Page 40 of Wild and Wrangled

On one hand, I hated it when they were disappointed or upset with me, but when they were displeased, I got the attention that I used to crave so badly.

Sometimes I found myself wondering if I used to use Dustyas a weapon against my parents, especially after my mother found us kissing in his Bronco. Once he was no longer a secret, our relationship became the only way I had ever successfully worked against their wishes, to stand up for myself. But I think he saw himself as more of a shield—something that could protect me.

I hoped my daughter never needed either of those things.

“I love you, Sunshine,” I said. “You know that, right?”

Riley’s forehead wrinkled. “Duh,” she said right as an employee dropped our drinks and pastries off at our table in mismatched mugs and on mismatched plates.

“I like plates like this,” Riley said.

“Plates like what?”

“Plates that don’t match. Can we get some for our new house?”

“Have you seen our plates, Sunshine?” I laughed. I was definitely not a mismatched plates type of woman.

“Yeah. They’re all white and boring,” Riley said. Her eyes were alight.

“Ouch, kid,” I said. “You think my plates are boring?”

Riley nodded enthusiastically. “Really boring,” she said. “We should get rainbow plates!”

“What if we compromise and get some pastel plates or something? Or something with a pattern?”

“Pastel is light colors, right?” Riley asked, and I nodded. “Okay. Pastels are good.” When she took a sip of her steamer, which was just steamed milk and vanilla syrup, my seven-year-old looked like she was seventeen.

I swiped a bite of Riley’s chocolate cake. “Oh that’s good,” I said.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t even had any yet.” Ishrugged, and Riley took the first bite of my coffee cake with a grin. As she chewed, she nodded and smiled.

“Good?” I asked.

“Good,” she said. Then, each of us got a bite of our own cake on our forks.

“Cheers,” I said, and we clinked our forks together.

Chapter 19

Cam

Fifteen Years Ago

When I was in private school, I loved spring break. I didn’t really have anything from school to miss back then, but now, I did. I had friends—well, I had Chloe. We stayed pretty close after soccer season was over, and, of course, I had Dusty.

I was counting down the days until school started, so I could see him.

“You seem distracted, Camille,” my mom said from the other side of the dining table. It was the last Saturday morning of the break. I’d go back to school on Monday—thank god. The two of us were eating breakfast together. It was the one day out of the entire year that we ever did so. My dad was working. Yup, on Saturday. He always seemed to find a reason to work on the weekends, yet he was always miraculously done when it was time for him and my mom to go to a fancy party with their fancy friends while I stayed home.

“Just tired,” I responded while I speared a strawberry off my plate. We had the same breakfast every Saturday and Sunday. My mom had a lot of stupid rules about food, so fruit, two eggs, and wheat toast it was. During the week, it was yogurt.

“Why could you possibly be tired?” she asked, but I knew she didn’t need an answer to chastise me for something—going to bed too late, drinking too much caffeine, snoozing my alarm because she read somewhere that actually made you more tired—so I stayed quiet and kept picking at my breakfast.

“Your father got the phone bill a few days ago,” Lillian said after a few beats. “He wanted me to ask you why you seem to be sending so many more texts.”

Of course, my dad couldn’t ask me that himself. It seemed like the novelty of having a daughter wore off for him a little more each year, and so his investment in our relationship wore off as well.

“Don’t we have unlimited texts?”

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