Trying to push the memory from my mind, I stop at a side door. I could either turn and continue down an interior hallway that leads to the villa’s library, or I could exit to a covered walkway that borders a terrazzo, then winds through some gardens, and eventually connects to one of the guesthouses. Muffled voices through the glass—ones that sound a lot like Cammie and Dr. Alex—make the decision for me, and I step out into the midday heat.
I make a file folder in my head, typing the labelPresent Cammie. If I dig deep into the recesses of my mental recycling bin, I could pull out thePast Cammiefolder, shake the dust and cobwebs off it. Click and drag the relevant info from the old to the new:
Cammie still wants to be an archaeologist, a.k.a. Dr. Lovett 2.0.
Cammie also wants nothing to do with me.
While I’ve had no way to keep up since we blocked each other on all social media three years ago, I assume that by now, a year into college and seemingly about to start her first field school as a student, she’s right on track to make number one happen; number two could be more difficult to pull off, but I’m willing to help her try. My mental state would certainly be better for it.
Dad promised a low-stress summer. It’s only our second inthis post-custody-agreement stage, when I’ve aged out of the court-mandated schedule, but I still have to live withsomeoneduring every school break. Adulthood means the decision of when to spend time with each of my fathers is up to me. A decision that is not at all emotionally fraught and hasn’t been the topic of at least a dozen therapy sessions since their divorce.
Neither Dad nor Pops gave a formal pitch; there were no slide decks prepared or formal speeches outlining their most compelling arguments for why I should spend the break with each of them. But I sensed the seeds being planted, less-than-subtle hints dropped over the entire spring semester any time I spoke to one of them. With every phone call, every casual inquiry about “where my head was” on the subject, every allusion to something we could do together “if I was around” after the school year, it was clear what they wanted.
What wasn’t clear to me was whatIwanted. I dragged my feet for months, weighing the pros and cons of being home with Pops versus traveling with Dad. In the end, it felt like fate stepped in when Pops learned he had to teach summer school, majorly limiting the time he’d have to spend with me. Now I’m wondering if what I thought was a gift from the universe was actually a prank. Perhaps a curse. It’s clear I upset a higher power somewhere, and in return, they’ve summoned the only person in the world who sincerely hates me and delivered her to my literal doorstep.
Dad insisted last night that he didn’t know Cammie would be here any earlier than I did, that he also only found out when we met up with Dr. Alex yesterday. But those two are so in eachother’s business, I find it hard to believe they didn’t discuss plans to both bring their kids to this summer-long walk down memory lane. I happen to know that back in the day, they coordinated when to give the sex talk to Cammie and me—separately, thank god—and workshopped it with each other to prepare. This feels similarly coordinated, an intentional withholding of key information that could’ve kept one or both of their offspring from getting on a flight to Italy.
Would I have backed out, had I known about the Lovett of it all? I don’t know, but I probably would have packed more anxiety meds.
As it stands, I’m determined to keep my focus on people who do want me here. I haven’t spent more than a weekend at a time with Dad since he and Pops split up my senior year of high school. Once he was free of his ex’s disdain for his career’s demands, his work travels picked back up and kept him bouncing around the world most of the time. Living with Pops was more practical while I finished school, and he became the default afterward. But I know Dad struggles with the distance between us, as much as he tries to make up for it with frequent calls and texts and visits when we can. Even through shitty video call quality, I could see tears fill his eyes when I told him I would join him in Italy. It’s safe to say we’re both looking forward to this chance to reconnect.
I can’t let some tired drama from my past get in my head, or worse, my heart. Cammie Lovett won’t ruin anything else for me. I shake my head as the voices I’ve been hearing grow louder, whether because I’m getting close to my targets orthey’re working up to a shouting match—either seems possible. Whatever agenda Dad and Dr. Alex have, I hope they’re already rethinking it.
Squinting against the sunlight, I finally spot them between a couple of lemon trees, two matching heads of auburn hair—one much messier than the other—and my dad’s dark brown hair with an ever-growing bald spot on top.
“Cam, let’s talk about it later, just you and me, okay? Dr. Danny and I are finishing up our meeting…” Dr. Alex sounds almost too calm, like if she can give off an excess of soothing energy, her daughter will absorb a little. Or maybe that’s just the effect of the nearly empty glass of red wine she holds in one hand. Dad takes a sip from his own glass, the bottle on the bistro table between them. Not their best Serious Meeting act.
“No, really—I’m not about to endure two months of Weston Jacobs. He’s just, like, visiting for the weekend before he backpacks across the rest of Europe or something. Right?” Cammie’s voice shakes on the last word. She has always been easily riled. Quick to spout off, gesture wildly, her freckle-covered face showing every thought in her head. It’s one of the things I used to think made her exciting. Addicting. Attractive.
I mentally smack myself for the ridiculous thought, then push aside a branch more aggressively than necessary as I step into the small clearing where the one-sided standoff is taking place. Cammie is braced with her back to me and hands on hips, and I can only imagine the kind of glower she’s giving our unfazed parents. Then I don’t have to imagine, as both adults’gazes turn my way. Cammie whirls around, too, her fierce scowl getting fiercer and scowlier when it lands on me.
“If I’m ever found ‘backpacking’ anywhere, call the authorities, because the rest of my luggage must’ve been stolen,” I offer matter-of-factly. “You know I’m an overpacker.”
This earns a heavy sigh from my dad as he removes his glasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose. I also catch Dr. Alex pressing her lips together as if to smother a grin before I look back to Cammie. The color of her flushed face is creeping ever closer to matching her hair.
“I don’t know a thing about your life, except that it has no business overlapping with mine,” she snaps.
“Camilla,” Dr. Alex chides, just as Dad clears his throat and both set their glasses on the table with a loud clatter.
“Oookay, let’s all just take a breath,” Dad says in his most professorial tone. “Cammie, West, I know you two have a…complicated history and that this might not be the most joyful reunion for either of you.”Understatement, I think as I see Cammie’s fists clench in my periphery. “But we’re all here now, and we get to spend the summer in this beautiful place, reminiscing on the amazing events that brought us all into each other’s lives twenty years ago. Alex and I would love to get to relive some of the good old days, when life was a never-ending adventure around the world with our two favorite kids. It might be the last chance we get, before those kids are off living their own lives and adventures without us.”
“No one expects you to snap your fingers and become the best of friends again,” Dr. Alex chimes in, “but surely youcan keep things civil. Act like the mature adults you’ve become.”
They’re not exactly easing my suspicions that they’ve been scheming.
Twenty-four hours ago, I would’ve agreed that I’m a mature adult. But Camilla Lovett reenters my orbit for ten minutes, and suddenly I’m seventeen again. All these feelings I thought were long buried are back at the surface, nearly as intense as they were the day of our first and last fight. The one that sent a lifelong friendship—and the fragile beginnings of something more—up in flames.
At least I do a better job of hiding it than the girl beside me, who might as well have cartoonish clouds of smoke billowing from her ears as she looks from her mother to me and back. Even though my chest is tight with anxiety, I’m surprised to feel a smile trying to break free as Cammie visibly strains to mellow out her expression and relax her posture.
“Right, well.” She finally ends the heavy silence, blowing out an irritated breath before continuing. “For the sake of civility, I’ll plan to avoid West as much as possible, and he can just pretend I don’t exist. He’s perfected that skill the last few years.”
