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“Cal, do you want to play with me?” Cami runs over to me and tugs on my hand.
Lana looks up from her cutting board. “I think Cal is busy.”
She’s been rather icy the last couple of days, ever since the day after she moved in. I’ve tried to break through with a few jokes, but nothing seems to get past her. Even my attempts to not drink do nothing to lighten the mood.
She has been careful to not leave me alone with Cami for longer than a minute, which wasn’t the case before.
What changed?
Honestly, not knowing is driving me a little crazy. I’m not sure what happened between her offering to be my friend and now. Whatever is going on in her head can’t be good, and I’m tempted to corner her and get some answers.
Maybe once Cami falls asleep I can.
“Please?” Cami blinks up at me with her long lashes.
“Sure. I’d love to play with you, kiddo.” I stand and follow a beaming Cami, all while Lana glares at me.
I spend the next twenty minutes impersonating a student while Cami attempts to read me a book in Spanish. She trips over the words, and I do my best to help her out, with Lana interjecting every now and then on words I mispronounce.
My neck and spine prickle every now and then. When I look around, I find Lana quickly busying herself with something in the kitchen.
What’s going on?
“All right, Camila. Time for dinner.” Lana tugs her apron over her head.
The smells coming from the oven make me wish she extended me the same invitation, although I know that won’t happen.
Cami latches on to my hand and tugs. “Vamos a comer.”
Lana doesn’t say anything, but the silence between us doesn’t bode well. As good as a home-cooked Colombian meal sounds right now, I’m not about to give Lana another reason to be annoyed with me.
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I have plans.”
“Like what?” The kid lacks any personal boundaries or social skills.
She is five. Give her a break.
“I’m going to eat at the diner.”
Her face scrunches in the same way Lana’s does. “Booooo.”
Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any lower, I get heckled by a five-year-old.
Great.
Lana walks up to Cami and gives her shoulders a squeeze. “Maybe next time.”
“Right.”
“But my mommy’s the bestest cook in the whole wide world.” Her beaming smile is a force to be reckoned with. I doubt I would stand much of a chance at telling her no if it weren’t for Lana glaring a hole into the side of my face as I address her child.
“I know. She learned from the second bestest cook in the whole wide world—her mom.”
Cami gasps, and I instantly know I said the wrong thing.
