Page 24 of Good Days Bad Days
“Same as you, it sounds like. Work, kids. All that—”
“Jazz,” I say, completing the sentence.
“Exactly.”
“And what is ‘work’?” I ask, not letting him off as easily as he did with me.
“God, you’re gonna think I’m so boring.”
“Cameron, I’m sure a lot has changed, but there’s no way you’re boring now.”
“Oh, just wait. I’ll give you an oh-so-exciting summary. Hi. I’m Cameron Stokes. I’m a dentist in Janesville. I’m a fairly recent single dad to two boys, one getting his MBA at Loyola and the other a junior at UW. I’m into biking, D&D, and watching documentaries,” he says,eyebrows raised, deep into his point, “andI need at least a week of listening to potential songs on YouTube before attending any form of karaoke night.”
I cover my mouth to hold in my laughter, letting it linger inside my lungs before releasing it.
“What? Does my patheticness entertain you?”
“Pathetic? You sound like you have life figured out, Mr. Stokes. I’m sorry, Dr. Stokes. I always knew you’d turn out all right.”
His shoulders rise and fall; a sweet, reflective smile lingers after our playful exchange. I focus on the ice in my drink when long-dormant butterflies twitch their wings in my belly.
“So, what’s brought you back to the lake, Lottie?” He asks sincerely. The humor has left his voice. “I heard you said you’d never set foot in town again.”
“Lacey clearly has a big mouth,” I say, raising my eyebrows before continuing. “What I think I said was ‘I’d never so much as drive through even if my life depended on it.’” I risk looking at him again, and the vodka and soda or the butterflies or good old-fashioned loneliness weakens my defensive walls. “My mom isn’t doing great, and my dad moved her into Shore Path.”
“Oh, man. I’m sorry, Lottie. I know things with your mom were ... complicated.”
“You could say that.” I chuckle sardonically, recalling my mom’s cutting accusations this morning and then Betty’s tender “I love yous.” “All this time I’ve always told Dad I’d help him with the house if he wanted it. I thought it might take a week or two, a month at most, before I came back. Turned out it only took thirty-one years.” I finish my drink with a dramatic slurp through the straw. “But when he called—I came. Talk about pathetic.”
Cameron’s head tilts to the side. He touches my back lightly.
“Not pathetic. Not pathetic in the slightest.”
He hasn’t seen or talked to me since we were both fifteen, he doesn’t seem to know about any of my biggest triumphs, yet he knew me whenI was most transparently myself. How do I tell him how much his generous evaluation means to me?
“Hey! There you are.” A familiar voice makes me jump. Cameron removes his hand. “I swear we lapped the bar two times looking for you!”
Lacey is here, finally, and I’m flooded with conflicting emotions—relief that I have a reason to escape the weight of this serious conversation, disappointment that my time reconnecting with Cam is over.
She’s out of breath, carrying a drink in one hand and a long winter coat in her arm like an unruly toddler. Her off-the-shoulder sheer blouse reveals her spray-tan and black bra strap. Her hair is dyed and highlighted, but other than that it looks very similar to her permed and hair-sprayed look of the early nineties.
Next to Lacey stands Connie Perry, face filled out around the jawline, hair updated in a short bob, wearing her thick puffer jacket over an oversized sweatshirt and jeans. And taking up the rear is Michael Willards, Connie’s high school boyfriend who, according to Lacey, came out in college and now lives with his partner and two kids in a northern Illinois suburb.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve texted, but look who I ran into!” I give a round of hugs to each of my now-old old friends, and they gather around the table.
“Cam! I thought you moved to Janesville. You visiting John and Sue?” Cameron’s parents, John and Sue—so Midwestern, so welcoming—the kind of parents any kid wants or needs, the kind who make sure you take your shoes off at the front door and get home before curfew but also find you a tutor for calculus when your grade drops and hug you after a big loss instead of telling you all the ways you could’ve done better. God, I worshipped John and Sue. I think sometimes I still model them when parenting my own children.
“Yeah. They’re moving down to the Villages in Florida and turning the house into a rental property, so I’m out here whenever I have some free time. Came out with Bongo and Luke, you know, the Wagner brothers.” He points to two older men sitting at the bar, clearly annoyedat the bustling twentysomethings in their ridiculous outfits dancing around them. We’re all almost shouting over the thumping music, the voices of the crowd joining in the chorus, jumping in unison. I know the song and the words, and part of me wishes I could join in. “We did not expect to walk into Bunny night or whatever.”
“Yeah, sorry. Thumbs was my call. Haven’t been here in forever. I didn’t know they were doing this Playboy thing tonight,” Michael apologizes, his long-sleeve button-up clearly not meant for a night of wild partying.
“We could go to Champs,” Connie shouts, referencing the sports bar less than a block away on Main Street. “See if the vibe is a little less—”
“Corset-centric?” Cameron suggests, and we all agree, even though a tiny part of me wishes we could stay, that I could get lost in the mob, drink a little too much, and let the music move my body without my mind shouting reasons I should act proper, why I should act my age, why I should worry someone will recognize me.
We finish our drinks, take a selfie to memorialize the meeting, and bundle up for the walk. Lacey invites Cameron to join us, but when he checks on the already half-wasted Wagner brothers, he declines, explaining he’s their designated driver. That same conflicting emotion hits me again, disappointment and relief.
At the door, I give Cameron a side hug and tell him to keep in touch even though I know he won’t be able to find “Lottie Laramie” anywhere on the internet.
