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“What do you mean?”
“Oh, please, bro. Thunder Creek’s smaller than a postage stamp. Everybody knows you two are together.”
“But you’re in Colorado.” I state the obvious.
“With friends still in Thunder Creek. Rosie called me weeks ago when she saw the two of you at the movie theater with your hands all over each other, sharing popcorn. Then Theo texted me after Moonlight Picnic in the Park. You think you can keep anything a secret in that town?”
Acid shoots up my esophagus, burning the back of my throat and stinging my nose.
No, nothing’s a secret in Thunder Creek, that’s for certain.
“Well—is it serious? Is she going to Florida with you?” Ansley doesn’t let up, grilling me like a police sergeant in an interrogation.
“Check your sources, Ans. Because we broke up.” My voice is gruff, tension ticking at my jaw.
“Whoa. Since when? Last I heard, you were ring shopping.”
“Must have been some other guy.”
“Your brother’s ring shopping? Camden, what’s going on?” My mom’s voice tips up in the background and I regret making this call right about now.
“Ansley, please set the record straight. Or put me on speaker and I’ll do it myself.”
The ambient noise amplifies with a slight buzzing sound. I guess Ansley went with option number two, speaker phone.
“Camden Christopher Crawford, are you engaged?” My mom means business now, using my full given name. Not telling her about a new job is one thing; holding out on romantic relationship news? Unacceptable.
“No, Mom.” I rake my hand through my hair. “The exact opposite, actually. Sloane and I broke up.”
“Noooo!” Ansley cries. “I love her. She’s so cute. You’re cute together.”
“Thanks, Ans. But things didn’t work out.” A sharp pang stabs me in the chest and I fight against despair.
“Why not?” Ansley asks, pushing.
“It’s complicated.” That’s a true statement.
“You seem sad about it. I take it the breakup wasn’t your idea.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“You should journal about getting back together. Hang on, let me check my calendar—” There’s a pause while my sister consults the astrological signs or the lunar eclipse or some other new-age bullshit. “Yes, it’s a triple seven coming up.”
“I take it that’s good?”
“Very. Here’s what you do. Sit down and envision your future, then journal about it. Be very specific. Light a candle and be intentional about the process. Fold the sheet of paper and place it under a crystal and then manifest.”
“Should I spin in a circle three times too?” I grumble. Ansley can be a bit much.
“If you want to. But it’s not strictly necessary.”
Oh geez.
“I have to get going, long list of to-dos before the move. Sorry I didn’t call earlier, Mom.”
“It’s okay, honey. But I better not hear about an engagement through the grapevine,” she chirps.
“You don’t need to worry about that, Mom.”
