Love and a Little White Lie

by Tammy L. Gray

  Not wanting to dampen his mood, I opt to keep any further thoughts on Bryson’s band to myself and move into the kitchen. On the counter is a moviegoer’s dream: a popcorn popper, several boxes of candy, and a six-pack of Dr. Pepper.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Movie essentials.” He walks to the buffet under the TV and pulls several DVDs from a cubby. “I have five options here, but we can also download something new if you don’t like any of these. I wasn’t sure what your taste included.”

  “I’m pretty flexible.” I take the stack and scan the options, feeling immediately grateful that Cameron’s taste in movies is better than Dillon’s. Three of the five are Marvel superhero films, two of which I’ve seen. The other one is a Star Wars movie, and the last a chick flick I’m sure he must have borrowed from Darcy. I decide to have mercy on him and pick one that would be fun to watch. “Spider-Man: Far From Home is really good.” I hand them back. “That’s my vote.”

  “You truly are the perfect girl.” He smiles and leans close enough that I wonder if he’s going to make a move. I wouldn’t mind it if he did. Not one bit.

  Unfortunately, he straightens and returns to the living room to put the movies back. “So what do you think? Dinner first, or do you want to wait and ruin our appetite with junk food?”

  I look around his surprisingly clean kitchen in search of any signs of cooking. There are none. “There’s dinner here somewhere?”

  He holds up an index finger and walks to the fridge. Seconds later, he has a meal bag of frozen pasta in one hand and a box of breadsticks in the other. “Sorry, this is my level of fancy.”

  I’m relieved to see there’s actually something he doesn’t do well and feel myself relax. “And now you’re the perfect guy.”

  “Yeah?” He shuts the door with his hip and sets our frozen dinner on the counter. “Because if that’s the case, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  “Okay?” The intention in his voice makes me nearly as uncomfortable as the way he extends his hand toward the small kitchen table. I guess this something requires a sit-down chat.

  I scoot out the first chair I see and sit, rubbing my arms to ward off the goose bumps. Cameron pulls out another chair and brings it close enough that when he sits, our knees touch.

  He takes my hands in his. “I like you, Jan. More than like you.”

  I let out a relieved sigh and squeeze his fingers. “I like you, too.”

  “Good.” He smiles, and I don’t miss the red blush moving up his neck. “Because I’d like to pursue a relationship with you, but first I think we need to define what we are and how that looks moving forward.” He says it so matter-of-factly that I don’t even think he understands how odd this conversation is.

  “You mean like you want to be exclusive?”

  “Yes. For starters. But I also feel like there has to be a chance for more or it’s a waste of time for both of us.”

  I’m stunned and slightly weirded out. “I don’t think I understand.”

  He shifts closer, his left knee sliding between mine. “I want to be fully transparent with you. I want a career in music, and that will mean sacrifice on a lot of levels.” His voice turns eager. “Is that something you could live with?”

  “Of course.” Although I don’t really know what I’m agreeing to exactly. “I would never keep you from pursuing your dreams.”

  He drops his head like my words are a huge relief, then lifts it again. His expression changes, his eyes dancing over my face in what could only be described as infatuated admiration. “Then, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to move to the next phase.”

  “Next phase?” I feel certain the thoughts going through my mind are not the same as his. After all, the guy was raised in what appears to be a very strict Christian home. Maybe “next phase” is synonymous for finally getting to first base. If so, I’ve been on board for that for a while now.

  “Yes, the next phase, but only if you’re comfortable with the idea. I don’t want to take things too quickly. I want to make sure I’m always being respectful of you.”

  Take things too quickly? If Cameron waits any longer to kiss me, I’m going to grab his lapels and do the deed for him. “I’m definitely comfortable with the next phase.” I mean, come on, most of my previous boyfriends hit first base on day one, and they never gave me any kind of heartfelt speech beforehand.

  He lets go of my hand, and a second later his fingers are grazing my cheek. “You are so beautiful. I never dreamed I’d be lucky enough to find someone like you.”

  When he leans in, I close my eyes and feel the press of his lips against mine. They’re as soft as his touch, as innocent as his heart, and so gentle that I cast away the guilt that comes with his words and allow the kiss to wrap us both in this place of euphoric denial.

  The attraction is so intense I swear I hear music playing in the background and fireworks, or maybe that’s dynamite. My fingers slide through his hair, tugging him closer. This kiss feels different: new and forbidden and exciting.

  Cameron pulls away abruptly and stares at me like I suddenly grew an extra eyebrow. “That was . . .” He stands, his chair sliding back with the momentum. “I think I’m going to start dinner now.”

  I’m not really sure if I should feel rejected or complimented by his need to flee. “Did I do something wrong?”

  From behind the kitchen counter, his expression turns soft. “No, Jan. Everything about you is very, very right.” He smiles at me then, and since the crisis seems to have passed, I stand and join him in the kitchen.

  “Can I help you with something?” I ask.

  “Sure.” He grabs a cookie sheet from under the stove. “Line this with foil and then put two breadsticks for me plus however many you want on there.”

  I begin my task, taking four sticks from the box, then opting to put one back. Cameron makes my stomach feel too swirly and excited to eat much when he’s around.

  He pours the bag of pasta into a skillet, the sauce sizzling soon after. “We should probably let Eric know that we’re dating.”

  My hand freezes. “Why? Do you think that it will be an issue?”

  “No, not at all. I just don’t want it to look like we’re hiding anything.” He adds a cover over the pan and turns to face me. “Is there someone you’d also like me to talk to, maybe your mom or dad?”

  I nearly burst out laughing. “Um, no. I haven’t asked my mom’s permission to date for close to fifteen years now.” As the idea sits, my humor turns to outright dread. My mom would pounce on Cameron. Ridicule his beliefs, his career choice, even his overly sweet demeanor. “In fact, I doubt you’ll ever need to meet her.”

  His brow furrows. “Well, eventually I will. And your dad, too, I hope.”

  I hand him the pan of breadsticks and try to keep my tone lighthearted. “Tell you what. When I finally meet my dad, I’ll be sure to introduce you to him, as well.”

  There’s a shift the minute he processes what I just told him, and I don’t like how pity spills into his expression. He takes the pan from my hand and sets it on the counter. Then I’m in his arms, his hug tight, just like it was the night he dropped me off at my house. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, as if he can see all of my pain.

  I feel a sting in my throat but refuse to let it go anywhere. I haven’t cried over my deadbeat dad in years, two decades at least, and I’m not about to start again now. He made his choice a long time ago not to know me, and that is that.

  My squirming makes Cameron back away, and his arms fall back to his sides. “Better stir your pasta before it sticks,” I say.

  He seems confused by my need for space, but it’s pretty simple. Cameron makes me happy. He makes me forget all my problems and issues and believe that the world is a better, brighter place. I don’t want to be sad with him or talk about the wounds in my life. There are therapists for those kinds of things.

  I spin and grab a box of Junior Mints, needing this heaviness to go away. “Ca
re for a pre-dinner appetizer?” I shake the box and give him a daring smile. Come on, Cameron, let it go. Please.

  He finally smiles back. “Only a few. I’m slaving over our dinner, remember?”

  “I think you’re burning our dinner.”

  Cameron spins around and immediately pulls off the lid. He scrapes the pan with a spatula, but I can already tell he let it sit too long. “Dang it,” he grumbles. “I should have turned down the burner. I can’t believe I did this.”

  His frustration makes me giggle. I snuggle up to his back and wrap my arms around him.

  “Crusty pasta is great,” I tease. “I especially love it when it’s super black at the bottom and has that ashy taste.” He still seems upset, so I pour several Junior Mints into my hand and attempt to stick them in his mouth.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, though it comes out muffled since I’m shoving candy in while he talks. Four pieces fall to the floor, and I’m laughing so hard I have to bend over, my forehead pressed against his back.

  I hear the pan move across the stovetop and know before he turns that it’s time to run.

  He catches me at the couch, mostly because I’m still cackling too hard to breathe, let alone run, and wrestles the box from my hand. His warnings that he’ll get me back slide out between our laughter while more chocolate circles are sacrificed in the battle.

  We tumble backward, and Cameron is somehow strong enough to control our fall so that we don’t hit the cushions with a collective two-hundred-plus-pound thud. Instead, it’s a smooth drop with his chest pressing into mine. Our legs are tangled, and just when I see his full hand come toward my mouth, ready for revenge, his lips hit instead.

  The kiss isn’t gentle or timid this time. It’s fast and furious, and I’m pretty sure we’ve smashed at least ten mints into the leather cushion.

  His palm presses against the outside of my thigh, then moves up to my hip until his fingers tickle the exposed skin above my waistline. I let my hands roam, too, sliding up his back, the cotton material stiff beneath my skin.

  He pauses, and while I know I should too, that we’re feeling more than thinking, I want to stay in this bubble with him, a place where my heart is happy and my beautiful new boyfriend makes all my troubles disappear.

  “Is this my . . . ?” He pulls back, and I realize he’s found my secret—the guitar pick I’ve kept on me since we met.

  Our bodies untangle, and he sits, allowing me not only to pull the small piece of plastic free but also to sit up.

  “Busted,” I say, more embarrassed about my little treasure than our romp on the couch. “It’s my good luck charm.” I suddenly can’t look him in the eye but focus on a loose string attached to one of the pillows.

  He carefully takes the pick from my fingers and rolls it in and out of his hand like a seasoned magician. “If I recall, this was only good for three lessons. You’re going to need another one after tonight. One that doesn’t expire.”

  I look at him now that he’s not making me feel foolish and try to take it back. He hides the pick behind his back before I can snatch it.

  “What do you mean? I still have two left before this expires.” I reach again, but he shifts to block the attempt.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “We’ve only had one real date. This one.”

  He actually looks offended. “What are you talking about? The first was when I took you onstage and sang for you, the second to see the band, and now tonight. Not to mention all the flirting we’ve been doing at work.” When I continue to stare at him like he’s from another planet, he scoots closer and takes my hand in his. “Jan, I make it a practice to be very cautious when it comes to dating and being physical. And my losing control just now is a good example of why I’m careful.”

  “Oh. I thought maybe you hesitated because of your feelings for Darcy.”

  “Darcy?” His head jerks back. “No. We’re tight, yes, but it’s never gone farther. Friends only.” He comes closer, his eyes studying mine like they might give away all my secrets. “Does our relationship bother you?”

  “No, it doesn’t bother me,” I say, even though it does a little.

  “If it ever starts to, promise you’ll tell me.” He presses our joined hands to his lips. “I want us to be totally open with each other.”

  His words make me swallow, not just because they feel far too intimate for the scale of our relationship but also because I know even as we sit here, I’m keeping the biggest secret of all. One that would very likely ruin the way he’s looking at me right now.

  “I’ll tell you. I promise.”

  He leans in for another quick kiss, then stands, tugging me with him. “Time to salvage our dinner.”

  I follow, my hand tucked into his, and stuff Doreen’s warning along with the guilt of my deception as far down as it will go. After all, there’s no need to ruin the relationship when it’s only just getting started.

  twenty-two

  I wake on Saturday morning feeling as if I could star in my very own Disney movie. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and my residual smile from the night before can probably be seen from the moon.

  Reaching over, I grab my cell phone from the nightstand and check my texts. The first is from Doreen.

  We’re BBQ-ing today, so come over when you get up. Jim’s been smoking a brisket since last night.

  I quickly text back.

  Yum. Count me in. I’ll be over in a few.

  There are also two texts from my mom, and I’m in the process of answering back when Cameron’s name flashes on my screen. He wants to FaceTime. No way, no how.

  I decline but quickly text him back.

  Still in bed and it ain’t pretty.

  He immediately calls me, regular this time.

  “You’re always pretty,” he says immediately after I answer.

  “Good morning to you, too.” I relish the high that only comes with a new relationship. Maybe that’s why I’ve started so many. It’s addicting, the stomach-tumbling anticipation. Like the whole world stops when you hear the other person’s voice.

  “Is it bad for me to say I miss you already?”

  I sit up and rest my back against my headboard. “No. I think it’s really sweet.”

  “Brian sat on a Junior Mint this morning. It was interesting trying to explain that one. Needless to say, we’ve been banned from eating in the living room.” Last night Cameron explained that Brian is the neat freak in the bunch, holding house meetings every time a dish is left in the sink.

  I burst out laughing and have to cover my mouth so I don’t bust his eardrum. “Are we banned from the kitchen, as well? Because I don’t think that pan will ever be the same.” After Cameron’s dinner attempt, we ended up ordering pizza.

  “I may have run to the store after you left last night and replaced it.”

  “Coward.”

  “Yes, I admit it. Brian terrifies me.” The sound of an engine starting drowns his voice as if he’s readjusting the phone. “What are you up to today?”

  “Doreen is having a cookout, so I’m about to head to her house.” I kick off my blankets and stand, needing to make some coffee. “Wanna come with me?”

  “Ugh. I’d love to, but I have to work.”

  I flip on the kitchen light. “What is this elusive job you always speak of? Very vaguely I might add.”

  He groans into the phone again. “I don’t want to tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it sounds juvenile, even though it’s really a great-paying job with benefits and the hours are flexible. My manager goes to Grace Community and is super supportive of my music.”

  I add a Keurig cup to the machine and press ten ounces. “You don’t have to sell me, Cameron. I’m not going to judge you.” Especially since I’ve tried and failed at practically every profession that doesn’t require a degree.

  “Okay . . .” His pause is long. “I work checkout at H-E-B.”

  �
��I’ve seen that place everywhere. What is it?”

  “It’s a grocery store. Like the biggest one we have in Texas.”

  I put up my hands in defense, not that he can see me. “Oh. We don’t have those where I come from.” And when I was living with my ex in San Antonio, we either shopped on base or at the Super Target around the corner. Not that I’m ready to give Cameron any of that backstory yet. “How long is your shift?”

  “Till seven, and then I promised Darrel and Brian I’d go catch a movie with them.” He sounds as disappointed as I feel.

  “So I won’t see you at all, huh?”

  “Unless I cancel, which I’m not above doing.”

  “No, it’s okay. I don’t want your friends to hate me already.” My coffee finishes brewing, and I carefully take out my cup.

  “They wouldn’t dare,” he promises. “Besides, we have tomorrow.”

  “What’s tomorrow?”

  “Sunday.” He laughs when he says the word, like it’s the most ridiculous thing for that particular day not to be the center of the universe. “Listen, I know you hate crowds and that you’ve found that small local church you like so much, but maybe you can make an exception now that we’re together and come to Grace Community?”

  My shoulders lock up so tight, hot liquid spills over my cup and onto my finger. “Ouch. Crap.”

  “You okay?”

  “No, I spilled my coffee.” Avoidance 101—change the subject. “Hey, let me let you go so I can clean this up.” Avoidance 102—get off the phone.

  “All right. I’ll text you later. Have fun with your aunt.”

  “I will. You have fun, too.” I hang up and let my head drop back. Keeping my secret just got far more complicated.

  I roll to a stop in my aunt’s circular drive and park behind a truck I could now draw in my sleep. Mr. Kyle is here, probably with his son, and I have no idea how to approach either one of them now that I’ve learned the truth about Dillon’s mom.

  I grab my jacket and shut my car door. The weather is incredible today. Sixty degrees, zero wind, and a cloudless sky. It’s supposed to drop back down to thirty-eight after midnight, but for twelve whole hours we get perfection. I think of the wedding going on tonight at six and how lucky the bride must be feeling right about now.