The End of the World (23 page)

“It happened last week, but I already have another job so there’s nothing to worry about.”

He frowns. “Last week? And you didn’t tell me?”

His anger fades to hurt, and for some reason I like it. Like it enough to make it last a little longer. So I shrug and study my fingernails, picking at a spot that doesn’t need fixing.

“You’ve been busy with Kara.”

It’s a cheap thing to say, but I’m tired. I’m tired and cranky and hormonal and really just want someone to care. I want
Cameron
to care, but I’ve barely seen him this week because he’s spent nearly all of his free time with Kara. I’m only in his apartment now—one of the few times I’ve been here since Christmas three months ago—because he’s getting ready for a date and asked me to stop by and keep him company while he readies himself. So I’m stretched out on his unmade bed, sprawled on top of his bunched up comforter, stuck in the aching misery of smelling the scent of Ivory soap and mouthwash and musky cologne, and more than a little worried about what I’m actually lying on.

It’s no secret that Kara sometimes sleeps over, I just don’t know if it’s happened recently. More specifically, I’m not sure how long it’s been since he washed his sheets. I shudder at the thought, but it doesn’t bother me enough to move. Right now, nothing does. My pity party is too busy hanging balloons and passing out flimsy plastic favors to care.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t spent enough time with you lately, have I?” He sinks down on the bed beside me and gives my shoulder blade a squeeze. At my involuntary moan, he keeps going. Before long, I’m sleepy-smiling into my arm as he drags me into the throes of a full-on back rub.

“No. But you’re forgiven as long as you keep this up.” My words are muffled, but his soft laughter tells me he heard them.

“I guess I’ll do what I have to. But while I’m at it, tell me what happened.”

I turn my head slightly so he can hear me and try to dignify the ridiculousness of my actions.

“I left a freezer door open all night by accident. Everything in the dessert section thawed and had to be thrown away the next morning.”

His hand stills on my back, his silence conveying everything I already knew he’d say. I’m stupid. Irresponsible. Easily distracted and unreliable. He takes a deep breath and I brace myself.

“That’s a dumb reason to fire someone. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” Or maybe I’m deflecting those sentiments on myself. Come to think of it, Cameron’s never hit me with an unkind word in all the years I’ve known him. His hands move in a circular motion again, working in perfect unison to ease the tension in my muscles. Another moan from me. Followed by another. I think I hear Cameron sigh above me, but I’m pretty sure it’s just my imagination.

“And your new job?” His voice is pinched, strained. Curious, I flip on my back to face up at him. He swallows, and I swear I can almost hear his heartbeat. His hand rests on my shoulder.

“I’m working at a party store. The kind that rents inflatables for kids’ birthdays and strange weddings.” I smile at the way a disbelieving grin tilts his mouth and wrinkles the space between his eyebrows. “Seriously, someone reserved one this week for their wedding. They’re getting married in a park, with swing sets and everything.” I giggle at his expression. “But here’s the fun part.”

I sit up, overcome with the same rush of excitement I remember feeling as a kid when I spotted a traveling carnival or a miniature merry-go-round outside a grocery store. I don’t recall actually experiencing either; there was never anyone around to take me. But I’ll always remember the bright colors and the plastic ponies and the way a quarter made a sharp clinking sound when some other kid dropped one inside.

To my delight, Cameron seems to catch my enthusiasm. “What fun part?” He’s laughing at me but I don’t care, especially since we’re sitting nose to nose, and he’s taking in the entirety of my face. I might find the moment romantic if I didn’t have so much to say.

“The fun part is on Saturday nights, I’m the only person there. And the displays are set up at all times. And since that night is the most boring night all week because most people have their parties on Saturdays and are usually past thinking about rentals, there’s nothing much to do. Nothing much to do except—”

Cameron smiles, catching my meaning. “I’ll be there this Saturday night. You, me, and the biggest bouncy house they’ve got. Just let me know the time. Deal?”

Saturday is in two days. Two short days—or long, depending on how you look at it—and then I’ll finally have Cameron to myself for a few hours alone. It’s not that I don’t like Kara or that I’m bored with Mike or even that I’m a needy, jealous person. But for every day that goes by, for every night this week that I’ve spent watching television alone until I give up completely and head to my bedroom in search of sleep, something is missing. And I know what it is.

For seven long days, there’s been a Cameron-sized hole in the middle of my normal routine. It’s sat next to me on the sofa, walked with me to the refrigerator, flipped channels without interest, joined me by the pool while I’ve studied my reflection alone across the smooth-as-glass surface. And I’m tired of trying to fill the empty space when nothing can fill the void except Cameron himself.

I’ve missed my friend. In just two days I won’t have to anymore.

I smile over at him, our future fate sealed with an unspoken promise.

“It’s definitely a deal.”

*

Cameron

It’s been the
longest two days of my life, but there’s no sense in telling her that. As far as she knows, I’m head over my well-worn Converse heels for Kara. And I am. Sort of. Except no matter how much time I spend with her or how often I kiss her or how frequently we text goodnight until one of us finally calls it quits, only one face consistently swims across my mind in the middle of all the affection.

And it darn well isn’t Kara’s.

And I have no idea what to do about it.

So I’ve decided to go play inside a bouncy-house for an hour or so. Because everyone knows the best way to deal with grown-up problems is to act like a kid until someone tells you to snap out of it, but since Shaye will be the only one around tonight, I’m pretty sure she won’t do the telling. So that’s my plan. And I’m sticking to it.

A bell rings over the front door when I open it. It fades to nothingness as I wait for a lady to exit the store, then chimes loudly when the door bangs shut behind me.

I’m immediately struck by the festiveness of the interior, decked out like a twenty-four-hour carnival, just daring anyone to try and be sad during their time spent inside. I’ve never seen so many colors and streamers and banners, each declaring things like
Congratulations! Happy Birthday! Good Luck on Your Promotion!
Life is a series of well wishes in this place, and if a bad mood could possibly have the audacity to squeeze its way through its perimeters, it would become a short-lived, distant memory.

Then again, Shaye’s new to the kid party scene.

“What took you so long?” she practically growls, giving me an exaggerated eye roll.

I’m not sure how she does it, but instantly the reds turn maroon and the yellows turn mustard and the blues turn black and nothing is as bright anymore. I hate Shaye’s foul moods, especially when I’m on the receiving end of them, and since I’m usually the one hanging out with her…we all know how that story ends.

“You told me to get here at seven-thirty.” I hold up my phone. “It’s seven-thirty-three.”

She throws a hand in the air. “Exactly. You’re late.” At my frown, she decides to explain. “The lady who just left? The old witch you just held the door open for? She yelled at me for ten solid minutes because I couldn’t get an inflatable delivered to her house and fully functional within the hour.”

“You’re kidding,” I say. I learned a long time ago that it’s usually best just to prod her along in her storytelling, to act if you’re equally as outraged and offended. The alternative is an unpleasant tirade that may or may not be known to last a full half-hour, at least in my experience. “No one could accomplish something that quickly. Awfully demanding, if you ask me.”

“Exactly. I’m so mad I could spit on something.”

“As you should.” I pick up a tip jar with only two quarters and a nickel inside, dump them on the counter, and hand it to her. “Here, try this.”

It’s on that last word that I figure I’ve taken the insincere empathy thing too far. Her eyes narrow. She sizes me up and down while I resist the urge to flinch.

“Are you patronizing me?”

Innocence. Innocence and shock. And the slightest look of offense thrown in for good measure. I’m sure this is my best strategy.

“I wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Oh, knock it off, Cameron.” Shaye grabs the jar and sets it on the counter, then shoves my arm on her way to the register. “I just have to balance the drawer and then I can flip the sign closed.” She sighs. “I wish I could have flipped that lady…”

“Now, Shaye,” I say, stopping her before she can finish the thought. “I’m sure she had a reason for expecting the unexpectable from you.”

She bites back a grin at the now intentional patronizing on my part.

“Your grammar sucks and so do you.”

I smile. “Yes, but I’m the only friend you invited here to play tonight, so…”

She laughs. A victory for me. “Now hurry up and finish that.” I nod to the drawer and sit down to pull off my shoes.

In the time it takes to untie the first one, I’m a kid again. A kid sitting on a carpeted floor waiting for his best friend to finish washing dishes or folding laundry or giving kids a bath so the two of them can run off to the lake, the private place where adults wouldn’t find them or even think to look because they were so far immersed in their adult worlds with their adult problems and their adult bad moods.

I look around the room.

There are no adults here. Just balloons and inflatables and bright and cheery banners and two kids latching onto the chance to finally have a childhood, even if only for a few minutes on an uneventful Saturday night.

Shaye

I
’m breathing heavy
and sweat is building under my armpits and at the back of my hairline and I’m pretty sure I just felt a trickle or two wind its way down inside my bra, but this the most fun I’ve had in weeks. Or months. Or years. It’s difficult to remember. I find myself counting the minutes until Cameron says he needs to leave. Praying that moment won’t come anytime soon.

Apparently for me, fun doesn’t come without doubting its sustainability.

“Why the sad face?”

We’re inside a replica of Cinderella’s castle, still bouncing a bit even though we’re both lying on our backs in the middle of it—Cameron looking at me and me looking at him, unfocused as I am. We’ve been this way for several minutes, talking into the semi-darkness about nothing in particular. Until suddenly the talking stopped and my doubts about the remainder of the evening began.

Immediately I snap back to attention, well aware that my attitude has slipped away from the giddiness of before and is now precariously perched this side of depressed.

“What look?” The best way to deflect scrutiny is to feign ignorance, so I feign away. Somehow forgetting that I am the world’s worst liar.

“The look that says that even though this has been the best night in recent memory, you’re just waiting for the sky to fall. What gives, Chicken Little?”

The best night in recent memory?
This gets me to smile. Still, I can’t let his comment go.

“Don’t call me Chicken Little. And nothing is wrong. I’m just—I don’t know—I guess I’m just tired.”

I want to take back my words when Cameron sits up. His white tee is twisted and damp, revealing a muscles I hadn’t noticed before. I find myself wondering yet again how he has changed so drastically in such a short time.

“We should probably get going then. I’d hate for your boss to show up and fire you for letting me hang out here after hours. I’m not sure you can handle that happening twice in one week.” He laughs, but the sound fails to boost my mood. If anything, it causes it to plummet even further.

“Yeah, I guess so.” I force a smile and pull myself into a sitting position next to him. “It’s late. I should probably close up and head home.” If only home were a place I wanted to be. If only it didn’t require me being there alone. It’s the reason I still haven’t broken up with Mike. Truthfully, it’s always been the real reason I never break up with anyone. Once you’ve known what alone really feels like, you never forget it, even if you were six years old when it happened and a decade and a half have passed since. Time doesn’t heal everything. It certainly doesn’t heal those kinds of wounds.

Cameron frowns, though I’m not sure why. “Okay, anything you need me to do to help?”

I shrug. “Just stay here and continue to be your charming self.”

I don’t mean the words to sound sarcastic, but they do. And in the way that every smart-mouth comment of mine never goes unnoticed by Cameron, this one is no exception. Before I know it, he’s jumping up and I’m no longer trying to stand because I’m flat on my back, bouncing on my butt and my face and my shoulder as Cameron jumps harder and I laugh louder into a store that’s made for laughter. The sound of mine bounces off the walls in a thunderous reverberation. My ears ring at the sound.