Page 54

PATRICK

Once again, I am sequestered in Cami’s room for the night.

Which I’m finding, surprisingly, I don’t mind. Last night, my first night sleeping in here, was very cozy. Nothing like the room I grew up sleeping in, where nothing really felt like my own and I always felt too loud, too much. Like a visitor in my own space.

Here, I feel less like a visitor and more like a guest. Seeing all the posters on the walls, the Polaroid pictures, the hand-drawn and cut decorations—it all just makes me think of Cami. It’s comforting to exist in this space and know that she got to grow up being exactly who she was. That her parents allowed her a space to be herself.

I’m starting to think about the things I want to do as a parent. And giving my kids a space like this—where they feel unabashed about their personalities, about growing into their own people—is definitely one of them.

“I’m just worried that Santa isn’t going to know I’m here,” I explain, as Cami needlessly bustles around the room, heaping even more extra blankets onto the bed and setting a hot tea on the bedside table. I’m starting to think she’s just making up extra tasks so she can spend more time with me. It makes my chest feel warm.

“Shush,” she says, shaking her head and sitting on the bed, so the mattress dips and I tip toward her slightly. What I want more than anything is for her to stay, for us to sleep in this bed together, even if we need a pillow wall.

But there’s something special about her parents being strict like this. Almost as though they take this relationship seriously.

“If one of the kids hears you say that,” Cami goes on, straightening her duvet so it lies flat on my chest and then quickly withdrawing her hand, “they’ll freak out and try to figure out what to do so Santa knows you’re here.”

I mime zipping my lips and dropping the key. She raises an eyebrow at me, then tilts her head. “Does that mean you’re not open to talking about…anything?”

Leaning over the side of the bed, I swipe my hand frantically over the rug, like I’m looking for the key. Cami laughs and grabs my shoulder, tugging me up, and the contact zips all the way up my shoulder, sparking through my elbow and into my wrist.

This is nothing like the flings, other women I’ve been with throughout the years. Being with Cami is different. Every time she touches me—even the most casual graze—I can feel it.

“Stop, oh my God, who thought you had it in you to be so silly?”

I freeze, like I’m insulted, then mime undressing my lips. “What are you talking about? I’m known for being silly.”

Cami laughs, and I love the sound. I love being here with her. It feels like stretching after a long time of sitting perfectly still and straight in a hard wooden chair.

But when she stops laughing, a serious expression settles over her face again.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” I ask, fluffing up the pillow behind me and leaning on it to look at her.

“Well, you said you wanted to try,” Cami says, twisting her hands together and looking away from me quickly, to a poster on the wall from some Disney movie I’ve never actually seen. “And I was wondering if we could talk about…what that really looks like?”

“Cami—”

“Because the thing is,” she rushes to say, turning back toward me and leaning in, a sincere look on her face. “That I actually very recently got out of a pretty serious engagement to my last boyfriend. Or fiancé, I guess. And up until like a year ago, I thought I was going to build a life with him. Have a family with him.”

“Cami—”

“And that’s still really important to me. I like you, Patrick.” She closes her eyes, takes a breath. “I…I love you, I think. I mean, I’m falling in love with you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still want all those other things. I want a family. And stepping back from work is still going to be important for me, at least for a little while, because I think I need it. And I don’t even know what this would look like in the office, so⁠—”

Saying her name isn’t quite working, so I go for the next best thing to interrupt her. It might be breaking her parents’ rules to kiss like this while sitting in her childhood bed, but the door is open, and I really, really wanted to.

I kiss her with my hands on either side of her face, so I can feel her jaw relaxing, her body following suit a moment later. I can almost feel the gears in her head slowing.

“Cami,” I breathe, pulling back, setting my forehead against hers and closing my eyes. “Since I got here, I’ve been wondering how soon is too soon to ask you to marry me.”

She gasps, pulling backward out of my grasp, her eyes searching my face. “Really?”

“Really.” I laugh, reaching for her again, because I want some part of me to be touching some part of her. “I’d do it right now⁠—”

“Yeah, that might be a little premature,” she breathes.

“—but I don’t want to use my parents’ ring this time. And I want the proposal to be perfect.” I meet her gaze, remembering just a few weeks ago, when we sat in my living room and she told me about what a good proposal looked like. “I want it to be us. So you just tell me right now what the minimum respectable time is before I can propose to you, and I’ll start planning.”

“Patrick,” she says, putting her hand on my chest, as though she wants to hear my heart beating for herself. “Are you sure?”