“I can’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“This. You, me. I can’t continue in this relationship anymore, Cam. We’re not happy. We’re not in love.”
Her eyes flashed with emotions, and for a split second I saw her. I saw the girl I once knew living behind those sad eyes. Yet before I could grasp hold of that girl, rage flashed before her.
The new Cam was back in full force. “You are really going to break up with me? Because we aren’t in love?”
Uh . . . yes?
“I think that’s a good enough reason to, yes,” I agreed.
“What’s love got to do with it?” she hammered. “I mean, honestly, Oliver. This is Hollywood! No one’s in love!”
I felt sorry for her. I’d seen it happen to so many celebrities in the industry. Fame overtook them and swallowed their souls whole. I never thought it would happen to Cam, though. Years back, she used to have stars in her eyes. She used to daydream about performing for a crowd of one hundred people. She used to care about the music, about the art. Now, all she cared for was money and fame.
“I’m sorry, Cam. I truly hope you find what you’re looking for, but it can’t be with me.”
She parted her lips in shock and then shook her head. Once the surprise had faded from her stare, a hardness found her as she released a weighted sigh. “You’ll pay for it, Oliver. Just watch. You’ll regret this decision. Mark my words.”
She turned and walked out of the room, and with her went the deadweight that I hadn’t known our relationship had been pressing against my shoulders.
15
EMERY
Cam hadn’t been back since she stormed out on Monday. I figured she was keeping her space until I left after my shifts. Oliver hadn’t brought her up, but that wasn’t shocking. Oliver didn’t bring anything up to me. He simply thanked me for my meals, then put his headphones back on and went back to his work. Sometimes I’d ask if he was okay, and he’d reply no. Other times, I’d follow up and ask if there was anything I could do to make him better, and he’d say no again. That was the depth of our conversations.
I found myself thinking about him more often than not. When I closed my eyes, I’d see his sad stare. When I opened my eyes, I’d see his cracked frowns.
“Knock, knock,” I said as I headed into Oliver’s studio.
He looked up from the notebook in his hands. “Done for the day?”
“Yes. Dinner is in the fridge. You just have to toss it into the oven for forty-five minutes at four hundred twenty-five degrees.”
“Thank you, Emery. I do have a request. The Fourth of July is coming up. My parents are coming into town. Kelly will be around, and Tyler will be, too, with his wife and two kids. Perhaps we could have a celebration, if you’re free to cook for it. Of course, you could take part in the festivities, and Reese is more than welcome. She can use the pool, and I’ll make sure to have some kind of entertainment for her and Tyler’s two kids, who are around her age.” His nervous fidgeting returned as he looked away from me. “Of course, if you already have plans—”
“I don’t. And that sounds so fun. I’ve never done a Fourth of July party. I’m excited to get creative!” I exclaimed, maybe too excitedly. I was going to be on Pinterest looking up different ideas the moment I got home. Plus, I was certain that Reese was going to love the idea of having a party—even with people she didn’t really know, as long as a pool was involved. “Oh my gosh, I can make minidesserts and all kinds of appetizers.” I beamed with excitement.
I swore for a split second that Oliver smiled too.
“I’m glad. Thank you, Emery.”
“Thank you. This is going to be so much fun.” I bit my bottom lip. “Will Cam be in attendance, too? Maybe with her family? Just so I have a headcount.”
He looked down to his notebook and then back toward me. “I don’t think Cam is going to be around much anymore.”
“Oh? Did you two . . . did you break up?”
“Yes, we are no longer seeing one another.”
“Oh my gosh, Oliver. I’m so sorry. I hope it had nothing to do with me . . .”
“It had everything to do with you.”
Guilt hit me at full speed. “I’m so sorry, Oliver. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble for you, and—”
“Emery. I never said that was a bad thing. It was the choice I should’ve made a long time ago. You just helped make it clearer for me. Besides, you were right. I should learn how to sit in my loneliness for a while.”
“If you ever get too lonely, you can reach out to me,” I said without thought. His brows knitted at the comment, and I wanted to smack myself for saying such a thing. He didn’t reply, so I took that as a “Hell no.” I cleared my throat, feeling like a frog was crammed in there. “Well, you have a good night.” I turned to leave the room.
“Emery, wait.”
“Yes?”
“Earlier you said something that hasn’t sat well with me.”
“Oh?”
“You said you were just the chef.” A softness flooded Oliver’s eyes. “You’re so much more than just the chef.”
Those butterflies that Oliver delivered me every now and again? They came back intensely. My mouth parted, but I couldn’t form any words.
“Good night, Emery.”
“Good night, Oliver.”
Later that night, I received a text message from an unknown number.
Unknown: What kinds of things is Reese into?
The mention of Reese’s name made me sit up straighter on my couch.
Emery: Who is this?
Unknown: Sorry. This is Oliver. Kelly gave me your number.
The sigh of relief that hit me was strong.
Emery: Oh, sorry. I’m guessing for the party? She’s really into any female superhero or Disney princess.
Oliver: Sounds good. Thank you.
Emery: Thank you!
I went back to my notebook, where I was drafting up a menu for the Fourth of July. To my surprise, my phone dinged again.
Oliver: How are you?
I was surprised by him reaching out to me again, and not only reaching out, but asking how I had been. Most of our conversations never led to much, and I couldn’t think of the last time he’d asked me how I’d been. Especially at nine at night.
Emery: I’m good. How are you?
He didn’t reply for quite some time. I figured that was what it was like living in Oliver’s brain—a lot of overthinking going on.
Oliver: Did you come up with menu ideas for the party?
Emery: Are you avoiding my question?
Oliver: Yes.
Emery: Why?
. . .
. . .
. . .
Oliver: Because I don’t want to bring down the conversation.
Emery: It’s your first night without Cam, isn’t it?
Oliver: Yes.
Emery: And you’re lonely?
Oliver: You mentioned I could reach out if I got too lonely.
Instead of texting back, I dialed Oliver’s phone number, hoping he would answer. Knowing him, it was a fifty-fifty chance. I never really knew which way he was going to travel.
“Hello?” he said, his voice seemingly deeper on the phone than in person.