“I can’t imagine being a mother that young. Honestly, I don’t even know if I want to have kids at all.” Deep inside, a flash of real pain hits me, but I can’t bear to feel what it means.
“Being a mother isn’t something you want?” He doesn’t say it meanly, just matter-of-factly.
“I’m not sure,” I murmur. “I kind of felt like I mothered somebody for years.”
Cam reaches for my hand. He doesn’t say anything else, but I can feel the unasked question in the air.
I take a shaky breath. “My father didn’t just leave that last time. He left every time something set him off. A bad haircut, a loss with the Cannons, a wrong look. Or a snowstorm. Snow depressed my father. Which of course makes Minnesota a bad place to live. Snowstorms always put him in a low mood, and if you so much as looked at him sideways, that could set off the swearing and storming away, or long trips to bed. But he seems to like the snow in Colorado. I heard it melts quicker with those three hundred days of sunshine, so maybe that’s why.”
Cam squeezes my hand and gently runs his thumb over my palm. “So you took care of him.”
I furrow my brow. “He needed a lot of support, and I gave it to him the best I could. He seemed like he’d lost faith a long time ago, for whatever reasons I have no idea.”
“Was he ever diagnosed with anything?”
“My mother sought the advice of several psychiatrists. She tried to get my father to go with her, but he always refused. He’d get so angry she asked that we’d end up wishing she hadn’t bothered. One doctor said he sounded bipolar, another suggested narcissistic, a third manic-depressive. I know he was depressed, and he suffered from extreme mood swings, so where you stood with him could be challenging to interpret. The labels didn’t help, though. We were still stuck with him.” I exhale. “But yes. We all worried about his mental health. We forgave far too much because of it too. I think deep down, we all knew he was unwell.”
* * *
When we reach the restaurant, I excuse myself for the restroom while Cam takes a seat at our table. I lock myself in a stall and call Molly.
“This is even more than we could have hoped for,” she says enthusiastically.
“What do you mean?”
“You and Cam? In a hotel alone again? You have to know what this means.”
“I was calling to ask if you think Cam wants to stay the night here,” I say. “I don’t want to be the one to bring it up.”
“Absolutely, I think he wants to spend the night,” Molly says as my heart drops into my stomach. “Why else would he take you so far away? Lovelake isn’t exactly known for its culinary talents if you know what I mean.”
“Oh my God, you are so not helpful! I’m gonna go.”
“And I’ll tell Mama not to expect you back tonight.” I can hear her giggling as we hang up.
I leave the bathroom and go rejoin Cam.
He flashes a smile as I take the seat across from him at the table.
“Still waiting on menus,” he says. “I asked twice.”
I laugh. “Well, we’re not in a rush.”
The waitress is, though. When she does bring menus, she returns about one minute later before I’ve finished reading through the options.
“Would you give us a couple minutes more?” Cam asks politely.
The waitress, Becky, grumbles something under her breath and turns on her heel.
Cam looks at me, and I smile.
“Maybe she’s having a bad night,” I say, flipping my menu upside-down. “I’ll help her out and just order the first thing I see.”
Cam chuckles. “You’re a fun date.”
I make a silly face at him. “I try.”
I slip off my coat and hang it on the back of my chair.
