ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟛𝟚
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I had thrown up about four times on the plane ride home. Four very distinct, very humiliating times. It was safe to say I would never be drinking ever again.
Ever.
Never ever.
The airport bathroom, the tiny airplane bathroom, the paper bags...I was certain I'd personally traumatized at least one flight attendant.
I couldn't even remember half of what I'd said after the wedding. Bits and pieces floated through my head like broken glass.
But the part where Cam had found my bag was burned into my brain.
I could tell he was annoyed, and I don't blame him.
I basically cried to him, sobbing after my call with Dannah ended, telling him we had to go back home.
I felt sorry we cut the vacation short, but I wasn't going to let Georgia overtake me. Every time I shut my eyes, I heard Dannah's voice again.
My position.
The words kept bouncing around my skull harder than the headache did.
Fine. Let her have the office- she can keep the title. I'll keep being better.
We were now driving back to the very missed mansion. Cameron was behind the wheel, and he kept sneaking glances at me.
I leaned my forehead against the cool passenger window, shutting my eyes. The movement of the SUV only made my stomach twist harder.
Wonderful.
California had been sunshine. Minnesota had welcomed us home with gray skies and a headache..
Neither of us had spoken much since leaving the airport. The suitcases rested in the back, the radio drifted quietly.
"I liked California." He said, quiet.
I didn't have the energy to reply back. I guess all that vomit took away my fun.
Plus, I had the worst hangover ever. Terrible migraine.
"...Mhm." That was all I managed.
"I liked having you all to myself."
I closed my eyes tighter.
Please, please, please don't make me have a conversation. My head physically couldn't take one.
The silence was mine again. Thankfully.
A few minutes later, he spoke. "Are you still nauseous?"
"A little." I murmur.
"You want me to pull over?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
Another few miles passed. The SUV rolled smoothly down the highway.
I shifted slightly in my seat.
Biggest mistake ever.
The movement sent another wave of dizziness crashing into me. I groaned quietly.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"No."
His hand tightened slightly around the steering wheel as he looked over.
"You're going to be sick again?"
"I don't know."
"We can pull over."
"I already said no."
He nodded. "Okay."
"...You want me to crack the window?"
"It's already cracked, Cam."
"Right."
Quiet came back again.
I could practically feel him wanting to help. Poor man.
He looked more stressed than I felt, which was saying something. A few more minutes passed before he reached toward the center console.
Without taking his eyes off the road, he grabbed my water bottle and held it toward me.
"You should drink."
"I don't want it." I tell him.
"You need to."
"I'll throw it back up."
"You still should."
I sighed. Sighing required less effort than arguing. I took the bottle anyway.
One tiny sip.
I then immediately regretted it.
"...See? You drank. It wasn't that hard."
He smiled just a little.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
I handed the bottle back. He placed it gently into the cupholder.
My head throbbed harder.
Another long stretch of silence settled between us. Normally, silence between Cameron and me felt comfortable.
Today it felt heavy.
Every time my thoughts slowed down, they found their way back to Dannah's phone call.
The promotion. My office. My clients..
My work. Everything I'd spent years building.
Stolen. Just like that.
Or at least...that was how it felt.
I rubbed slowly at my temple. Touching my head made it hurt more.
Who the heck designs headaches? I had serious questions.
"I can almost hear you thinking." Cameron said suddenly.
I didn't respond.
"You want to tell me what you're thinking about?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
He nodded once. "Okay."
He stayed quiet for only a minute.
"Dix..."
"What now?" I snap at him.
"If it's about work-"
"It is." I cut him off.
"I figured."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I wasn't gonna make you."
"Good."
I just wanted some type of silence. Was that so hard to ask for?
"...I'm sorry."
I turned my head slightly. "What for?"
"The trip ending like this."
I stared at him. His eyes stayed on the road.
"I wanted you to have fun."
"I did."
"You don't sound convinced."
"I had fun."
That wasn't a complete lie. I think this was the most fun I've ever had with Cameron.
"...Until." he concluded.
I looked back out the window. The passing trees blurred together.
"I don't want to talk about Georgia."
He didn't answer immediately.
When he finally did, his voice remained patient. "We don't have to."
That should've made me feel better. Instead, it made my chest ache.
He wasn't pushing. The least I could do was tell him, right? I needed to rant about my problems anyways.
"I just..." I muttered quietly.
The words disappeared before I finished them.
"What?"
"Nothing." I shook my head.
"Dixie, I know you."
I almost laughed. Unfortunately I already knew laughing was going to hurt. So instead, I just looked out the window again.
"I worked really hard."
"Of course you did."
"So hard."
"I missed birthdays, I skipped dinners, I even stayed late sometimes."
"I earned that position."
"You did." His answers came immediately.
There was certainty in his voice.That almost made it worse. Because if Cameron believed it... then why didn't Ted?
Why didn't the firm?
Why Georgia? Why now?
My stomach twisted again. This time not because of the alcohol.
"I just don't understand." My voice came out much smaller than I intended.
Cameron didn't rush to answer. "I don't either."
Well, that surprised me. "You don't?"
"No."
"I thought you'd tell me there's a reason."
"There probably is, but I don't know it yet."
He glanced over briefly. "And neither do you."
I frowned.
"Don't decide what their intentions were before they've had a chance to explain them."
I stared out the windshield. "I don't want an explanation though, I want my job."
"You still have your job."
"You know what I mean."
"I do."
Silence settled again. The first familiar neighborhoods began appearing outside. Street after street I'd driven down hundreds of times.
Everything looked exactly the same, yet I felt completely different.
Home wasn't supposed to arrive this quickly, and vacation wasn't supposed to end like this.
But of course, nothing I wanted could go my way.
Eventually the massive wrought-iron gates of our property came into view.
They rolled open slowly as Cameron's SUV approached. He drove through without saying a word.
Usually coming home felt comforting. But today it just felt like life had been waiting patiently for us to return.
And judging by the pounding in my head, life wasn't wasting any time.
~
The front door hadn't even fully closed behind us before I wanted everyone in the house to leave me alone.
Thankfully, only one other person lived here.
Cameron quietly wheeled both suitcases inside before locking the door behind us. The familiar scent of cedar and lemon polish greeted us.
Normally I'd breathe it in.
Home.
It just smelled too strong. Everything smelled too strong.
The flowers by the staircase, the wood polish. Cameron's cologne. Even the stupid candles one of the maids we had over vacation had probably lit before we came home.
I slipped my shoes off with considerably more force than necessary. One landed sideways.
Cameron glanced over.
"Dixie, are you alright?"
"No."
He crouched beside the luggage. "I'll bring these upstairs."
"I can do mine."
"I know."
"Then why are you...?"
"'Cause I love you."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Cam, please."
"What?" He immediately stopped.
"...Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Talk. Please don't talk."
He blinked. "Okay, then."
He looked genuinely confused.
"No, I really mean it."
"I heard you." he throws his hands up in defense.
"Your voice hurts my ears. I hate it right now."
He stared at me, like he was trying to decide whether I was joking.
Well, I wasn't.
"My voice?"
"Yes." I answer simply.
Like what was so hard to understand about that?
"It..hurts your ears?"
"Everything hurts my ears."
He opened his mouth. "That's not fair."
I looked at him, very slowly.
"Cameron, for the love of all things holy, please stop talking."
He held both hands up. "Alright."
He mimed zipping his lips. Normally, that would've made me laugh. I rolled my eyes and walked straight past him.
I heard him mutter quietly behind me. "...Definitely never drinking again."
"I heard that, you idiot."
"I know."
"You just said you weren't talking."
I turned around. He pointed dramatically at his own mouth before shrugging as if to say, Technically I whispered.
He smiled.
I did not. He wisely decided that was enough.
Good choice.
Very good choice.
~
The kettle hissed softly on the stove.
I leaned both palms against the kitchen counter, shutting my eyes.
Tea fixed everything.
Didn't it?
Headaches, heartbreak, career crises, Georgia, Ted, hangovers, maybe even me. Surely, chamomile had to cover at least one of those.
Behind me I heard the refrigerator open. Then cabinets opening and closing.
Cameron. He wasn't talking.
I appreciated that more than I was willing to admit. A minute later he quietly set a bottle of ibuprofen beside me.
He nudged it a little closer towards me before walking away.
Well, that was considerate.
I stared at the bottle, then at his retreating back.
"Thank you."
He lifted a thumbs up over his shoulder without turning around.
The kettle clicked. I poured the hot water over my tea bag, steam immediately curled upward. I wrapped both hands around the mug.
This was exactly what I needed. By the time I reached the bedroom upstairs, the tea had cooled enough to drink.