“It’s never too late to make up for lost time,” I tell her.
I concoct some awful drinks and hand her one of the glasses. “To Ever,” she says, tapping her glass against mine.
“To Everything.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NORMALLY, AFTER A day like today, I’d want to get to bed as fast as possible to close out the day and seal it up in my mental never-remember-this box, but today is different. Today, or tomorrow—whatever day it is—hasn’t ended, and I’m not sure I would complain about it. It’s like someone is de-weeding my life.
“Do you remember the night we went down to that old farmhouse,” Cammy says, giggling into the back of her hand.
“Oh my God, we almost got busted big time that night,” I add. “It probably wasn’t the best place to hook-up, you know, after finding out someone did actually live in that house. We were kind of asking for it.”
A blush flashes across Cammy’s cheeks. “It’s a good thing the cop was new and didn’t know my dad,” she says.
“What if he did know your dad? What if your dad knew who I was? I never did understand why you didn’t tell your parents about me before you got pregnant. It bothered me,” I tell her, as I refill my glass with the crap nips we saved for last.
“It wasn’t you, AJ,” she says, falling back into the couch cushion. “I wasn’t allowed to date. Mom and Dad were kind of old school and told me I had to wait until I was eighteen.”
“Old school?” I laugh. “Back in their day, kids were hooking up way before eighteen. They just didn’t talk about it.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “I have no idea what their problem was; although, if I had actually listened to them—”
“We’d be missing Everything,” I tell her.
She lifts her glass up, toasting the air, and chugs it down. “I love her so much,” she says. “It’s amazing how all of those feelings came rushing back to me instantly, like a magnetic connection.”
“Yeah,” I say, exhaling loudly. “I know a thing or two about those instant magnetic connections.” I meant it how I said it, and it’s not about Ever this time.
Cammy releases a small cough and places her hand over her cheek, knowing exactly what I meant. “AJ,” she sighs.
“Cammy,” I mimic her tone.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” she says quietly.
“Not a bit,” I confirm.
“Although, you don’t seem as funny as you used to be,” she says, straightening her posture, as if she needed a dagger to fight me off.
“I’ve been doing my best to find my sense of humor these past couple of years, but yeah.”
“I’m sorry you haven’t been happy.” She looks down into her glass and takes another sip.
“I’m sorry you haven’t been happy. All I wanted was for you to live the life you wanted.”
“I guess things have a way of happening for a reason,” she says.
“I think you’re right.”
My heart is pounding and my breaths feel short while my nerves are all awake and piercing through every inch of my skin. My body is aching and my mind is closing out the rational side of my conscience—forgetting all the reasons why I should have explained myself to Cammy tonight and then gone home. I place my glass down on the coffee table and hang my head between my shoulders, struggling with my nagging thoughts. Interrupting my internal battle, Cammy’s hand rests on my back. “You okay?”
“No,” I tell her, shaking my head.
“Did I say something wrong?”
I lift my head and, finding her face close to mine, I grab her by the shoulders and forcefully push her down onto the couch. Her eyes are wide, large, blazing at me with wonder, and—I think—hope. I swallow hard and crawl over her, resting one foot on the ground, and two hands on either side of her face. Her chest is moving up and down quickly, and I hear her swallow her nerves. I lean forward, bringing my lips less than an inch from hers. I can already taste the liquor on her breath, and her eyes tell me she’s accepting of whatever might happen before they gently flutter closed. Her lashes feather her flushed skin, and my chest begins to hurt. It might explode.
As difficult as it is, I find the willpower to stop before this goes any further. This is not the right time for anything like this to happen. “I need to do this right,” I tell her. Placing my hand on her cheek while stroking a small circle with the pad of my thumb, I press my lips to her forehead. “I need to figure out my marriage first, or the lack of marriage.”
Cammy looks embarrassed as she pulls herself up against the armrest of the couch. “I’m so sorry,” she says, breathlessly.
“No, do not be sorry. Do you understand?”
“You’re right, though. I don’t want to be the other woman,” she says, clutching at the neckline of her blouse.
I huff a quiet laugh. “The other woman?” I give her a half smile. “You could never be the other woman, which is why I need to figure my shit out.”
She nods hastily. “Yes, you do.”