“Just fine? What's wrong?”
I switch the phone to my other hand and grab the railing to help pull me along. “Nothing's wrong. I said it's going fine.”
“You had a tone.”
I roll my eyes. “There was notone.”
“There was.” I hear him get to his feet and what sounds like the fridge opening. “You can tell me if something's up.”
“God, I said nothing is wrong. I'mfine.I'm just hungry.”
“Annnd there it is.” His voice is filled with amusement. “You'rehangry.You always get snippy when you've reached the point of starvation.”
“I do not get snippy.”
He chuckles. “You do. It's literally the only time I ever see you cranky. Go eat something and call me back when you're feeling better.”
“Thanks,dad. I will.”
Laughing again, he says, “You're welcome, my little cupcake.”
“You're so annoying,” I tell him, this time fighting my own smile. It was barely an hour ago when I was thinking about how much I missed him. “Talk to you later, okay? Love you.”
“Yep,” he replies before hanging up.
The same lemon-scented cleaner hits me when I step into Cam's apartment a minute later, making me think once again that he's cleaning just for me. I don't know why he's bothering with it.
“Thanks for coming,” he says to me when I take a seat on one end of his couch, making myself comfortable.
“Well, you did promise me food.”
“I did,” he replies, walking into his kitchen and ruffling through some bags.
A second later, he walks back over, handing me a plate of food before sitting on the other end of the couch. “Thanks,” I mumble, diving right into the fried rice.
“So, how was the rest of your day yesterday? And today?”
He asks it as if it's just a usual night of us hanging out, and asking me about my day is a normal thing for him to do.
“It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary,” I answer in a clipped tone after another mouthful. And then realize my brother was right. Iamhangry.
Cam must also pick up on it because he narrows his eyes and asks, “Everything okay?”
Shaking my head, I put my fork down for a moment. “I'm fine. I just didn't get to finish my lunch today.” He nods slowly in understanding. “Anyway, what about you? What did you do?”
Looking down at his food, he pushes some of it around. “I didn't do much today. Had one errand I had to do.”
A half answer. I sigh internally and try another.
“When do you think you'll return to work? Actually, what do you even do?”
He takes a big mouthful of his food and spends longer than necessary chewing it while avoiding my gaze. Finally, he turns to me. “How's your food?” As if I never asked him anything.
“You're so frustrating. You know that?” I complain, unable to stop myself. Obviously, the food hasn't made its way down yet.
With his brows bunched together, he asks, “What? Why?”
“Every time I ask you a question about yourself, you either evade it, half answer or ignore the question completely. Getting to know you is the hardest thing in the world.”
