Cam’s taut nerves snapped. “Since when does settled mean loved unconditionally, Mom? You’ve been settled...what? Five times already? Were you always happy? Did you love Bertie unconditionally? Or Dad? Or Mr.Moffit? Will you love Mr. Ellison here unconditionally when he forgets to pick up his socks once too often or orders the wrong flowers on Valentine’s Day?”
Mom’s face colored the exact hue of her dress, and her lips clamped into a tight line, creasing lines in her forehead.
Crap. She’d gone too far. “I’m sorry,” she muttered and pushed away from the table. “I should go. I’m sorry.”
“No, Cam, stay,” Mr. Ellison said.
Her mother remained stiff and silent.
Cam shook her head. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome tonight.” She faced her mother. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
It wouldn’t matter if she hired a plane to skywrite the words. Mom would only forgive on her own terms, no matter what the offender’s relationship. Wasn’t that the point Cam had just driven home?
She stood, placing her napkin beside her barely-touched plate. “Thanks for dinner.”
And so went the crummy end to the crummiest week she’d endured in years.
BACK AT HER APARTMENT, her trusty bag of tortilla chips ignored on the sofa table, Cam paced figure eights in her floor and tried to come up with someone to talk to. Because despite what she’d boasted to her mother, Cam had very few friends to confide in.
Oh, she had lots of pals: guys she’d call to shoot a few games of pool down at Brady’s Place, former classmates she’d join for girls’ weekends or social brunches, and coworkers who were always up for a few drinks at happy hour. Funtime people.
But someone she could call on a Friday night to talk her off the ledge after a contentious get-together with her mother? That was usually Bertie’s job. And tonight, he wasn’t answering her texts.
Staring out the window at the traffic on the West Side Highway hundreds of feet below her, she scanned her mental contact list for someone, anyone, who’d be available, patient, empathetic, and judicious without being judgmental.
One name came to mind. She hated the idea she might be interrupting something important, or just intruding on what should have been a stress-free, peaceful evening. Besides, she’d never called before—not socially, anyway. That alone could make things awkward. Still...
Why not reach out and try? They were friends. Weren’t they? Only one way to find out. On a deep inhale for courage, she picked up her cell and hit the preset on her favorite contacts screen. Huh.
Funny.
Favorite.
I bet there are very few of my contacts that have me listed as a favorite.
No. Don’t go there. You’re feeling sorry enough for yourself without the mental self-flagellation.
Lucky for Cam, this particular favorite answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Val? Umm... hi. It’s Cam.”
“Cam. Hi.” Her reply was hesitant, which told Cam she was intruding. Crap. “Did... something happen... at the office?”
A guilty flush warmed her cheeks and tightened her throat. Pathetic that in all the years they’d known each other, Cam had never once called Val if the situation wasn’t work-related. Until tonight. Val would have every right to blow her off and tell her to kiss off. Cam swallowed hard and plowed ahead, expecting nothing, yet hoping for more kindness than she’d ever bestowed.
“No,” she said, her tone rough with dread. “I’m sorry to bother you. I was... umm... just wondering...” God, why was this so hard? Just spit it out, idiot! “Umm... how was your dinner?”
“Awful,” Val replied. “The company tells you these meals are foolproof, you know? Well, that may be, but they sure aren’t Val-proof. I put it in the oven and then I fell asleep on the couch. Next thing I know, the smoke alarm’s going off, and I’ve got a charcoal briquette for dinner. Did you ever burn fish? It took a whole can of air neutralizer and six window fans to get rid of the stink.”
Cam dug up a smile of camaraderie. Cooking was not something she’d ever mastered, either. “Well, I give you props for trying. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in splitting a pizza with me, would you? My treat.”
Did she imagine the slight hesitation on the other end? Maybe. Either way, she deserved it, she supposed.
“Only if you’re willing to come here. I’m already in my pajamas. I think our trip took more out of me than I realized.”
Yeah. She felt much the same way. “I can do that.”
“Can you come here in your jammies?” Val added. “‘Cuz, if you show up all glammed up in a pretty pink dress and heels, I’m taking the pizza and slamming the door on you.”
Actually, that sounded fun—a pajama party kinda thing. Stress-free, hair-down, and no boys allowed. “I can do that.”
“And no work talk! It’s Friday night, we’ve had a grueling week, and I want the next two and a half days for vegging out.”
“Not a problem.”
“You’ll have to come out by car. I’m in Nassau County. And you definitely don’t want to jump on a crowded train on a Friday night in the summer. Especially if you’re in some shortie pajamas.”
“True.” She’d have to call the service. See who was available tonight. But Val was right. She did not want to risk the pressing bodies on the Long Island Railroad trains. “Okay. Anything else?”
“Yeah. I like pineapple on my pizza. If that’s a deal-breaker, now’s the time to speak up.”
She stifled her distaste; she needed this tonight. If that meant pineapple, so be it. “No deal-breakers. I’ll be there in about an hour.”
“Grab yourself some wine for the ride. I’m gonna have a helluva head start on you by then.”
Cam grinned. “I’ll bring more.”
Sure enough, an hour later, she climbed up onto the wraparound porch of a blue, two-story colonial situated on a busy side street off the parkway, a bottle of wine (minus a glass or
