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I fucking named his company. Well, we named it together. Years ago. Back when he wasmyDean.
“Randomly.” He smirks. “The idea just came to me out of nowhere.”
The pain in my chest intensifies, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him what the letters stand for, but now isn’t the appropriate time. Besides, I already know exactly what CDJ stands for.
Seeing Dean again is a massive blast from my past that I wasn’t expecting. I don’t know how I feel about it.
Actually, I do know how I’m feeling.
Emotionally fucked.
THREE
THEN
Camille,8 years old
"I've told you, sweetie. My friend moved in next door, and we're going to go over and say hello," Mom explains patiently, despite my growing attitude.
"But why? I don't need to meet your friend, and my cartoons are on." I pout, crossing my arms over my chest with a scowl, stomping my foot to add to my childish tantrum.
My mommy and daddy have been telling me all week that their friends will be moving next door to us. Apparently they were best friends in college, but they moved hours away from each other. They'd meet up together every year and kept in contact, and now they've moved in right next door.
"Come on, Camille. Don't be such a baby. Mom is making me go, too. They have a son my age, and maybe he's cool to play with." Spencer turns the TV off, ruining my chance to watch my Saturday cartoons on Nickelodeon. She pushes me toward the door where Mom is standing with a smile and a fresh-baked pie in her hands.
Well, it's a key lime pie, so I don't know if it's baked or not. But she made it, and it's my most favorite pie ever.
"Fine. But I'm only going for the dessert, so they better share that pie." With my hands on my small hips, I march out the front door ahead of my family, scowling the entire walk next door. My scowl is still in place even after I ring the doorbell so many times that Dad has to hold my hand to stop me.
My weekends are my me time. No school, no stupid boys who pull my pigtails, just me and my cartoons. Except for this weekend, because our new neighbors are ruining my life already.
The door opens to reveal a woman who looks Mommy’s age. She has dark hair and a wide smile. Instantly my scowl is gone at the sight of her, and I return her smile. She's pretty, and her smile makes me want to smile too. "Hello! You two cuties must be Spencer and Camille. I'm Lydia." She squats down to my height, forcing Spence and me into a tight hug. She smells like warm vanilla.
She lets us go and allows us into her home while she greets my parents. Miss Lydia's house smells of fresh linen, sunshine, and cookies. I like it here, and I like Lydia now too.
I stand beside Spencer, my eyes wandering around the floorplan that reminds me of ours.
Lydia and my parents are talking in the entryway, so I take it upon myself to venture deeper inside the large house. Spencer says I'm being nosey, but I call it being curious, and Daddy always tells me that it's good to be curious.
"Girls, can you go out back and tell my son, Dean, to come inside? We're going to eat some pie and have fresh lemonade now." Lydia has a nice smile, just like Mom. She seems friendly, and since my parents like her, I'll allow her to live next door. I sure hope this visit doesn’t become a weekly thing; I’m not willing to give up my Saturday cartoons more than once.
In sync, Spencer and I nod and run toward the backyard where we find a dark-haired boy playing with his football. He's throwing it in the air and catching it.
Boys are such cootie-infested losers. I wish he were a girl instead. Perhaps Miss Lydia isn't that perfect if she has a son instead of a daughter.
"Your mom says you have to go inside right now," I say, placing my hands on my hips. "Hurry up, so we can eat pie." I then cross my arms, looking him up and down. The boy drops the football and stands before me, mimicking my stance. He's taller than me, so he has to look down to talk to me.
"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?" I'm temporarily taken aback by the mouth on this boy. I wonder if Miss Lydia knows that he curses.
"You're my new neighbor; your mom let me in, and she says it's time to go inside."
"You're bossy, and I don't have to listen to you."
"Yes, you do, because your mom told me to tell you to come inside so we can eat some pie."
"You don't look like you need any pie,” the loser boy says, poking my chubby cheek. Mom says I have baby weight, and that I'll grow out of it when I'm older and taller. I'm eight, so I don't think it's baby weight because I'm not a baby. But I love myself just the way I am, round cheeks and all. Mom says it's vital to have self-confidence, and I sure do.
"Camille, Mom said you have to be nice!" Spencer says, running over to the swing set, not even caring that I'm trying like heck to get this loser boy inside so we can have dessert. We haven't even had lunch yet, so I hope Mom doesn't remember that. She never lets us eat sweets first.
