Chapter 9
If only all of life’s mistakes could be washed away with a thick stack of Clorox wipes and a spritz of Windex, Liz thought as she wiped crumbs off the kitchen counter and started scrubbing the pile of dishes that had accumulated in the sink. If that were the case, she’d have been spared the morning’s headaches after last night’s messes. Instead, as she loaded up the dishwasher and rinsed out the coffeepot, replacing the beans with a fresh brew, she tried to think about anything other than the disaster that last night became. Anything other than her fiancé.
She thought about all the work she had to do on her application when she got back into town.
She thought about the comforting shelves at Elegant Fabrics, the store she’d visit in the Garment District during lunch.
She thought about a new pear-and-ravioli recipe she’d try for dinner this week. A taste of Italy. Was that jinxing it? Or manifesting? (Was there a difference?)
Mostly, Liz thought about how she couldn’t wait to get off Fire Island.
She’d assumed she was the first of the group awake that morning, so she was pleasantly surprised to see a bag of fresh bagels on the counter and two pitchers of iced coffee already stored away in the fridge by the time she got downstairs. Was this an apology from Cam? A belated gesture of goodwill from Maggie?
Liz was less pleasantly surprised when she read the accompanying note in Robyn’s handwriting:
We had to head back super early for an unexpected appointment! Please accept these bagels (gluten free) and coffees (black or oat milk only—almond is killing the planet, people!) as a token of our gratitude for a fun weekend, and an apology for not sticking around to clean. XO Robyn and Mac
They’d snuck out early without so much as a goodbye. Liz wished this wasn’t recent par for the course with Robyn, but she seemed to be the queen of Irish exits. She silenced the tiny Maggie in her ear broadcasting the ways Robyn brought out an un-Mac-like side of Mac. He had always loved a long goodbye. He hated leaving any party early, especially a weekend getaway. They were usually the ones dragging Mac out by his heels.
Robyn was bringing out a different side of him, but Liz reasoned that different wasn’t necessarily bad.
It was just new.
She put that out of her mind as she picked up around the share house. She was an anxious cleaner.
Last night had started out wonderful, which is what made Liz feel even worse. The air had been perfect, crisp and light. The sunset had exploded in shades of orange and pink. She and Cam had watched the sky from the bay before heading into the bar. He took a photo of her standing in front of the water, a candid smile on her lips. His sunset, his sun, he had said.
It was the type of June night that could make even cynics fall in love.
She and Cam had walked into the Sandbar hand in hand. They danced and sang, vocal cords straining in their necks, sore throats a souvenir. Cam knew every word to every song that had ever existed. It didn’t even feel hyperbolic. He would change the lyrics to add their friends’ names. “Brenna and Eddie were still going steady.” “All I do is Quinn, Quinn, Quinn no matter what.” He called himself the “Piano Cam” whenever the Billy Joel closer played.
Other patrons would look across the dance floor at Cam, obvious attraction in their eyes. Liz was used to it, but he never even noticed. He’d sing right at her, or keep a free arm planted around her waist. She didn’t pay mind to the jealous stares. She didn’t need to. It wasn’t that she was proud to be with him, which of course she always was. She was simply proud of him. He was magic when he wanted to be.
Liz loved re-falling in love with Cam whenever she could. She had found herself doing it again last night. That jolt of attraction, of appreciation. An out-of-body experience of looking at your partner and counting your lucky stars. He was the best decision Liz had ever made; she realized it again in that moment, watching him laugh and dance and sing. She loved Cam in a crowd, but mostly because it reminded her of the other sides of Cam, the juxtaposition of it; the Sandbar customers glimpsed the Saturday-night Cam, but she had so much more all to herself. She had the Cam who spent Monday nights watching Jeopardy!, calling out every answer like a wizard in disguise (while both admitted to secret crushes on the game show villain, James). The Cam who would spend what felt like hours pouring, failing, and re-pouring batter just to get that perfect pancake flip. The Cam who could get so quiet, so pensive, so serious, it was like he was on the brink of discovering a new world.
The Cam who only Liz got to see and know and love.
No matter what else had happened, she had Cam. She had his entire spectrum, his shyness and his magnetism. She had his every part.
Now she was going to marry him. She was never going to be alone again.
In that moment, Liz decided that she needed to tell him the truth. She hated smiling at him while keeping the fellowship a secret. She resolved to bring it up soon, maybe during the band’s next break. She’d be honest and ask not necessarily for his blessing (though she’d gladly accept that), but for his advice.
But then Cam did that thing that he’d started doing recently.
Scaring her.
It started when PJ joked that Cam and Liz should book the Sandbar’s band, Tradewinds, for their wedding. Cam answered that his mom had already reached out to the Hank Lane band company, right at the same time that Liz said she’d actually prefer a DJ. It was awkward, sure, but it shouldn’t have been that big a deal.
But after that, Cam’s mood turned sour. He kept drinking, and the destruction followed. The yelling came later, as it too often did these days. It was so unlike him, all the screams, the anger. The arguments were nonsensical—that he didn’t want to go home yet, that the band wouldn’t play his song, though they never took requests, that Liz was being mean because she wasn’t smiling as he made a scene.
Blue: the breakfast plate Liz was clearing the morning after in the kitchen.
Blue: Liz’s pajama shirt last night, soaked with tears.
Crash.
The plate dropped to the floor. Pieces scattered across the tile.
“Shit.” Liz kneeled to the ground to pick up the shards, willing herself not to cry again.
“Lizard, wait, I got it,” Cam said. He’d appeared in the kitchen with a broom in one hand, a Ziploc bag in the other. He’d heard the crash and come running. Liz let him pick up the pieces. She was tired of being the one to play that part.
Once the plate was carefully discarded, Cam helped Liz finish with the rest of the cleaning, even as the remaining friends headed to the beach. Liz never minded cleaning, one of life’s only sure successes. Easy wins. Together, they stripped the beds, started the laundry, emptied the trash. They were silent but their rhythm was natural.
They’d spent many nights like this after her mom was gone, wordlessly cleaning out casserole containers, emptying closets, getting the house and the store both ready to sell. Even when they were working in different rooms, they were somehow always aware of where the other stood. When Liz sold her mother’s house, her store, when she packed up all those memories, she had never felt more alone. It was Liz’s decision, but Cam held her hand every step of the way.
Cam was who she leaned on. Cam was who had saved her.
That’s what hurt Liz the most. They were a good team. The best team. They had been for a decade. They had been through hell and back this year.
Why was Cam now risking everything? A quieter voice asked, why was she?
Liz was back at the kitchen sink again, handwashing the slew of water glasses and coffee mugs she’d found in the bedrooms. She used her elbow grease, pushing and scrubbing through her pain.
What if all of this was the wrong path? What if Cam was changing his mind, about Liz, about their life together? What if this was Cam repelling, regretting? What if she had put all her eggs in a trick basket?
Liz gasped slightly as arms found their way around her stomach.
Cam was hugging her from behind, his chin on top of her head. He pulled her in tight. She’d always loved when he held her that way.
“I love you,” he said.
“I know,” Liz said.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked down at her ring, reflecting the window’s light. She would need to get it tightened when they got back to Manhattan, the band was a size too large. Now the diamond was covered in dish detergent suds, the soap making it shimmer even brighter. It felt like a dagger. A reminder of all that could go wrong. By marrying Cam, was Liz making a terrible mistake?
She wished she could talk to someone. Sure, she had some college mentors, a few friendly coworkers, a distant cousin in Seattle who always liked her Instagram posts. But when it came down to it, Liz’s support circle was, well, gone. Quinn and Brenna were too close to them all, too excited about the wedding, their friend group, to see the forest for the trees.
After Maggie left, and then her mom, Liz never let anyone in that close again. Anyone who wasn’t Cam. She’d thrown herself into him. She’d lost herself in him alone.
Liz’s heart broke open. She wished she could talk to her mom.
“I know I don’t deserve you,” Cam said. “Please trust me. I’m so sorry. Last night won’t happen again.”
Liz swallowed.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
“Okay,” she said, and Cam exhaled in relief. He kissed her cheek, and then her mouth, and then her ear and her hair and her nose.
“Okay,” Liz said, despite all the apologies that were building. Each incoming sorry undercutting the worth of the last. For wouldn’t “sorry” lose its magic if it happened all the time?