Remarkably Bright Creatures(15)

“Uh, yeah. I’m off today.” He doesn’t add: and tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after.

“Weird they’d give you a day off. It’s only your third week.”

“It’s a holiday, actually.” Shit, why did he say that?

She stands. “A holiday?”

“Yeah.” It’s a slippery lie. “International Contractors’ Day. Everyone gets the day off.” Really, what is he going to tell her? The truth? He just needs time. A few days to land a new job. Then it’ll be all good.

“International Contractors’ Day.”

“Yep.”

“Everyone gets the day off?”

“Everyone.”

“Bizarre they’re still working on the roof next door, then, isn’t it?”

Cameron opens his mouth, but the bang-bang of a nail gun echoes from the rooftop of the next building over, cutting him off.

Katie’s face is cold, blank. “You got fired again.”

“I mean, technically—”

“What happened?”

“Well, I was—”

“When were you going to tell me?” she interrupts.

“I’m trying to tell you now, if you’ll give me a chance!”

“You know what? Never mind.” She picks up her work bag and stomps toward the door. “I don’t have time for this. I’m late for my appointment, and I’m done giving chances.”

CHANCES. IF LIFE kept a tally of chances, Cameron would be owed big-time. What would Katie know about having an addict parent? What would Katie know about this gnawing hatred inside him that never goes away?

Katie, with her parents who bought her a car when she graduated high school. Katie, with her tight gray skirt and straight white teeth, which right now are being polished by some needle-dick dentist. They’ll give her a free toothbrush on the way out. She’ll toss it, still wrapped, in the bathroom drawer because she uses some fancy electric toothbrush anyway.

He’s stretched out on the couch, watching some low-budget action movie, when she finally returns. It occurs to him that it’s been a while. Hours and hours; it’s nearly dark outside now. Way longer than a dentist appointment should take—not that he’d actually know; he hasn’t been to a dentist in years. Maybe Katie had a bunch of cavities or something. A root canal. Aunt Jeanne had a root canal last year and complained about the pain for a week. The thought of perfect Katie getting poked in the mouth with a pointy drill is vaguely satisfying, and this makes him feel like a jerk.

“Hey,” he calls, then pauses, waiting for her lamenting sigh, the one meaning she’s still pissed, but less so. He’ll say he’s sorry, and she’ll frown, but she won’t really mean it, then he’ll put his hand on her leg and she’ll lean into him and they’ll lie here, cuddling, while they finish watching this dumb movie before retiring to bed for some solid post-argument sex.

But she doesn’t respond. Instead, she heads straight for the bedroom. He half smiles. Straight to it?

Then he hears the first thunk. What the . . . ? He has to investigate.

As he walks in, Cameron watches his work boot sail over the edge of the moonlit balcony, landing below on the tiny square of crusty grass.

Thunk.

Its mate hits the walkway, then bounces a couple of times over the weedy cracks, laces dragging behind.

“Katie! Can’t we talk?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Look, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

Again, no response.

Whiz.

A ball cap grazes his ear as it sails by. His favorite Niners cap. Enough. Yeah, he should have told her he got canned. But could they just talk about it for a hot second before she throws out everything he owns?

“Katie,” he says slowly. Like she’s some wild animal, he reaches out and puts a tentative hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t,” Katie mutters, twisting away. She yanks a pair of his boxers from the bureau and wads them in her fist, then hurls them toward the balcony door. But the throw is too soft. The underwear unfurls and flops to the floor.

He bends to pick it up. “Can we just talk?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Cam.” For the first time since she left for the dentist this afternoon, she meets his gaze. Her eyes blaze, like the bonfires they used to build in the shadow of his Jeep when they’d go camping out in the high desert. But those days are long gone. The repo guys snagged the Jeep months ago. Cameron was going to call the bank, to make their so-called payment arrangement. He swears he was about to do it, but no, they just sent those assholes in and hauled it away, no second chance. Yet another deduction from his chance tally.

“I swear, I was going to tell you. And it wasn’t my fault.”

“Sure, it wasn’t your fault. Never is, is it?”

“No!” The relief that washes over him at her sudden empathy is short-lived. Of course she’s being sarcastic. His cheeks burn. “I mean, it’s complicated.” Of course she’s kicking him out. Cameron would probably kick himself out, too.

Katie closes her eyes. “Cameron, it isn’t complicated. I’m going to put this to you as simply as possible, so your juvenile brain can understand. This. Is. Over.”

“But I’ve got rent covered,” he insists, thoughts veering back to Aunt Jeanne’s mystery box. Desperation tinges his voice. He trails Katie from the bedroom into the kitchen, still clutching his boxers.