He was right there, my husband, and yet he was nowhere near me at all.
I wondered if we’d ever really be in the same room ever again.
Reese
That night when I’d made it home, I propped myself up by the sliding glass door and lit a cigarette, my mind on Charlie.
It was my first real interaction with Cameron, and I’d studied him the way I used to study music as a kid. I wanted to know what made him tick, what made him falter — and both answers seemed to lie within Charlie.
He was so tuned into her, into her every move and word, but in a way that made me think he was unsure how he felt about her anymore. I couldn’t quite figure him out, but one thing was sure — I’d gotten under his skin.
Charlie couldn’t see it yet, but I already knew her feelings for Cameron were muddled. She loved him, that was a fact, but he didn’t love her the same way he used to. It bothered her. She was trying to reach him, but it was like being on the inside of a black mirror. She could see him, but he couldn’t see her — couldn’t hear her as she tried to break through to him.
Neither one of them was happy, least of all Charlie, but it wasn’t my place to show her that.
No, it was my place to be her friend, to bring her happiness in any way I could.
So, that’s what I vowed to do. I would be her friend, her best friend, and I would sit back and let her see what it could be like to be heard again, to be loved again — the way she deserved to be.
I inhaled a long drag from my cigarette, watching the smoke filter from my mouth and out the sliding glass door.
I wished I could leave her alone. I wished I cared that she was married.
But after just one night with Cameron, there was no use pretending.
I simply didn’t care.
I wanted her, and it was clear to me that Cameron didn’t — not anymore. I didn’t know how long it would take before Charlie would wake up, before she’d see she deserved more, but I knew it didn’t matter.
I would wait for her.
I would wait forever.
Charlie
That Sunday, I woke to the sound of Jane and Edward tittering in their cage. And I should have known then that it would be a bad day.
It wasn’t that my Budgies getting anxious for me to take their cover off and welcome a new day was out of the ordinary, but on that Sunday morning, they weren’t supposed to be what woke me up. I shouldn’t have stirred to the morning sun warming the bed too much, causing me to kick the covers back and peel off my socks. Jane and Edward should have been woken up by me that morning, not the other way around.
It was our eight-year wedding anniversary, and that meant I should have been woken up by the smell of cinnamon.
I rubbed my eyes with warm hands, letting my feet drop down over the edge of the bed. A yawn broke through me as I checked the time on the alarm clock right next to my favorite framed wedding photo of me and Cameron.
It was just past nine.
Jane and Edward were even more excited now that they heard me moving. I whistled along with their chirps as I padded over to pull their cover off, and as soon as it was gone, Jane sprang to life. She hopped from swing to swing inside the cage, feathers a blur as she chirped her good morning. Edward looked like he was as sleepy as I was.
“Good morning, my lovelies,” I sang. Their food and water was still good from the day before, though their cage needed a cleaning. I mentally added it to my to-do list for the week. Once they were both bathing in the morning sun, I inhaled a deep breath, wondering if I’d somehow missed it before.
But still, no cinnamon.
Well, it is still early. Maybe he’s just getting started, I thought, as I wrapped myself in a robe and made my way down the hall. I didn’t spot Cameron in the kitchen as I crossed over the bridge, my hand trailing the wooden rail, and he was still out of sight by the time my feet hit the bottom stair.
I checked his study first, but it was empty, and the house was suddenly entirely too quiet. Every step of my bare feet on the hardwood floors seemed to echo, every breath felt too loud. Desperate to break the silence, I flipped on the stereo in the kitchen as I entered, finding a little bit of ease as Adele slowly crooned in through the speakers.
A pot of coffee was already made, though it’d gone cold, and there was a note written on a torn off piece of notebook paper beside it.
Client called this morning — emergency with a litigation case. Ran into the office to work through it. Didn’t want to wake you. Be back for dinner. Love you.
I stared so long at Cameron’s neat handwriting on that torn off sheet of paper, the letters blurred together. Soon, the words didn’t make sense anymore — not that they had in the first place. Before I realized it, I was standing in front of the calendar hanging on our refrigerator, and I triple checked the date. I must have been wrong. I must have had the days mixed up.
But I wasn’t, and I didn’t.
It was February twenty-second.
Eight years ago today, Cameron and I were married in a small church in Pittsburgh — the same one my parents had been married at decades before. Every year on this day since then, Cameron had woken me up with one of two things: cinnamon pancakes — my favorite breakfast — or his face between my thighs — his favorite breakfast, as he’d always playfully reminded me.
An anchor dropped in my stomach as it dawned on me.
He forgot.
It had to be the only explanation. After all, he wouldn’t have run into the office on our wedding anniversary. He would have called someone else who could handle it — there were plenty of people there who could. And he wouldn’t have just suddenly, out of nowhere, broken a tradition he started with such excitement and love only eight years ago. Would he?
I paused.
Maybe, he’s doing this on purpose. He’d started waking me with breakfast as a surprise, as a treat for me. Maybe he realized that I’d gotten used to it, that I expected it, and he wanted to keep me on my toes.
I smiled, leaning against the cabinet as I realized it was exactly what he would do. He’d find a new way to celebrate our anniversary, a new way to make me smile and feel special — it was exactly like him to do that. Cameron was probably out shopping for something or putting together some elaborate surprise plan for when he got home. I shook my head, chewing my thumbnail with a stupid grin plastered on my face.
And maybe I was being a bit naïve, maybe I was making excuses, but in my heart, I truly believed the best. It just didn’t make sense, and I knew deep down it just wasn’t possible.
Cameron would never forget.
Once the thought was pushed from my mind, I cranked the music louder, turning the coffee pot back on to reheat as I flipped over Cameron’s note to make a plan for the day. I’d already spent Saturday cleaning the house in anticipation of us spending a day inside it, so I decided I would focus my energy on a new, elaborate recipe for dinner. Cameron would come home to the home-cooked meal of a lifetime, I’d give him his gift and he’d give me mine, and then we’d pop open the champagne I’d stuck in the refrigerator to chill over night and make love until the sun came up.
I giggled at the perfectness of it all, skipping up the stairs to get dressed.
Reese called when I was in the middle of grocery shopping a couple hours later, and we laughed at the drama that blew up during Wednesday’s Happy Hour the night after game night. It’d been nice, being friends with Reese, and a lot less tension-filled since the night before Mom’s fundraiser. After he’d opened up to me about his family, it felt like we somehow unlocked a door to our past selves. Talking was easier, conversations were lighter — we were just a boy and a girl who lived next door to each other.
I’d been helping Reese with the spring concert, and he’d been pulling me out on the nights Cameron worked late to hang out with some of our colleagues. I’d worked there for eight years and never made as many friends as I had in just one week. It was nice, actually, to have the teachers greeting me as
we passed by each other in the hall. I’d always been viewed as headmaster Henderson’s pet before, but they were starting to get to know the real me, now.
Maybe, in a way, I was, too.
“So, I’m not sure I said it this week, but I had a lot of fun at game night,” Reese said as I thanked the butcher for two beautiful racks of lamb.
I was planning a decadent cherry glaze to finish them with, excitement flooding through me at the thought of Cameron coming home to one of his favorites.
“We should do it again sometime.”
“We should. I’m sorry again about Cameron, he apologized the next day and told me he had just been tired.”
“Hey, we talked about this. Remember? It’s all good. Seriously.”
I smiled, making my way to the produce department. “Okay. But anyway, I’m glad you had fun, and that you got to spend a little time with Cameron.”
“Me, too. Glad there wasn’t a Penguins game,” Reese said. “It was nice to get to know him a little more. He’s kind of quiet, but he’s smart. And very in tune with you.”
I smiled, a flash of memory from Cameron fingering me in our driveway hitting me out of nowhere. I was already wet again thinking about round two tonight, and I blushed as I passed a mother and her kids in the baking aisle.
“He really is. And, to be fair, everyone is quiet in comparison to you.”
“You calling me a loud mouth?”
“Just saying that a room is never void of conversation when you’re in it.”
I chuckled as Reese feigned offense with a dramatic gasp.
“I’ve got to keep you away from Sierra. You’re getting so sassy.”
“Speaking of Miss Maggert, I think she has the hots for you.”
Reese scoffed. “Yeah. Me and every other teacher with a penis.”
“You have a penis?”
There was a pause.
“Wow. You really are getting sassy. That’s it, no more ciders at happy hour. Water only.”
I laughed. “I’m in a good mood today, okay? Leave me alone. Also, you should ask her out.”
“No offense, Charlie, but if you think Sierra is in any way my type, then you have no idea who I am at all.”
I pulled a fresh bag of cherries from the produce section, inspecting them carefully before setting them in my basket. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your type then?”
“I don’t have one. But if I did, it would not be someone whose entire life centers around a fat dog named Buster.”
I snorted.
“Got to go, I’m checking out now and then I’ll be elbow deep in this recipe until dinner.”
“Alright alright, I guess I’ll go pester someone else. And hey, happy anniversary. I hope it’s a great night.” His voice was warm, and I smiled, thankful to have my friend back — a friend I didn’t even realize I’d missed so much.
“Thanks, Reese. It will be.”
Our entire house smelled like cherries by the time I finished making dinner.
The glaze was set on low on the stovetop, the lamb being kept warm in the oven until Cameron walked through the door. I’d fixed up deliciously seasoned asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes for the sides, and pulled out an old bottle of red wine we received as a gift on the night of our wedding. We’d been saving it for something special, and although eight years wasn’t a milestone anniversary per se, it felt like the right night to open it.
Even though they killed my feet, I’d strapped on my sexiest pair of red high heels, the ones that matched the lingerie I wore beneath my simple black dress and apron. My hair was down and curled, lips painted a soft pink, and I couldn’t stop myself from bouncing as I waited at the kitchen island for Cameron.
His gift sat wrapped in simple silver wrapping paper in the middle of our small dining table, the one not reserved for guests. It was nestled right beside the two candles I’d lit to set the mood. Inside, there were tickets for a meet and greet with the entire Penguins team before the game with seats in a reserved suite, with food and drinks included for up to twenty people.
At a little after five, I decided to make a playlist while I waited.
At five-twenty-two, I stirred the glaze and checked that the lamb was still warm.
When six rolled around, I sent him the first text of the day, asking what his ETA was with a smiley face.
He didn’t answer, not even when the clock hit seven. The dinner I’d worked so hard on was losing more life with every passing minute.
At seven-thirty, I decided that bottle of wine needed to be opened. I poured a glass that would have made my mother cluck her tongue at me.
And finally, at two minutes until eight, I heard the key wiggling into our front door lock.
I took another sip of my wine as Cameron dropped his keys in the bowl by the door. I listened as he sighed, likely taking off his jacket and hanging it on the rack. He walked right past the kitchen at first, well on his way upstairs, but when he saw me in his peripheral, he paused.
His eyes were tired as they took me in. I was sitting at the table set for two, the candles burned to their ends, music still softly playing from the speakers in the kitchen. He didn’t have a tie on, just a polo and dress slacks — a casual Sunday work attire. And he wasn’t holding flowers, or a gift, or even a smile as he moved slowly into the room.
“Something smells delicious.”
“Lamb,” I answered, taking another sip of wine before setting my glass down carefully. I trailed my fingertip over the wet rim. “And a cherry glaze.”
“That sounds amazing,” he said, tentatively, with his brows bending together in a way that told me he had bad news. “I actually already ate… we ended up ordering in at the office since we had been there all day. But hey, give me an hour or so and I’m sure I can make room for more.”
He smiled. I didn’t.
“You said you’d be home for dinner.”
“I know, I—”
“It’s fine,” I clipped, cutting him off. I was already standing, clearing the dishes from the table. “I’ll just put it all in the fridge. We can eat it as leftovers tomorrow.”
Cameron moved to help me with the dishes but I stopped him, assuring that I had it. I told him to go upstairs and get changed, take a shower, whatever.
I was checked out.
The wine was already flowing steadily through my bloodstream, and nothing else really mattered. Because I was right.
He’d forgotten.
“You opened the Bodegas Roda Cirsion,” Cameron mused, holding up the half-empty bottle of wine as I dropped the still-clean dishes in the sink. I knew I was being louder than necessary as I wrapped up the food to put in the fridge. I thought seriously about throwing it all in the garbage.
“I did.”
“I thought we were saving it for a special occasion.”
I just snorted, ignoring his assessment as I slammed the refrigerator door shut. He didn’t say anything while I finished cleaning up, and when I turned to face him again, stripping my apron off and hanging it over the hook inside our pantry door, he was staring at his gift on the table.
“What’s that?”
“Open it and find out,” I answered. Then, I swiped my glass of wine from the table and went upstairs.
It was half an hour later before Cameron slipped inside our bedroom. I was already in bed and pretending to be asleep. He sighed, sitting on the edge of my side of the bed, his warm hand reaching out to rub my back.
“I forgot,” he admitted. Hearing him say it out loud should have made me cry, it should have made me scream and throw a fit and ask him how he could possibly forget. But I just laid there.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. I’m sorry, Charlie. Work has just been…” He paused then, blowing out a breath like he realized as much as I did that nothing he could say, no excuse he had, would make it better. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
Part of me wanted to cry. Part of me just wanted him to go away.
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“Okay.”
I’m not sure how long Cameron sat there before he finally kissed my forehead and made his way to the bathroom to shower. He didn’t come to bed right away, but I didn’t care. The wine was pulling me into a deep sleep by the time he’d started running the water, anyway.
A little after midnight, he finally crawled into bed, curling into me from behind. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the back of my neck, but I pretended to still be asleep. He held me so long I began to sweat. Once he started snoring softly, I rolled away from him.
And sometime later that night, when we were both fast asleep, Edward died.
Reese
It was just a normal Monday.
I was hopped up after two cups of coffee and a cigarette on my drive into school. It was surprisingly warm for late February, so much so that I was able to walk across campus to the main hall with my coat hanging over my arm. It wouldn’t last long, they were already calling for more snow in the coming week, but I’d take what I could get.
A few students were playing card games by the flag pole out front, Sierra and Sheldon were whispering to each other as I passed them in the hall, and Mr. Henderson was biting his tongue as a parent yelled at him outside his office. I gave him a sympathetic smile as I passed, to which he responded with a slight widening of his eyes before he zeroed back in on the parent. I chuckled, stopping by the teachers’ café to refill my Thermos.
Mondays often required three or more cups of coffee.
Instead of heading straight to my classroom, I veered right, making my way down to Charlie’s room with one hand in the pocket of my slacks. I whistled the tune of a song I’d been practicing with my Saturday tutoring student, my stomach flipping a bit at the thought of seeing Charlie. I knew I’d have to hear about her anniversary, that she’d probably be glowing and happy. That alone should have made me happy — but it only made me sick with want.
What He Doesn't Know (What He Doesn't Know Duet Book 1) Page 16
