Camila says, briefly remembering the endless Bible studies and worship circles.
“I didn’t hate you; I don’t hate that you’re gay. Honestly, I don’t know why I did it. I regretted it the moment the bus picked you up, but by that time, it was too late.”
“You could have kept me at home, you could have picked me up.”
“I wanted to, but part of me was worried the damage was done, and I wasn’t ready to face you. To see the disappointment in your eyes.”
For as long as she could remember, she’s wished her mom would say all of this, but hearing it now somehow only makes her feel worse.
She doesn’t know how to consolidate all these emotions.
She doesn’t know how to welcome the good things that will happen when pain is the foundation and has been for over a decade.
Camila wishes she could be happy, but right now she’s numb.
But if her mom is trying, so will she.
“It’s in the past now, Mom,” Camila whispers, reaching for her mother’s hand. “What matters now is that you’re trying; that’s all I ever needed.”
“Thank you,” her mother whispers, pulling Camila into a tight hug.