Page 15 of A Different Kind Of December
“Not really, but I know you. We went to the same school. You always did think your shit didn’t stink. Then you married that Carnage bloke, and we all got to look at the lovey-dovey photos splashed everywhere of the pair of ya. Didn’t mind having ya photo taken then, did ya?”
Cam’s stare slices between the crazy lady and me, begging me to let him break either her phone or her husband’s nose. I’d rather he did neither of those things right now. At least not while everyone else in the restaurant is watching.
“And that gives you the right to take pictures of my kids, does it? Cam, put him down,” I order, he ignores me.
She stands when I reach her table, and I can see that calling her curvy was doing a disservice to curvy women. She’s round like a beach ball with massive boobs, a big belly, and short legs.
I lean in and whisper in Cam’s ear, “Other people are pulling out their phones and filming this, please let’s just leave it.” Without even looking my way, he releases the bloke, gives him a shove, and we watch as he lands on his arse back on his side of the table.
“Like I said—”
“I’m not interested.” I cut her off and turn to Brett, asking, “Is our table ready?”
He looks at me and blinks—or flinches, I’m not sure which—and gives a stuttered, “Ye-yes,” in response.
I call the kids over.
I could stand here and argue with these people. We could cause a scene and even demand that they be thrown out, but I’ve learned my lesson over the years. The press will run with whatever version of events they see fit to and rarely will it be the truth. If we make a big deal out of this, then it’ll give value to whatever pictures she’s already taken of us, and the last thing I want is these fuckwits making money out of images of my family.
“Follow Brett,” I tell the kids, who are all eyeing me warily, waiting for it all to kick off.
I take hold of Cam’s hand and smile at the couple in front of me.
“Enjoy your lunch. Thank you for ruining ours and making what is already a difficult day for me even worse. I hope you find someone to buy those pictures you’ve taken of my children without my permission and that your conscience allows you to enjoy spending it on something that makes your sad little life happier.”
The people sitting farther down the bench start clapping, then they stand and continue clapping. After a few seconds, the entire restaurant joins them.
All the while, I fight the urge to cry and to rip the troll-faced bitch’s throat out.
Cam pulls on my hand, kisses the top of my head, and says into my ear, “Love the fuck outta you, Kitten.” He then leads me over to our table to where our kids, my reason for existing, are waiting.
I
text Marley and tellhim we’re about a minute away, and the gates to the grounds of “Rock Star’s Retreat” are swinging open as we arrive.
We’ve been blown out by our kids, all requesting to be dropped off at home on our way from Lakeside to here. I wasn’t happy at first, but then Cam reminded me that the last thing I probably wanted to do at their age was hang out with my parents, aunts, and uncles, so, once again, I took a deep breath and let it go. I’ve done so much of that today, I really should consider changing my name to Elsa.
Cam’s been quiet on the drive. Well, he’s been quiet since the restaurant incident. I’ve not pushed him for an explanation since I’m sure at some stage he’ll tell me. Once he’s worked it out in his own head.
We pull up on Marley’s drive at a little after six.
Four minutes after six to be exact.
I don’t move.
Cam doesn’t move.
“Un-break My Heart” by Toni Braxton is playing through the sound system until Cam turns it off.
We sit in absolute silence as I watch the clock on the dashboard.
At eight minutes past six, Cam moves his seat back, leans across the centre consul, and lifts me to straddle his lap.
He slides his arms around my waist as I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest and throat.
We’re back to where we were this morning. Except this time, there is nothing sexual about our embrace.
This time, it’s all about my husband holding me together at the exact moment my little boy was born not breathing and unresponsive seventeen years ago.
