Chapter 8 Cam W — Delightful disasters
Goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, William Shakespeare
When I agreed to housesit to look after Nettie so Damon could whisk Cordy away for a dirty two-night vacation, I didn’t realize she was so needy.
I loved Nettie. She was a typical Labrador, full of energy and hungry for anything remotely edible, but she sure was clingy.
Her smell was permanently imprinted on me given she was attached to my side.
Taking her on her second walk of the day in the hope she’d chill out, I bumped into Miranda as she was leaving the house.
“Ah, I forgot you were on Nettie-sitting duties this week!” I loved her smile. It was sweet and genuine, and it made her eyes crinkle up at the sides. She’d have defined laughter lines by the time she was 40, but I loved that.
“Yeah! Where are you off to?” It was a Wednesday night, and I knew Douche Cam was out of town.
“I’m off to the gallery. I’m in my first ever show tomorrow night and I want to help set up. I’ll be flat out tomorrow, so I wanted to put the finishing touches on things tonight.”
“Hey, congrats! That’s a big deal, Miranda. What time is it?”
“It opens at 7 pm. I’m so nervous! I know I need to put myself out there to be a proper artist, but I’m terrified I’ll hear someone talking smack about my work.”
“If they do, take names. I’ll visit them and remind them nicely that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And that they should cut you some slack in honor of your collarbones.” Smooth Cam, real smooth.
She looked a bit confused but continued to walk to her car.
“Will do! Thanks Cam.” With that, she was gone.
I was usually more in control when I flirted with women, but Miranda threw me off my game.
I remembered the first time we’d met when Damon and I had helped Cordy’s dickhead ex move furniture.
She was beautiful, and I was determined to introduce myself and ended up just blurting out my name in the middle of someone’s conversation.
The second time we interacted was not any better.
I moved into the kitchen to chat with Cordy’s beautiful sister. We were all here to increase pressure on fuckwit Harrison to move out, and I was all for that. But honestly, my main motive was spending more time with Miranda, even if she already had a Cameron.
“Hey Miranda, good to see Plan Vengeance is moving along.”
She smiled deviously at me and winked. “Oh, it’s moving along well. It’s a matter of time until that small-handed asshole moves out.”
“You’re so symmetrical,” I blurted out. “I mean, your face is well organized. Like, all in the right places. And the size is good.” Fucking hell. This was terrible. Lucky her boyfriend was in the other room.
“Um, thanks, I guess. So, I’m like an organized da Vinci piece?”
“Yeah, but you’ve got way better hair than the Vitruvian Man. And cheekbones. And there’s no penis.”
She smiled politely like you would at the local gas station crackhead and continued to sprinkle cheese on the nachos. Forced out of the situation by my own awkwardness, I shuffled out of the room.
The third time was somewhat better, and I like to think I improved my performance. The best part of that conversation was getting my first real glimpse of how her mind worked, not that even a team of scientists could achieve that in a decades-long study, but still.
I sat across from Miranda at Damon’s Halloween party.
Bad Cam was attending Jess’s family function, so she was wonderfully alone.
From the time I said I was an app developer, she seemed fascinated.
She’d started the conversation with “I’ve had the best idea ever,” which was a dangerous statement coming from Miranda.
“So,” she began, leaning forward conspiratorially, “what if you built an app that rates your revenge ideas? Like, you type in what someone did—say, your sister eats the last of your ice cream—and it tells you if you should ignore it, prank her, or, you know, lightly ruin her week.”
I blinked. “Lightly ruin …?”
“It’s called Revenge-o-Meter,” she said proudly, doodling the name on a napkin. “It could have sliders for pettiness and moral risk. Maybe a ‘Would Gandhi Approve?’ filter.”
I tried to look serious. “And … people would want this?”
“Of course. Everyone loves justice. Especially the petty kind. You could even add a share function so friends can vote on your revenge level. But there should be a warning before you share to prompt you whether those people can be trusted.” Her face was deadly serious.
I opened my mouth, shut it, and finally said, “Miranda, that’s … something.”
Really, I was thinking that it’s insane, morally questionable, and probably the best app pitch I’ve ever heard. Before I could redirect her toward anything sane, she added brightly, “Or the Dog Translator. That’s my backup.”
“Dog … translator?”
“Yeah! You record your dog’s bark, and it tells you what they’re saying. Like, maybe my neighbor’s corgi keeps yelling ‘stop microwaving fish’ at me, not that I microwave fish, but you know … It’d be so enlightening. Damon could find out why Nettie is obsessed with his golf bag.”
I stifled a laugh. “You think dogs are trying to … communicate etiquette?”
“Of course they are. Dogs are just furry, judgmental people. Nettie is really judgmental, but she’s smart.” She eyed the black Labrador sitting at the side of the sofa as if to say “I’m onto you!”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. She was so serious. And I was so gone for her.
She went on, fully animated now. “Oh! And maybe it could also detect tone—like if the bark means ‘I love you’ or ‘stop singing Cher songs.’ That would help with relationships, right?”
“Between people or between species?”
“Both,” she said, deadpan.
I couldn’t help but grin. Her brain was chaos in motion, ideas fired faster than code ever could.
I wanted to tell her that half her suggestions would get me sued, and the other half would probably end up in a psychology paper titled ‘The Tech-Enabled Breakdown of Modern Society.’ But I didn’t.
I just watched her talk, all spark and sincerity, and thought, God, she’s amazing.
“And I’ve got one more,” she said suddenly, lowering her voice. “It’s called VibeCheckr. For workplaces.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Define … vibe.”
“You walk into the office, and it tells you if someone’s in a bad mood before you talk to them. Saves lives. Especially mine.”
“That’s … terrifyingly useful,” I admitted.
“I know! I’d be rich. You could code that too. Maybe link it to people’s email tone or—oh!—their typing speed. When Letty’s annoyed with me, she’s the fastest typist in the world. Once she hits 90 words per minute, I know I have to get my ass out to the café to buy her a coffee and pastry.”
“Is … Is Letty annoyed with you often?”
She scrunched up her nose. “Art people can be highly strung; they’re not all chill and calm like me.”
Maybe she could sometimes be described as chill, but I wasn’t sure calm was the right adjective.
“She likes things just so, so the smallest deviation can really rock her boat.”
I had to ask. I shouldn’t, but I had to.
“What are the small things that annoy her?”
She turned her eyes to the ceiling in serious thought.
“Well, I thought it would be on theme to create labels for stuff in the break room, you know, like the plaques on all of our works. She didn’t like that, but even Lucas thought it was funny.
Just basic stuff like ‘Plate Whisperer’ on the dishwasher.
But even tiny little things, like when I talk to the sculptures or change the background music, bother her.
” She shook her head like this Letty was somehow unreasonable.
I was smiling before I realized it. “Miranda, are you pitching me three different apps that combine emotional manipulation, revenge, and mind-reading?”
She shrugged. “Innovation doesn’t wait for moral approval.”
I laughed, shaking my head, trying not to imagine actually coding VibeCheckr just to see what it said about me right now (probably “hopeless romantic with self-control issues).”
When she finally took a breath, sipping her soda, I thought of all the people who’d ever dismissed her as chaotic or flighty. They didn’t see this side, the bright, restless intelligence under all the impulsive energy. The spark that made her ideas ridiculous and brilliant at the same time.
“Cam,” she said suddenly, leaning closer, “do you think I’m crazy?”
I met her gaze, soft and steady. “No. I think you’re … unpredictable. And I’d rather build one of your impossible apps than a dozen practical ones without you in the room.”
Her cheeks flushed. She looked away, fumbling with her napkin, completely missing that I meant every word. I coughed into my hand and ended with the suave, “but I mostly just build practical apps for companies, like customer portals and stuff.”
I’d never build VibeCheckr. But if I did, I already knew the result: Level 10: You’re completely gone for her. Proceed with caution, or not at all.
I like to think I’d redeemed myself since then, but sometimes I still said weird things. And her collarbones had come up a few times now. She definitely suspected I had a fetish.
I punished myself for the rest of the walk for blowing yet another chance to charm the girl of my dreams. I sometimes felt bad for actively hitting on a taken woman, but her Cam was an immature dick.
I liked to think I’d back off if he was a good guy and treated her well but honestly, I don’t know that I would have.
The heart wants what it wants. I’d never cheat with anyone, but if I won her fair and square, and she was clear of that guy, then to the victor go the spoils.
While sitting at the table eating a quick dinner, I took out my phone and googled appropriate gifts to give an artist at their first show.
I’d already bought her flowers, so that knocked out that possibility.
Most results suggested flowers or art supplies.
I had no idea what supplies she used. I’d seen her paintings, but I didn’t know anything about art.
I jumped on a local art supply website and found the perfect gift. For this, I needed Mom’s help.