What Happens Now (22 page)

I swatted him playfully and scanned the photos, trying to see them through his eyes. But from any angle, they were undeniably ordinary.

“We don’t have actual art on the walls like you guys do,” I said.

“Who says this isn’t art?” he replied, pointing to the particularly mortifying picture from fifth grade, in which I looked like someone just off camera was poking me with a pencil.

I tugged his hand. “Can we move on?”

We went into the kitchen where Mom was putting the raspberries in a bowl and Dani was setting the table in the way I’d taught her, making the napkins into little beds for the silverware.

“Anything I can do to help?” asked Camden.

“Thank you,” said Mom, “but we’re almost done.”

“We’ll be down here . . .” I pointed toward my room.

Dani started to follow us, but Mom grabbed her shirt. “Nuh-uh,” she said.

As I led the way, I kept trying to see my house as Camden might be seeing it. The low ceilings and the tiny windows. The beige carpeting that had so many stains, I’d come to think of them as a pattern. More pictures on the walls, including framed landscapes of places none of us had ever been: the
Grand Canyon, the Pacific Ocean, the Florida Keys.

When we stepped into my room, I turned to Camden. “We have to leave the door open.”

He nodded like he already knew, and I wondered if he was thankful for it.

I sat on the floor with my back against the bed and let him take a self-guided tour. My desk, piled high with college brochures. The big chair covered with stuffed animals I couldn’t bring myself to give to Dani no matter how hard she begged or how often she kidnapped them, because each of those animals had been a big deal to me, because I didn’t have a thousand of them like she did.

“This reminds me,” he said. “I have Rasta Penguin. He’s safe and sound at the Barn.”

“You can keep custody until next time I’m there.”

Camden moved over to the
Silver Arrow
posters and pictures, things I’d cut out of old fan magazines or printed from online. He spent a long time at my bookcase, examining the shelf that was a rainbow of
Silver Arrow
novels, each one a different color.

“Oh, man,” he said.

“Have you read any?”

“No.”

“You can borrow whichever one you want.”

He turned his head so he could read the titles on the spines, then drew out two books and sank down on the floor next to me.

Simply leaning against my bed made the memories of fair night tumble over me. If my parents weren’t in the house, if we were somewhere else, would we have picked up right where we left off? Or had we gone a certain number of steps backward?

“Which do you recommend?” asked Camden, holding out the books, one flat on each palm like he was literally weighing them.

“Well,
Planet Jasmine
has the most Satina action. But the story is a little silly.” I plucked the other book,
Time Enough
, from Camden’s hand. “In this one, they’re in 1940s Hollywood. Lots of old-time film references. You’d like it.”

There was also less Azor in that one. I didn’t want Camden to think I was lending him a book laced with hidden meaning.

“I love that you have these books,” he said, taking
Time Enough
from me and clutching it to his chest. “I love your room. I love your whole house.”

“You haven’t seen my whole house.”

“I’m extrapolating.”

“But this is a cookie-cutter ranch house filled with stuff from chain stores. It’s everything the Barn is not.”

Camden continued to examine every inch of my room from his spot on the floor. Then he dropped his head back against my bed and closed his eyes.

“You know where I lived before the Barn?” he asked. “A yurt. You’ve heard of yurts?” I nodded. “Yeah, the yurt sucked. And the Airstream trailer. And the artists’ co-op. The Barn was the result of years of me begging my mom for us to live
in something halfway normal. Then my grandmother passed away and for the first time there was money, and we could do it.”

Ah, okay. So Maeve was not the rich and successful artist I’d assumed she was. Everything I knew about Camden’s life clicked into another fresh focus.
Learning and unlearning
.

Camden paused as Dani peered around the corner of my doorway, thinking we couldn’t see her.

“Hi,” he said. She popped out of sight. We smiled at each other, knowing she hadn’t gone anywhere.

“I love the Barn, too,” continued Camden, softer now that Dani was eavesdropping. “But sometimes it feels really empty. My mom is either gone or in her studio most of the time. Why do you think my friends practically live there?”

I wanted to say
Because you shine. You’re the flame and they’re the moths.

Camden didn’t wait for my answer. “Because I ask them to.”

This sounded so strange to me, especially coming from him. When things got bad for me, when it felt like my life was all about my responsibilities to everyone else, the only thing I’d wanted was time alone. To press the Pause button on the world, to have a chance to catch my breath and then, actually listen to it. I couldn’t imagine being lonely.

Camden ran his finger along my left side, then glanced furtively into the hallway.

“What happens if I kiss you?” he whispered.

“Don’t,” I said, so glad he wanted to. Almost happy to have a reason to deny him. “Dani,” I mouthed.

“Hey, Dani,” called Camden to the empty doorway. “I want to ask you something.”

Slowly, the blond hair appeared, followed by the little pale face and the big hungry eyes.

“Yes?” she asked, gripping my doorframe.

“What happens if I kiss your sister?”

Dani looked at him, her eyes growing impossibly wider, then at me, then made her most grossed-out face ever.

“Yuuuuuuck! Please don’t!”

She disappeared and we heard her run off down the hall.

“She’s going to tell my mom,” I said. “She has no filter.”

“Who cares?” he said, then grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me quickly before drawing away. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about doing that since five minutes after I dropped you off the other morning.”

“Shhhhhh
.
”

Footsteps pounding down the hall again. Dani poked her head in. “Dinner’s ready!”

Camden stood, then offered his hand and pulled me up, too. Dani watched with a smirk. I wasn’t sure what she’d seen or heard. But then again,
Who cares?

Mom served dinner on the dining room table that we never used, because it was always piled high with papers. Camden answered my parents’ questions about his mom’s art—what inspired it and how she made it and who bought it. When
they asked him to, he talked about Dashwood. How it wasn’t a place where kids ran around like
Lord of the Flies
as they’d heard, but rather an environment where you could study what you wanted and were encouraged to be responsible for your own education.

“It’s not perfect and it’s not for everyone,” he said. “But I like it.”

Camden sat straight with those square, confident shoulders, breezily brushing his hair out of his face, making pictures with his hands. His voice steady and musical, eyes reflecting the light. It was easy to see him the way my family was likely seeing him, the way I’d seen him at first. Knowing even a few of the truths behind all this made me feel powerful and privileged.

My mother told him her real name was Katia, which was Greek, because she was Greek and yes, she’d heard all the goddess jokes. She told him about the kinds of crazy things that happened during the night shift, and what her new job was going to be like. Richard told his best “wacky art supply store customer” stories.

Dani kept poking Camden with the trunk of her stuffed elephant, Ivory. Which meant she loved him, of course, but didn’t know it yet.

After dinner, Camden and I did all the dishes. It was a strange kind of heaven, to be doing this boring task together. As if we were real people, simply living our lives. Mom and Richard were watching TV with Dani and I couldn’t remember the last time that had taken place, whether or not it was all an
act for Camden. And if it was, was that because Mom knew he was special? They’d certainly never done that for Lukas.

When the kitchen was clean—it still felt absurdly cool, knowing he and I had made it that way as a team—I walked Camden downstairs so he could say good-bye. More handshakes, more use of the word
pleasure
, along with
lovely
and
delicious
.

“How was I?” he asked as he leaned against his car, once again clutching the copy of
Time Enough
he was borrowing.

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You got freaked out when I stayed over, when I told you about last summer. But you’re not freaked out about meeting my family.”

He shrugged. “I never said it made sense.”

“So. What happens now?”

“Well, there’s the SuperCon. Eliza has plans for that. I hope your mom will let you go, since she’s met me and I’ve hopefully impressed the bejesus out of her.”

“That’s what happens next week. What happens
now
?”

Camden seemed stumped, then searched my face, maybe looking for an answer he could borrow. He glanced toward the house and reached out, pulled me close so we were pressed up against each other. His heart drumming against my chest. I still didn’t know what truly kept it beating. The secrets of him lay just under his skin but I could not reach them.

“This,” was all he said. “
This
is what happens.”

The front door creaked open and I jumped away.

“Camden!” called Dani as she ran out. “Wait! I want to watch you leave!”

“She likes to watch people leave,” I said, feeling the heat drain from my cheeks. “It’s her thing.”

Camden smiled. “We all have a thing.”

We watched him together, sitting on the porch, until his car was out of sight.

Five minutes later, Mom stepped outside and put her hands on Dani’s shoulders.

“Pajama time,” she said, and steered Dani toward the door like she was a puppet. “Daddy’s waiting to help you. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Dani resisted at first, planting her feet far apart, her hands on her hips. “Hmph.”

“I’m serious, Danielle,” said Mom in a different voice now, a layer of softness stripped off. “We’ve had a nice day. Don’t ruin it.”

Dani gave me an imploring glance, but I nodded at the door. “Go.” And she did.

After the door closed behind her, Mom stared out at the street. The sun had finally set, the light scattering quickly. Our neighbors were visible in their living room window.

“The Gustafsons are playing after-dinner poker again,” said Mom. “I often notice them when I leave for work.”

She sat down on the top step next to me. It felt awkward, creaky. Had my mother and I forgotten how to quietly
coexist in the same space?

Please
, I thought.
Don’t talk about Camden.
Then another thought:
Please talk to me about Camden.

“He’s great,” she said.

I flicked a look at her, trying to hide my surprise, then glanced away. “I think so, too.”

Mom let out a small laugh, like tiny bubbles. “I can see why he’d make a good Azor.”

Warmth and relief flushed down the back of my neck and made the hairs stand on end. Something about her even saying the name
Azor
.

“Here,” I said, sliding my phone out of my pocket before I could think of all the reasons not to. Kendall had emailed me about a dozen of the best fair photos from her camera. I pulled them up and handed Mom the phone, which she took hesitantly.

I couldn’t read her expression as she browsed through the images. It was like she wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry. She seemed on the verge of either, the lines on her face capable of going both ways. I didn’t know what I expected or wanted here, only that this was something I had to give at the moment. When it came to my mother, there had been so little I had to give, above and beyond what I was expected to . . . or what she took from me, depending on how I wanted to see it.

When she finally handed me back the phone—I think she must have looped through the photos at least twice—all she said was, “Looks like fun.”

“It was. Much more than I thought it would be.”

“Nobody gave you a hard time for being dressed like that?”

“We got some stares. But, you know. It was the fair. People probably thought we were part of a stage show or something.”

“It’s funny, how you’ve stayed a fan of the show. I always thought it was something you put up with because of me.”

“No. I loved it, too. Really, I did.”

Mom nodded and smiled distractedly, then looked at the Gustafsons’ window again, tilting her head to get a better look at what they were doing.

“The other kids in the pictures . . . ,” she asked.

“Eliza and Max. They go to school with Camden. And there’s a guy named James who doesn’t cosplay but he takes photos.” I almost said,
Kendall is totally hot for him
, but caught myself.

“They’re good kids?” She turned to me. “I trust your judgment here, Ari.”

“They are,” I said. “You can.”

I didn’t ask what her definition of “good” really was. I’d never thought about what
my
definition was, either.

“I remember what it was like to discover new people,” said Mom. “After growing up with the same crowd.” She paused, seemed suddenly stricken. “It’s easy to make bad decisions, when you’re distracted by what’s different and exciting.”

“I’m not making any bad decisions.” Secretly staying over at Camden’s: admittedly bad. Not having sex with him: good enough to cancel that out. Right?

“Okay,” Mom said. “But I need to mention it. Trust me when I say, I’ve been there.”

I waited for her to elaborate, but her mouth stayed closed and I could see the muscles in her jaw tightening.

“It’s clean fun, Mom,” I said. “And they’re all as mature and responsible as Camden, I swear.” I almost added
They’d love to meet you
, but I didn’t want them to meet her. Giving up Camden had been hard enough.