Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CAMILA
With Valeria, everything is smooth and effortless.
Camila always knew it would be easy to get lost in domesticity with her, but she hadn’t accounted for how natural it would be. The more they slip into it, the stronger the nagging feeling in Camila’s chest about involving her mom in this beautiful chapter of her life gnaws at her.
Even if things with Valeria are progressing slowly, Camila wants to tell her mom about it—wants to share how incredibly happy she is and have her mom see it.
During her lunch break, Camila gathers every ounce of courage she can muster and calls her. It rings a few times before her mother picks up.
“Wow,” her mother says, “she remembers she has a mother.”
“Hi, Mom,” Camila replies, biting back a comment about how phones work both ways.
They’ve barely talked since Camila went camping with the girls just over a month ago, with only a few texts from her mom here and there. She should have seen a snarky comment coming, but somehow it didn’t cross her mind.
“Are you calling because something is wrong?” her mother asks, immediately suspicious.
Camila shakes her head. “Everything’s fine,” she says quickly, before worrying her mom. “I wanted to see if you and Dad were around this weekend. I have a lot I want to update you both on.”
“Oh?” her mother says, clearly surprised. “An update? What sort of update?”
“Nothing worrisome, just want to catch up.” Camila bites her bottom lip.
She could tell her mom why, but she needs to mentally prepare for it.
“Okay, your father and I will be home on Saturday. You can come for lunch.”
“Saturday works,” Camila says. “I’ll be there.”
“Good,” her mother replies.
“Bye, Mom.”
Camila hangs up and stares at her phone, slightly proud of herself, before slipping it back into her pocket. Her lunch break is almost over, and thankfully, the rest of the day passes quickly.
When her day finally ends, she grabs her bag, says her goodbyes, and steps into the late afternoon air. The drive home is uneventful: the radio plays softly as the sky fades into early evening, and traffic is surprisingly light.
Today, Valeria is at her mom’s. Camila isn’t even home yet, and her night already feels off balance. No dinner plans, no quiet commentary from Valeria on the couch as they watch a show, no casual brush of fingers as they pass each other in the kitchen.
She lets herself into her house and is immediately greeted by the stillness.
No shoes by the door that aren’t hers, no familiar hum of Valeria moving around in another room.
Camila drops her keys onto the counter and exhales, throwing herself onto the couch, scrolling aimlessly on her phone until it pings with a message from Valeria, and immediately, Camila’s entire body comes alive.
Valeria 6:22 p.m.:
I just realized we haven’t had our first date yet.
Camila 6:22 p.m.:
JUST???
Camila laughs softly. She’s known this for weeks.
She’s wanted to ask Valeria out more times than she can count, but each time, she’s held herself back.
Valeria has set the pace from the beginning, and Camila is more than happy to let her lead—especially when it comes to something as important as their first date.
Valeria 6:22 p.m.:
Well, excuse ME! We need to fix this.
Camila 6:22 p.m.:
I agree
Valeria 6:24 p.m.:
Good. Can I take you out Saturday night?
Camila 6:24 p.m.:
I would love that.
Valeria 6:24 p.m.:
Perfect, you’re perfect. I’ll send you details later. It’s going to be the most amazing first date!
Camila smiles, the way she always does when that pleasant ache begins to bloom in her heart.
It’s been there for weeks now, gentle and persistent, settling beneath her ribs, deepening with every passing day.
Curling through her chest and lingering in the quiet spaces between her thoughts, showing up more often than she ever meant to allow.
Saturday arrives in a flash, and Camila isn’t ready for it.
Not only because of her lunch plans with her parents, but also because of her date with Valeria tonight!
Honestly, the thought alone could make her faint.
This might be the only time she’ll be grateful her mother’s piercing eyes are keeping her out of her own head.
Camila hasn’t even sat down when her mother says, “So, you wanted to tell us something?”
Camila clears her throat and swallows past the lump in her throat. “Yes.”
“How about a drink? You look like you could use it, xuxu,” her father says, already standing and walking toward the bar cart.
“Yeah, that would be great actually,” Camila says, needing something to fill the empty pit in her stomach.
Her mother watches her carefully, eyes slightly narrowed, a subtle tension in her jaw, probably trying to figure out what might be going on. Camila’s mom has never been the patient type, so Camila is glad she seems to be toning her curiosity down right now.
Camila is doing her best to keep the worry at bay, but it feels impossible; no matter how much she reminds herself this isn’t like last time, she can’t help feeling like that fifteen-year-old, excited to share her happiness with her mom, only to be turned down harshly.
She knows—or at least hopes—it won’t play out the same, but she can’t seem to keep the worry at bay.
She and Valeria went over every possible scenario on the phone yesterday, playing out everything her mom might say, from unbelievably understanding to a replica of what happened years ago, and at the end of every one, Valeria would say, “And if it doesn’t go as you expect it to, you will still have me.
” Which, honestly, is the only thing keeping her nerves from fully fraying.
When Camila’s dad drops off a glass filled with an amber liquid in front of her, she doesn’t stop to ask what it is. She grabs it and gulps down the entire glass, letting the liquid burn as it flows down.
Her mother’s eyes widen. Thankfully, her expression smooths, lips pressing into a thin, careful line, and she doesn’t say anything.
Minutes drag by. The only sound in the room is the scrape of forks and their knives cutting through meat. Every sound is louder than it should be. Camila can feel her parents’ eyes on her. Waiting.
She inhales. Once. Twice. Her hands are trembling, so she folds them in her lap.
“So,” she finally says, but the word comes out small.
Her mother straightens immediately, chair legs squeaking faintly against the floor. Her father freezes, knife paused halfway through his steak.
Camila swallows. Her heart is pounding so hard she barely hears herself say, “I’m seeing someone.”
Camila’s mother makes a face Camila can’t quite decipher, but she tries not to let her mind turn it into something ugly. Still, dread tightens in her stomach, and her breath turns sharp, uneven. Her hands go sweaty and clammy, and she keeps wiping them against her jeans.
In the silence that follows, Camila’s mind wanders, despite her best efforts. Playing out a scene that’s entirely too real. One where her mother turns fully toward her, eyes sharp and assessing as she asks, “What happened with Zoe?”
Camila would stiffen—much like she is now—as she tried to explain that she and Zoe are friends and her mother would say what she always did when Camila didn’t like a guy she’d set her up with. “You only went out once; you need time with those things.”
And in that moment, Camila would realize her mother didn’t mean a word about her being accepting of Camila being a lesbian and had only ever been interested in controlling her.
That’s the version she’s prepared for, anyway.
After the initial silence, her father is the first to move, clearing his throat and setting his fork down carefully before asking, “What’s her name?”
“Valeria,” Camila answers, with her heart in her throat.
“Valeria,” he repeats, like he’s testing the name. “That’s . . . that’s nice.” Her father nods approvingly.
Camila nods, a small smile finding her lips.
Her father has never flinched at the truth of her—never questioned her heart.
So his acceptance, offered so freely, doesn’t surprise her.
Still, it loosens something tight in her chest. Underneath the comfort lingers the real ache of her worry: her mother’s reaction.
Last time her mom sent her away for the summer, and as much as Camila knows her mom can’t do that again, the worry of them losing this fragile closeness is there. It would suck if her mom went back on her word as Camila is opening up.
Her mom doesn’t say anything right away. She folds her napkin once, twice. Staring at it for what could have easily been an eternity.
Her mother nods, more to herself than to anyone else. “How long?” her mother asks at last.
Camila tenses, worried her mom will think she’s been hiding it from her. “A few weeks,” she answers before playing with one of Valeria’s rings on her finger. Valeria had insisted Camila wear it so she could feel her close.
Another nod. No sigh. No reprimand.
“And she makes you happy?” she asks.
“Very.” Camila’s word hangs there, fragile as glass.
Her mother exhales slowly, like she’s been holding that breath for years. “Then . . . okay.” The word is careful, but the tightness in Camila’s chest loosens all the same.
Camila’s father looks at his wife, and something in his expression softens, as if he, too, didn’t know what would happen next.
“You should bring her over sometime,” her mother says. “If she wants to.” She rushes the next part, like she’s afraid she’s asking for too much. “No pressure.”
Camila lets out a shaky laugh that sounds more like a breath. “Really?”
Her mother holds her gaze. There’s fear there, yes—but there’s also resolve.
“I think we would both love to meet her,” she says quietly as she looks toward her husband.
“I know I won’t get everything right, right away, but I meant it when I said I want to be in your life.
Both of us do.” She swallows. “And I’m trying. I’m listening.”
Something inside Camila splinters open. She stands, rushing into her mother’s arms. She hasn’t done that since she was a teen.
Her mom gasps, surprised as Camila holds her tightly, but in seconds her arms tighten around her. As they hug, all the arguments she’d rehearsed, all the anger she’d wrapped around herself like armor, loosen, one by one, sliding off her shoulders.
When Camila returns to her seat, her parents pepper her with questions about Valeria. What she’s like, how they met, what she does for work, and Camila happily answers all of them, sharing with her parents every tiny detail that Camila loves about her.
Her throat burns. Her chest aches in the best way. This isn’t the outcome she’d braced for. Still, it’s happening anyway, and she can’t stop the gratitude from swelling in her chest, bright and overwhelming. Happiness finally feels possible.