“She trusts you,” I said.
“When she’s thinking clearly, yes. When she has her priorities in the right order.”
“And what about your dad? Is he remarried?”
Camden’s face flickered with something dark and complicated.
“I don’t know who my dad is,” he said after a few moments.
I stopped and turned to face him. “You mean, like, in a metaphysical sense? Or you literally don’t know his identity?”
“That second thing,” said Camden. “My mom got knocked up during some music festival in New Mexico. She hung out with a few different guys that weekend, but never got their last names. So she had no way of determining who made, you know, the donation. And no way of contacting them.”
“Wow,” I said, and instinctively moved closer to him. “That’s really . . .”
“Crazy? Slutty?”
“I was going to say . . . actually, I have no idea what I was going to say.”
Camden laughed, but it was a sad laugh.
“I thought maybe I’d try to track him down, but that’s impossible,” he said. “It’s weird, not knowing where half of you came from. I’ve always read a lot about other cultures, thinking maybe something would click. I mean, look at me. Odds are, my dad was not white. But so far, I’ve felt nothing.” He dropped his head back and took a deep breath.
I wanted to bring him out of this sadness. “You know, there’s a rumor that your father is really Ed Penniman.”
Camden was silent for a moment, then raised his head. I watched a smile grow across his face.
“Excellent,” he said. “I started that rumor.”
“You did?”
“What can I say? I was twelve and really tired of people asking me about my father. My mom and Eddie are friends from way back. He stops by for dinner whenever he’s in the area. So, you know, there’s some believability there.”
“Well, I have to hand it to you. Good choice with the fake father.”
“What about yours? Your real dad?”
My real dad. Who felt less real and more imaginary every year. Like a cardboard cutout fraying at the edges, starting to droop.
“He and my mom split up when I was two. I haven’t talked to him in years.”
“Wow. That sucks almost as much as my story.” He reached out and tucked some of my hair behind my left ear. I felt an electric current going down that side of my body.
As much as I wanted to kiss him again, I wanted this more. Him looking squarely at me, me looking back at him without any fear or shame or awkwardness. Both of us understanding that we shared something besides Arrow fandom, and it was a big something.
Kendall must have been outside waiting to hear voices because suddenly we heard her shout, “Is it safe to come in there?”
“Board the bridge!” answered Camden, and we both grinned at the Arrow reference—it was one of Atticus Marr’s trademark lines.
She poked her head in the studio, looked around. “Whoa. Nice.”
“Dinner?”
“Yup. And Eliza wants her thread.”
Camden ushered us out of the studio, turned off the lights, and gingerly slid the door shut. As we walked back up the hill to the Barn, I reached out for Kendall’s hand. She grasped it back.
Inside, we sat down at the farmhouse table, where James had poured wine for us all. There was a giant bowl of pasta and another giant bowl of salad. Garlic bread on a wooden cutting board, steam rising off of it.
“This looks amazing,” I said, then turned to Eliza. “Max did this? You’re lucky.”
“We’re all lucky,” she said. “It’s summer. Anything can happen.”
“To summer,” said Camden, raising his glass.
“To anything,” added Max.
We clinked glasses, then I watched everyone else take a sip of their wine while I put mine back on the table. The food, the drinks, the rising swell of chatter among the six of us made us all appear to be, you know, people in the world who led lives. Every fantasy I’d ever had about being grown-up and independent and real—it looked a lot like this. But this was happening now, and it didn’t even feel like cheating.
Camden took my empty bowl and filled it to the top. I didn’t ever want to leave.
After dinner, we ate mini Hershey bars out of the bag and talked until it was time for Kendall and me to get home by curfew. Camden and James walked us to the car.
James opened the passenger door for Kendall and she paused for a second before climbing in. He leaned into the open window and said, “Thanks for coming. I’ll send you those links tomorrow,” before turning to walk back to the house.
I hovered by the driver’s side. Camden took my hand and I realized it was the first time all night he’d really touched me.
“Can I kiss you good night?” he asked confidently. So sure I’d say yes.