Uncovering Camila (Wildflowers Book 3) (15 page)

Chapter 37

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to need you that Thursday. Jared and Gemma already asked for that day off.” Todd rubs the back of his neck. He hates saying no to his favorite employee. In three years, Camila has only called in sick twice and taken six weeks of vacation. “You’re welcome to take the following week if you want,” he offers.

She shakes her head. “Too close to finals. It’s alright. I’ll take what I can get.”
It seems to be a running theme in my life
, she thinks to herself. Already she can hear Shoshana’s voice trying to break her out of her self-pity.

Camila sighs when she heads back out to the bar. “No dice, huh?” Felicity asks.

She shakes her head.

“Same.” She leans against the bar and folds her arms. “You’d think I’d get special favors but nope. He says first come first serve.”

Camila gives her a look.

“You seriously have no idea?”

She tilts her head. “I’m not into workplace gossip.”

“You and Jared are friends. I figured he was telling everyone.” A playful smile spreads over her face. “Todd and I have a thing.”

The look on Felicity’s face makes Camila’s stomach drop. It was only a couple of weeks ago that the mere thought of Marshall made her feel that elated. She couldn’t remember the last time she was with someone who matched her wants and desires and who didn’t make her question or second-guess herself. Her body would become lighter and at ease in his presence. She can feel her pussy quiver at the thought of him, and it makes her angry that she’d allowed him to come close enough to affect her that much.

And she thought being ghosted was bad. Receiving a text from Marshall later that Sunday that read, “We’re cool, right?” left Camila seething. It was the worst statement he could’ve made after the tense lunch they’d shared with her cousin, who was gracious enough to keep the conversation going. She knew immediately it was his passive/aggressive way of saying, “It’s over.” He isn’t the confrontational type and, after being ghosted by Eliseo, it was clear to Camila that Marshall would end up doing the same thing.

Camila figured there was no point in responding. She fully gets that it makes her no better than Eliseo, but Marshall doesn’t deserve more than that. He should’ve had the courage to tell her in person that he didn’t want to see her anymore, that he was too afraid of the administration’s perception and losing his position, and that he’s too much of a coward to live his life honestly. Instead, he paid the bill and left, citing an article deadline.

For the past week, their communication regarding Law Review was limited to terse emails. When it came time to meet with him, she even went so far as to send one of the executive editors in her place. Of course this could’ve been considered an act of cowardice as well. But as far as she’s concerned, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t want to see her again.
We’re cool my ass
, she mutters to herself.

“You rub that glass any harder you’re going to break it,” Felicity warns, interrupting Camila’s thoughts.

“Good therapy,” she chuckles. She sets down the glass and plucks another out of the dishwasher. “Why are men such crappy communicators?”

“You’re asking me? I’m the one who spent loads of money trying to figure that out remember?”

“That’s precisely why I’m asking you.” Camila fills a double jigger with gin to make a Negroni. People are beginning to trickle in for happy hour, which means they’ll be too busy to talk for the next few hours.

“I have this theory that there’s basically two types of men—those who want love and those who need it.”

“Okay, I’m listening.” Camila stirs the drink in an old fashioned glass.

“The latter are obviously less desirable because they’re so desperate to fill a void they’ll just get involved with anyone.”

“I’ve definitely dated those,” Camila agrees.

“Who hasn’t?” Felicity retorts. “The former are tricky. You want someone who makes the choice to be with you, but often men aren’t socialized to ask for love so they fumble around and make really shitty moves, like not texting you back for days or not calling you after they slept with you. It comes down to how emotionally connected they are.”

“How do you know?”

Felicity tosses an orange peel into Camila’s cocktail. “Go back to the beginning and see how they were then. Guys will often show you who they are on the first or second date. I’m almost thirty. I did the math, and I think I’ve had roughly two hundred fifty first dates. It would’ve saved me a lot of time if I’d figured this out sooner.” She laughs.

The sound of her laughter makes Camila laugh too. She can understand why Todd, let alone anyone who’s met Felicity, would fall for her. Her easy-going manner and ability to laugh at herself puts everyone at ease. It makes Camila wonder if perhaps she never learned to laugh at herself or at life. She’d always taken things seriously, most likely influenced by her parents who, while loving, were very intent and purposeful in their lives, from work to family. Rarely does she remember her home being full of laughter. There was harmony and love, yes, but not a lot of laughter.

As far as her first dates, they were all pretty much the same, except for Marshall. Despite her best efforts, Camila can’t push away the memory of their walk that August morning. If she could’ve frozen any of their time together, it would’ve been that walk on the Brooklyn Bridge when she felt a profound sense of peace and calm. However, another memory starts to nag at her. The way he stood on her doorstep later that morning, reluctant and nervous. And then the following night when she sent him away after they slept together.

“People change though, don’t they?” Camila asks.

“Not so much as they react to something, like some fear that’s been triggered or whatever. Before I became a bartender, I used to work at the Strand. I swear the kookiest people work in bookstores and libraries. Anyway, there was this guy who did way too much LSD back in the eighties. He considered himself a Jungian and talked about how everything we experience is a projection of our fears, from our relationships to our jobs, like we’re constantly creating life scenarios to confront our worst fears.”

That sounds about right
, Camila acknowledges to herself. First his, then hers and then around again.

It’s not until the happy hour crowd filters out that Camila finally gets to ask Felicity the questions that she hasn’t been able to get out of her mind. “Did this Jungian guy ever say how to get rid of these fears?”

Felicity slices the ends off a ginger root and shrugs. “He said that since our fears are just a projection of ourselves, we have to learn to embrace and love them. Love yourself, love your fears.”

“He never said exactly
how
to do that though, did he?”

“Figuring that out is all part of the process.”

Chapter 38

Camila makes the short journey from her bed to the kitchen to make another cup of coffee. It’s so much harder to fight sleep with her bed only five feet away from her desk, but the thought of running into Marshall somewhere on campus is even less appealing.

The sound of a key sliding into the lock makes her jump. She’s had way too much caffeine. The doorknob rattles, followed by a knock. “C.C. it’s me,” she hears Shoshana say. “Unlock that stupid latch already.”

Camila chuckles and opens the door.

“I’m glad to see you’re still alive.” Shoshana places a hand on her hip.

Her cousin gives her a look. “Of course I’m fine. I was just studying. Why?”

Shoshana shrugs. “You’re not responding to my texts.”

“Images of Gerard Butler with photoshopped penises don’t warrant replies,” Camila anwsers, smiling. “Although they are funny.”

“That’s why I send them,” her cousin laughs. “You’ve been totally MIA since . . . .” Shoshana walks in, tosses her bag onto a side table and throws herself onto the bed. She doesn’t want to say his name. She feels terrible for interfering in her cousin’s life and setting her up for hurt. Rarely is she ever wrong about a person. Every fiber in her being told her Marshall would be the ideal guy for her cousin. She knew that as much as she knew Eliseo wasn’t. And she had been right. That photo of Eliseo down in Miami with Rosa Cruz that popped up in her Instagram feed merely affirms it. Shoshana covers her face with her arm. Her cousin has had the worst luck with men lately.

Camila walks over and moves Shoshana’s arm. “I’ve been studying and working. Don’t you have a paper or papers to write?” She stops herself when she hears how irritated she sounds. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound so bitchy. I’m just stressed. That vacation can’t come soon enough.”

“About that. Don’t hate me, but I haven’t gotten the tickets yet. So we might have to the take the jet. Since I’m not talking to my dad, I asked my mom. It’s like the worst game of telephone ever. I told her Jamaica but then she told him Barbados, which is ridiculous since they sound nothing alike.”

“So we go to Barbados,” Camila says. At this point she’d go to Alaska if it means getting out of the City.

“Trust me, I’ll sort it out.” Shoshana props herself up. “How much studying do you have to do?”

“Too much,” Camila answers. “Why?”

“Let’s go out.”

“Go out? You mean right now?”

Her cousin nods. “Yes! Laura Mvula is playing at the Gramercy tonight. I know how much you love her stuff. I got us fantastic seats.”

Camila’s eyes flick over to the stack of books on her desk. It’s all so unappealing at the moment. Not just research and papers, but everything about law school—the seminars, lectures on abstract laws that seem to have no practical application in the real world, and above all Law Review, which fills her with dread every time she thinks about it. It’s been months since she’s done anything spontaneous. If she cared to think about it, she would remember it was that night with Marshall in the Hamptons. “I’m in,” she says, grabbing her coat.

Bright white and green lights wash over Camila as her heart beats in time with the rhythm. This is what she needed—deep melodic sounds drowning out every voice, every worry in her heart and head that she’s been carrying for months. The weight of it all was so deceptive. At first, a single word, a small hurt can feel like a feather thrown against you. Eliseo leaving was more like a feather than what happened with Marshall. It was the result of opening herself to him and allowing her vulnerabilities to surface. The feelings cut a bit deeper, and his words, even the absence of them, make her feel burdened with the accumulation of so much hurt and pain she wonders how she can still be standing.

The fact that she is standing in row D, seat 2 makes Camila smile. A little bit of her hurt is lifted off with each song. No, no one made anyone the center of her universe, she tells herself as she sings along. She has the power to choose, and she failed to recognize that. She’d become a victim of her own ambition and desires. Everything she’d done revolved around her goals of going to law school and becoming a lawyer, including her relationships. Now that the blinders have been removed, she can see life in a more expanded way and acknowledge for the first time that there are no straight paths.

Camila reaches for Shoshana and hugs her. “Thank you for this!”

Her cousin holds her tight. “Anything for you.”

The two-hour set has the women leaving the venue on a high. “Let’s go to Dear Irving and get a drink,” Camila suggests, wanting to prolong this feeling for as long as possible.

As they head left toward Lexington Avenue, Shoshana takes Camila’s hand and stops. She abruptly turns and says, “You know what, there’s probably a two hour wait at Dear Irving. Let’s go uptown. I bet there’s live music at the Carlyle tonight.”

Camila doesn’t budge. “I know the host. I’m sure we’ll be able to get in.” She makes to say something else, but nothing comes out. She can see why her cousin was so quick to change plans. Up ahead is Marshall coming out of the theater, and he’s not alone.

“C.C., it’s okay,” she hears her cousin say. “We’ll go wherever you want.”

Shoshana takes a step, but Camila doesn’t move. She wants to though. Forward, backward, right, left, any direction, but she can’t. Her heart is on the ground with the rest of the City’s garbage. Which is exactly how she feels at the moment.

“Get it together,” her cousin whispers. “He hasn’t earned the right to see you hurt.”

Camila takes a deep breath and squeezes Shoshana’s hand. Her cousin has a point. Despite how close she felt to him, texting and leaving her the way he did hasn’t earned him the right to see her pain.

She forces her feet to move, one in front of the other, slowly until she nears him and his date, a very attractive, dark-skinned woman who looks closer to his age and whose tailored pencil skirt and silk blouse matches his own conservative style.

“Be cool. Ten more steps, and we’ll be past them,” Shoshana assures her as they walk.

“I’m okay,” Camila says, trying to sound more confident than she’s feeling. But isn’t this how it works, you fake it til you make it or however the saying goes.

They push through a small crowd that converged to the left of the exit. Once they’re through, they have a clear line to Lex. Unfortunately so does Marshall and his date.

“Hey Marshall,” Shoshana calls to him.

Camila lets go of her hand. “What are you doing?”

“Making nice. You can’t ignore him forever so get it over with. At least I’m here.”

“Oh, hey Shosh.” He looks over at Camila who attempts a smile. “C.C.”

“Were you guys at the concert?” Shoshana asks.

He nods. “Yeah, it was incredible. Don’t tell me you’re Laura Mvula fans.”

“C.C. introduced me to her music.” She elbows her cousin. “She’s a way bigger fan.”

“I had no idea.” Marshall shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

They stand in awkward silence for a beat. Camila can’t take her eyes off Marshall. She’s daring him to speak to her, but he doesn’t hold her eye contact.

Shoshana extends her hand to Marshall’s date. “I’m Shoshana, and this is my cousin, Camila.”

“Zoe Roberts.” The woman replies, taking her hand before offering it to Camila.

Camila can hardly blame Marshall. Not only is the woman stunning, but confident too.

“How did you and Marshall meet?” Shoshana asks.

A lump enters Camila’s throat.

“A mutual friend’s been trying to set us up for a while, but we could never get anything on the books.” Zoe laughs, the sound as smooth and melodic as the music inside. “Then he called me the other day saying he had these tickets . . . .”

Camila glances from Zoe to Marshall. He was lying when he said he didn’t know she was a fan. He’d heard her music in Camila’s apartment multiple times. They’d even had sex on her living room floor to
Sing to the Moon
.
Did he think about that night during the concert
?

“Oh, that’s funny,” Shoshana says in her overly friendly voice, the familiar one she uses when she’s interested in getting information. “You must work long hours,” she fishes, more for her benefit than Camila’s.

“I’m an MD in fixed income at Goldman. So yeah, not a lot of down time. But when Marshall mentioned the concert, I couldn’t miss it. I knew it would be an amazing show.”

A real woman with a real job
, Camila thinks, unable to keep from comparing herself to this Wall Street queen.

“It really was,” Shoshana agrees. “Well, since it’s taken you guys so long to get together, we won’t take up any more of your time.”

She tugs on her cousin’s arm, and they rush to the corner to make it across the street, but are stopped by a quick-changing traffic light.

“Shit,” Camila mutters. “Did you have to talk to them for so long?”

“I’m sorry. I was trying to figure out how long they’d been seeing each other. That way you don’t wonder later.”

“We must be headed in the same direction,” Zoe says when she reaches them, Marshall in tow. Like Camila, he’s lost his ability to speak. Seeing her here makes him feel worse than he did yesterday, which is worse than the day before that. He realized after he sent the text that it was the single most contemptible thing he’d ever done to another person, and he did it to her.

Once it was sent, he couldn’t unsend it. And he tortured himself for the first two days, drafting and deleting more texts, composing apologies, both verbal and written. Yet with the passing of hours into days, he resigned himself to doing nothing because he knew there was no way to make it up to her. It’s torture to be so close to Camila and not be able to touch her or express himself. In the end, he’s not sure if he would’ve handled things any differently, which makes seeing her even worse for him.

Marshall bristles at the anger radiating off of her. He can’t blame her. She knows those concert tickets were for them to go together. He was going to surprise her, but after that text, not even tickets to see her favorite singer in concert were going to make up for it, so he’d called Zoe, someone a friend from undergrad had been trying to set him up with. And while beautiful and intelligent and everything he thought he wanted, she’s not Camila.

As soon as the light turns green, she takes off, leaving Shoshana behind to talk to Zoe.

“I’m sorry,” Marshall mumbles as he falls in step with her.

“Don’t be. Zoe seems to have her shit together. I’m sure you two are better suited to each other. I should be the one to apologize.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Camila glances back at Shoshana and Zoe who are laughing. “My cousin is crashing your date.”

“She has a way with people, doesn’t she?” Marshall chuckles.

Camila keeps walking, hoping Marshall will wait for the others. She can’t stand to be this close to him. It pains her to feel his energy and not be able to fall into it as she had done so readily before.

“Will you please stop for a minute?”

Camila finally stops half-way down the block while her cousin and Zoe are stopped across the street. “Why don’t you just text me whatever it is you want to say.”

“That’s not . . . ,” he begins to say.

Camila gives him a look.

“It was an awful thing to do, C.C. I’m sorry. I got scared.”

“That doesn’t excuse what you did. I deserve better.”

“You do,” he agrees. He wants to be the one she deserves. He should be the one she deserves. Yet, by that very act, he showed her he isn’t, and he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to make it right. Marshall lifts his hand to touch her face. He’d give anything to be able to run his hand down her cheek and make her smile again. When he notices Zoe approach them, he quickly drops his hand.

“Zoe mentioned you guys are going to the Rose Bar.” Shoshana says. “C.C. used to work with the bartender there. Ask for Cory and tell him you’re friends of hers. He’ll totally fix you up.”

“Will do,” Marshall says, grateful for Shoshana. If it weren’t for her, he would’ve never met Camila or had these five minutes with her. “Does she make a good Metropolitan?” He asks.

Camila shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. I stopped drinking Metropolitans a while ago.”