“Look at me!” I say, pulling her away again. “That shit is so normal. And if you’re guilty, then so am I. I thought about things like that every now and then, but also like you, I wouldn’t have given her up willingly if I could have.”
She doesn’t really have to confirm that statement out loud because I know she wouldn’t have either. But she confirms it anyway:
“I didn’t regret her at all,” she says. “And I… I want her back!”
“I know. I know.” I hug her tight and walk her to the foot of the bed, guiding her to sit down. I crouch between her legs, propping my arms on her thighs and taking both of her hands into mine. I look up at her and say one more time, “It wasn’t your fault.”
She wipes away a few tears, and we just sit here like this for what feels like forever. I think she believes me—either that or she’s just avoiding it. Then she looks toward the wall behind my head and says in a quiet voice, “Does this make me a drug addict?”
I want to laugh, but I don’t. Instead, I just shake my head and smile softly up at her, pressing my fingertips around her hands gently.
“It was a moment of weakness, and even the strongest person isn’t immune to weakness, Camryn. Four days and one bottle of painkillers doesn’t make you a drug addict. Bad judgment call, but not an addict.”
She looks back down at me. “Michelle and Aidan are going to think so.”
I shake my head. “No, they won’t. And no one else will, either.” I stand up and sit down beside her. “Besides, it’s nobody’s f**king business. This is something only you and I have to know about and deal with.”
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” she says, looking out ahead of her. “I can’t believe—”
“You weren’t yourself,” I say. “You haven’t been since Lily died.”
The room gets strangely quiet again. I look at her from the side, but I give her this moment. She appears lost in deep thought.
And then she says, “Andrew, maybe we shouldn’t be together,” and her words hit me so fast and so hard that I feel like the air has been sucked out of my lungs.
I’m so stunned that it’s like her words have completely stolen all of mine. My heart is racing.
Finally, when she doesn’t elaborate, I manage to get out, “Why would you say that?” And I’m scared of her answer.
She continues to stare out ahead of her, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. And then she does look at me and I see the same intense pain in her eyes that I know she sees in mine.
“Because everybody that I love tends to leave me, or die.”
Relief courses through me, but it’s overshadowed by her pain.
It’s in this very moment that I realize this is the first time Camryn has opened up about any of this to me, or to anyone else. I think about the things Natalie told me, and about the conversations that Camryn and I had while on the road, and I know that right now Camryn is admitting the depth of her pain not only to someone else, but more important, to herself.
“I feel so selfish saying it,” she goes on, and I absolutely let her without interruption. “My dad left us. My mom changed. My grandma, the only person that was the same and was always there when I needed her, died. Ian died. Cole went to prison. Natalie stabbed me in the back. Lily…” She looks at me finally, the pain intensified in her face. “And you.”
“Me?” I crouch in front of her again. “But I’m here, Camryn. I’ll always be here.” I take her hands into mine. “I don’t care what you do, or what happens between us. I’ll never leave you. I’ll always be with you.” I wrench her hands. “Remember when I said you were the world to me? You asked me to remind you if you ever forgot. Well, I’m reminding you now.”
Sobs shudder through her body.
“But you could’ve died,” she says, tears straining her voice. “Every single day I was at that hospital, I thought it was going to be your last. And then when it wasn’t and you pulled through, I still found myself reading it. Weeks, months later, because a part of me felt like I needed to get used to the idea of you being gone. Someday. Because I just knew you were going to leave in one way or another. Just like everybody else.”
“But I didn’t,” I say with desperation and smile a little with it. I sit on the floor and pull her down with me. “I didn’t die. I didn’t because I knew you were there with me the whole time. Because I knew we were meant to be together, and that if you were going to be alive then so was I.”
“But what if you do?” she asks.
I didn’t anticipate that.
“What if the tumor comes back?”
“It won’t,” I say. “And even if it does, I’ll beat it again. Hell, I went eight months without going to the doctor once and I still beat it. With you in my life, whipping my ass to make me go regularly for checkups, there’s no way it could kill me later.”
She doesn’t seem fully convinced of that, but I see a tiny ray of hope in her face and that’s what I wanted to see.
“I really am sorry,” she says, but instead of telling her not to be, I let her have this moment, too, because it feels more like allowing herself some closure. “I bet you never bargained for this kind of crazy baggage.” She wipes her fingers underneath her eyes.
Trying to lighten the mood some, I rub my hands across her bare knees and say, “I’d still love you if you were one of those chicks who runs to the bathroom to gag themselves after they eat, or if you had a secret clown sex fetish.”
She laughs lightly through her tears, and it makes me smile.
I raise her chin with the edge of my finger and get serious again, looking deep into her beautiful watery-blue eyes.
“Camryn,” I say, “Lily just wasn’t ready. I don’t know why, but you can’t blame yourself for her, or for anyone else. And you have to understand that we’re in it together. All of it. Do you believe that?”
She nods. “Yes.”
I lean in and kiss her first on the forehead and then on the lips.
Silence ensues and the atmosphere in the room feels different. Brighter. I know that Camryn isn’t going to be one hundred percent overnight, but I can see that she’s better already. I can tell just by looking at her that she feels less burdened now that she got a lot of that shit off her mind. She needed this. She needed someone to straighten her out. Not someone indifferent, or someone who will only give her the cookie-cutter answers to everything.
She needed me.
I stand up and take her hand. “Come here.”
She follows. I pick up the pill bottle from the table beside the bed and then pull her along with me to the bathroom inside the room. I lift the toilet lid and hand her the bottle. And before I even get a word out, Camryn turns the bottle upside down without hesitation and dumps the remaining four or so pills into the toilet.
“I still can’t believe I was that weak.” She stares at the water as the pills circle it and are sucked into the pipes. She looks over at me. “Andrew, I could’ve easily become addicted to them. I can’t imagine—”
“But you didn’t,” I interrupt before she drills it any further into her head. “And you’re entitled to a moment of weakness. Enough said.”
I walk out of the bathroom and pace the bedroom floor. She follows me out and stands in the center of the room, watching me.
“Andrew?”
I stop and turn to face her and say, “Give me one week.”
She looks slightly confused.
“One week for what?”
I smile faintly. “Just agree to it. Stay here with me for one week.”
Growing more confused by the second, she says, “Ummm, all right. I’ll stay here with you for one week,” though it’s clear in her face that she really has no idea what she’s agreeing to.
But she trusts me and that means everything to me. I’m going to give us what we both need, whether she wants it or not.
Camryn
16
Day Three
I never thought for a minute that I could’ve done what I did. Andrew calls it a moment of weakness and maybe he’s right, but it will take a long damn time for me to forgive myself for it.
Michelle has made it clear that she isn’t judging me, and although it does make me feel better, I feel a sense of humiliation whenever I’m in the same room as her or Aidan. Maybe that’s why it feels so bad, because they’re so understanding.
One week. No idea what Andrew meant by that, but I owe it to him not to ask questions and to let him do whatever it is he plans to do. He’s been very secretive the past few days, often taking his phone calls into other rooms so that I can’t hear. I only tried to listen in once, just by becoming extra quiet on the couch when he stepped into the kitchen to talk to Asher. But then the eavesdropping made me feel guilty, so I turned the TV up so that I couldn’t hear.
And I may have only been taking the pills for a week, but apparently it was long enough to still feel messed up three days after the last few I popped. I feel off, unable to sleep even worse than before I started taking them, but the mild headaches are finally starting to wear off, at least. I can’t imagine being addicted to them for months or years. I feel sorry for people who are…
Day Four
Aidan walks in with a small stack of mail in his hand, sifting through each piece as he walks through the living room.
He looks at one white envelope awkwardly for a moment and holds it up, glancing at me first until Andrew walks into the room.
“Looks like this is yours?” He glances at me again, but hands the envelope to Andrew.
I get the strangest feeling from it, so instinctively I get up from the recliner and walk up next to Andrew to check it out.
Just before Andrew moves it out of my view and lets his hand drop to his side with the envelope clasped within it, I see Natalie’s name scrawled across the front.
He knows I saw it, too.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll let you see it some other time.” And then he slips the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans.
I totally trust him, but I’m human and a small part of me is nervous about this whole situation. Why would Natalie be sending Andrew letters? Trust or not, the first thing that always comes to mind, no matter who you are, is wondering if something might really be going on between them. But that’s absurd, and I push that thought out of my head as fast as it came.
They’re plotting against me.
I just wish I knew what was going on.
Day Five
I talk to Natalie, my mom, and then to Marna on the phone today. Marna tries to act as if nothing ever happened with the baby, and she does as good a job as Michelle did my first day in Chicago. She’s so kind and careful. My mom, on the other hand, can’t seem to talk about much other than mine and Andrew’s relationship. She hounds me every chance she gets about when we’re getting married, and she has it set in stone that we’re doing it the same way everybody else does. I try to tell her that I don’t want a fancy dress or a chapel or thousands of dollars’ worth of flowers that are going to die the week after, but it’s as if she doesn’t even hear me. She just wants us married. Maybe that’ll make her feel better about him sleeping in my room. I have no idea what goes on inside my mom’s head, and half the time I don’t think she does, either.