Starting Over

by Barbie Bohrman

  She hooks her book bag on her shoulder, gives me a quick peck on the cheek, and then lets me know she’s going up to her room for a while.

  Since I haven’t had much time to devote to it, and I honestly miss it, I go to the extra bedroom upstairs that I use as my art studio. But first I make a pot of coffee and then fill up a mug with a smile playing on my lips, because I know exactly what I’m going to sketch.

  Later that night, after I’ve devoted a few hours to a couple of new pieces that are somewhat inspired by last night with Cameron, and Josie and I are putting away the dishes from our dinner together, my cell phone buzzes on the kitchen counter.

  Josie happens to be closest to it and with a devious smile, swipes it to answer it for me.

  Normally I wouldn’t care if she did this since it would usually be only family or random work related calls. But it could be my attorney working the petition against Matthew—which she doesn’t know about yet, which I really need to take care of sooner than later—and I don’t want her to answer it.

  In a panic, I grab the phone from her just as she’s saying in a very precocious voice, “Hello, Mr. Thomas. How are you on this fine Saturday evening?”

  A relief so big washes over me that a potential disaster was averted, but I still want the phone, so I make a grab for it.

  She takes a couple of steps backward and out of my reach. “That’s good to hear. Oh, and by the way, I finished my science homework already, in case you were wondering.”

  There is a small pause, and then she says, “That’s cool. So you want to talk to my mom or what?”

  Another small pause, then before she hands me the phone, she says to him, “Yeah, it was nice talking to you too. Here’s my mom for you.” She tells me good night and bounces away to her room as if her work was done.

  “Hi,” I say with a small laugh. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t apologize. Josie’s a sweet kid and pretty funny. She’s actually one of my better students.” Then he says, “I’ve missed you today.”

  Knowing that he misses me and has no problem with saying it out loud brings a genuine smile to my face, because I’ve felt the same way. “Me too.”

  “So what are we going to do about that?” he asks.

  And this is when that fear creeps in over how we’re going to make this work moving forward. He doesn’t have the responsibility of a child, nor has he ever dated someone who has a child, so it frightens me to think that it will be an issue for us.

  “Cameron, can I be honest with you?” I ask, and he immediately says yes. “Look, this is going to sound crazy, so bear with me for a second. I have missed you today and been thinking about you in general . . . and everything else. What I’m trying to wrap my head around is how we’re going to make it so we can see each other like . . . you know, like we did last night. But not every night, because I’m not some nymphomaniac or anything. I’m wondering with me being a single mom and not wanting my daughter to see me acting irresponsibly and making sure I keep things running smoothly, how this is—”

  “Vanessa, stop,” he says suddenly. “Listen to me for a minute.”

  “Okay, sorry, I was rambling there, wasn’t I?”

  With a chuckle, he says, “Just a little bit, but I understand what you’re trying to say. I think what we need to do is make sure that we both want to do this. Which I can tell you already, without a doubt, that I really do.”

  “I do too.”

  “Good. So next would be stepping into the unknown for the both of us. Because neither of us has ever been in this kind of situation before, so we can figure it out as we go along. But I promise to never put you in a position that would make you feel like an irresponsible parent to your daughter, because that would be the worst thing I could ever do to the both of you . . . I care about you too much to ever let that happen.”

  “Thank you.”

  A more perfect answer could not have come out of his mouth if I wrote it for him myself and made him recite it back to me. That is exactly what I needed to hear, and it eases some of the apprehension that has been building up inside of me since this morning.

  “Now, getting back to why I was calling. When can I see you again?”

  “Soon, and I made good on our deal . . . I have something for you.” I smile to myself, thinking of the two new pieces sitting in my art studio, which I hope he likes as much as I enjoyed drawing them.

  “My curiosity is piqued. So when can I see this something that you have for me?”

  “Obviously it’s too late tonight, and I’d invite you over for dinner with us tomorrow, but it’s my turn to host the monthly Sunday dinner for my family, so . . .”

  “Are you embarrassed by my geeky T-shirts?”

  “No!” I say, laughing and thinking of a couple I’ve seen him wear already. I like them a lot, they kind of go with his whole Professor Indiana Jones meets sexy nerd thing, and plus, they’re funny. “Wait, you’d be willing to be thrown to the wolves like that with my family?”

  “Well, we just agreed to take things as they come. But that’s your call. I would be happy to go but would also be fine if you wanted to take it slower and not have me there.”

  I chew on my lip. Do I want my family to meet him already?

  “I promise I won’t wear a nerd T-shirt. I’ll look respectable, as if I was a teacher or something.”

  “Okay, but I’m warning you, my family can be pretty . . . interesting. How about you come over around two o’clock tomorrow then?”

  “It’s a date.” Then he adds, “With a bunch of chaperones present, and I’ll be on my best behavior, Scout’s honor.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When I was a kid, my parents had a traditional Sunday dinner, where all of our immediate family would come over and spend most of the day together.

  As the years went by, it got to be a little too crazy to keep it going with everyone’s schedules. But a few years after Josie was born, my mom wanted to start it up again.

  Thankfully, she took my brother’s and my advice and made it one Sunday a month instead of weekly. Between working for my dad and spending time with my brother’s new little family often, it’s not like we don’t already spend a lot of time together.

  So every month we take turns hosting, and it’s my turn.

  Usually I start prepping for the meal early in the morning because it is almost like a Thanksgiving spread with all the mouths that have to be fed. I’m an okay cook, but once you start adding on to the volume of food, I get freaked out because I don’t want to make so much that my refrigerator is busting at the seams with leftovers. But I also need to make enough that people will be able to eat seconds.

  And now I have one more mouth to feed. Yes, it’s only one mouth, but that mouth belongs to the man I’m seeing, and this will be the first time he’s meeting my family and vice versa. Needless to say, my stress level as I’m starting to chop some of the vegetables and peel the potatoes is at an all-time high, much higher than normal.

  Josie assists a little here and there, which really helps me as the time approaches for my family and Cameron to arrive. When the doorbell rings for the first time, she goes to answer it, and I don’t even lift my head from the food prep since I already know it’s my mom and dad, who always arrive first . . . and early, no matter how many times I tell them when to come over on Sunday dinner days.

  My parents both come over and say hello to me after gushing over their granddaughter for a few moments. Then the first thing to come out of my mom’s mouth is, “Josie says Cameron is coming for dinner too, is that right?”

  Immediately followed by my dad saying, “Is that really a good idea, Vanessa? Doesn’t it seem too soon for that?”

  My mom answers for me, “Oh, stop it! I think it’s very sweet that she’s including him.”

  “Allison, I’m only looking out for our daughter and, may I remind you, granddaughter here,” he says. My dad’s face looks as stern as possible since he usually doesn’t win a
rguments with my mother.

  “I’m sure if Vanessa thought it was okay to invite him and Josie is okay with it, then it’s okay.” My mom then turns to me. “It is okay with Josie, right?”

  “Mom, of course it is.” I pull off my oven mitts and toss them onto the kitchen counter. “You guys aren’t going to give him a hard time, are you?”

  My mother points a finger at herself. “Who, me? Sweetheart, who do you think I am? Of course I’m not going to give him a hard time. Your father, however, is another matter entirely.”

  “This coming from the same woman who asked for his driver’s license number already,” I say matter-of-factly.

  “Providing a driver’s license is totally reasonable, Vanessa,” my father chimes in.

  “That’s what I thought too,” my mother says.

  There is no reasoning with either of my parents at this point, so I simply puff some air out of my mouth in frustration and finish up the meal. Thankfully, my parents move over to the couch when they see they aren’t getting anywhere with me and keep Josie company until the doorbell rings again while my back is turned.

  From the commotion at the door, I can tell it’s my brother, my sister-and-law, and my niece. I secretly hope that my adorable little niece, Violet, will provide more of a distraction to my parents, and everyone else for that matter, so that Cameron doesn’t feel singled out when he does finally get here.

  But that is not what happens.

  Because not even a minute after I hear the door close behind my brother’s family’s arrival, the doorbell rings once more.

  As luck would have it, my beloved sister-in-law, Julia, opens it. I know this not because I can see it happening . . . but because I can hear her from the kitchen as clear as day, saying to him as she opens the door, “So this is Professor Indiana Jones, huh?”

  And right there went my plans for a semi-nice Sunday dinner with my family . . .

  “What did I do?” Julia asks a little while later in the kitchen. She’s supposed to be helping me get all the food onto serving dishes, but instead she’s leaning against the counter with a tall glass of white wine in her hand.

  “Do I even need to answer that question?”

  She glances over to the living room, where everyone else is seated. Cameron, who I’m convinced is a saint, is sandwiched between my dad and my brother. Whatever they’re saying is making him whip his head back and forth between them as if he were in the middle of a tennis match and trying to keep up, but from the looks of it, failing miserably. Meanwhile, my mother is sitting on the other couch, completely oblivious, with Josie and Violet watching something on the television to pass the time until dinner is served.

  When Cameron was greeted by Julia, I almost dropped the giant casserole dish I was holding. Thank God that didn’t happen. To my surprise, he took the question with a laugh and said hello to everyone, one by one. Then he walked over to me and gave me a bouquet of daisies and a kiss on the cheek.

  To say that my heart melted at the earnest gesture and the fact that I could see that he was completely out of his comfort zone already would be an understatement. I thanked him profusely for the flowers, and that’s when my brother and dad swooped in and led him to the couch, where he’s been stuck for the last ten minutes or so while I’ve been finishing up.

  “You’re the one who has the Harrison Ford fetish, not me,” Julia says. “Not that that’s a bad thing though.”

  My eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  She points her wineglass in the general direction of the living room. Then she walks across the kitchen to stand right next to me and whispers, “Just look at him. He’s sooo hot and dreamy, and I bet . . .”

  “You bet what?” I ask.

  “I bet he’s the kind of guy who totally goes for the gold in bed, if you know what I mean.”

  Even though I’m slightly horrified by this conversation, I can’t help the very distinct and vivid memory that what she is saying brings to the forefront of my mind. Now all I can see in my mind’s eye are quick flashes of very erotic images: Cameron sitting up with his back flush against the headboard, his strong hand gripping my hip and the other hand holding my breast to his mouth, sucking the nipple gently between his teeth; I’m moving over him in slow circles and my head’s thrown back in complete ecstasy.

  “Oh. My. God!” Julia shrieks loudly.

  “What happened?” This comes from my mother on the couch, whose head whips around to see what’s going on with us.

  “Nothing, Mom,” I say with a fake smile. “Julia just tasted my meat loaf and thinks it’s the best I’ve ever made.”

  “Oh good. I can’t wait to taste it, sweetheart.”

  I turn to face Julia and press my finger to my lips. “Would you keep your voice down?”

  “You are such a little sneak,” she says in a hushed voice with a giant, stupid grin. “You totally did the deed with him, didn’t you?”

  “Look, if I tell you, will you promise to behave?” I ask her just as quietly. She nods her head like a dog excited to be taken out for a walk. “Okay, the other night we . . . did it.”

  “Once or twice?”

  My eyes go to the back of Cameron’s head, still bouncing back and forth between Alex and my dad.

  “Vanessa, do not tell me it was more than twice in one night?”

  I bite my lip and then shrug my shoulders. “Three times.”

  Julia doesn’t say a word. She simply puts down her wineglass on the nearest surface, then starts to clap slowly.

  “Now what is going on in there?” This time it’s my brother who is asking.

  I grab Julia’s hands to stop her stupid golf clap and shout back to him, “Nothing. Dinner’s ready, by the way.”

  As everyone makes their way to the dining room table, I give Julia a stern look. “Listen, I swear to God, you better not say another word or make one of your little comments about it during dinner. This is your one and only warning. Because if you do, I’ll be forced to tell everyone else at that dinner table about how you took a dump on the birthing table.”

  Her mouth drops open in shock. “Alex told you about that?!”

  “Yes, so you better watch what you say about Cameron and me sleeping together.”

  Julia’s face goes back to normal, and she calmly picks up her wineglass from the counter as if nothing happened. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, I thought so,” I say to her back as she’s walking away to the dining room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The rest of dinner went smoothly, but that might have something to do with me being able to keep one nosy sister-in-law in check for the remainder of the evening. Since it is a school night, Josie went to bed about an hour ago, leaving Cameron and me on the couch, alone for the very first time all day.

  My feet are in his lap, and he’s rubbing them with the right amount of pressure. It feels heavenly, and if he’s to keep this up, I may fall asleep right here.

  “So your family is something else,” he says in the silence between us.

  I open my eyes and start to laugh. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “You’re lucky. I don’t get to see my family as often as I’d like.”

  “What about your sister, Natalie? I thought she lived in Miami.”

  “She was just visiting me that weekend when you met her at the art fair. She lives back in Port St. Lucie,” he says, smiling. “I try to make it up that way a couple of times during the summer break, and if not, Thanksgiving, but definitely every Christmas.”

  “Do you regret coming to Sunday dinner?” I ask jokingly.

  It’s his turn to laugh now. “Not at all, but . . .”

  “But what?” I sit up and pull my feet off his lap. “Did someone say something to you?”

  I will kill Julia if she let something slip, but he shakes his head while still laughing.

  Then Cameron reaches up and brushes some of my hair of
f my shoulder. “But I’m hoping you’ll show me whatever it is you have for me.”

  “What I have for you?” My mind goes back and forth so quickly, trying to think of exactly what he’s referring to, until it hits me with a bang. “Oh my God! I totally forgot about that.”

  Jumping off the couch, I stand over him with a big smile on my face, suddenly feeling happy and excited and nervous at the same time. “Come on, follow me.”

  With his hand in mine, he walks up the stairs behind me into my art studio. “Now you know you must be special,” I say to him. “Because I don’t let just anyone in here.”

  “I’m honored,” he says while looking around the room. “Vanessa, these are amazing.”

  I have several pieces that are in various states of completion tacked on the walls and leaning against the wall in small stacks. In the far left corner of the room is my stool, which faces an easel with a blank canvas. My charcoal pencils and oil paints are strewn in organized chaos on the table next to it.

  “Why is it blank?” he asks, pointing to the canvas on the easel.

  I run my fingers across the slightly ribbed surface and close my eyes. When I open them, Cameron is next to me and waiting for me to explain. “Whenever I leave this room after working in it—even if it’s just for a couple of hours or all day and night—I have to leave a blank canvas up on this easel.”

  He moves to take a seat on the stool behind me. Then his arms wrap around my waist and pull my back to his chest while I explain the reason behind my idiosyncrasy.

  “You know how they say life can be like a blank slate, an empty canvas?” I ask him and turn in his arms a bit.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s kind of like that.”

  “How do you mean?” he asks.

  “Well, a blank canvas really isn’t blank to me at all.” I face the easel. “I look at this and see endless possibilities. I see it becoming something even if it doesn’t know what it is just yet. No matter what I do with it, it can always be changed; it can even be painted over to be a blank canvas all over again, so it has a second chance. And sometimes I leave it blank for a bit longer because I need some time to figure out what it wants to be, and a fresh start is the best way to go about accomplishing that. In the end though, it doesn’t matter what colors are on it, or if I go outside the lines . . . what matters is the journey it took to get me there.”