Remarkably Bright Creatures(16)

“This isn’t about rent! It’s about your inability to be an honest human being.” She picks up the mystery box from the counter and starts back toward the bedroom. Toward the balcony. To his surprise, his gut clenches.

“I’ll take that.”

“Fine, whatever. Just get out.” She drops the box, and it lands with a heavy thump on the carpet. Her face has changed, the fire in her eyes vanished. She looks tired.

“You mean right now?” Cameron snorts. She can’t be serious.

“No, next Saturday. I threw your stuff outside for the hell of it.” She rolls her eyes. “Yes, of course, right now.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“Not. My. Problem.” She lets out a hollow laugh. “Not that I care, but someday, you’re gonna have to grow up, you know?”

THE BOX MAKES a reasonably comfortable seat. It’s better than the curb, anyway. In the dark, and with his stuff heaped next to him, Cameron waits for Brad to pick him up.

And waits and waits. For an hour.

Of all the times to not have a car.

Finally, headlights sweep around the corner. “What the hell happened?” Brad slams his truck door as he gets out.

“What the hell yourself! What took you so long?”

“Well, let’s see. How about, I was asleep. Because it’s almost eleven on a Tuesday night.” Brad starts chucking Cameron’s stuff into the truck bed. “Some of us have to work tomorrow, you know.”

“Hey, fuck you.”

Brad’s face melts into a grin. “Too soon? Sorry.”

“Whatever. Can we just go?” As Cameron hoists a trash bag full of clothes, he glances up at the balcony, where Katie still has the patio door open and the bedroom light on, no doubt watching the curbside scene unfold. He throws one last glance toward the apartment before nestling his guitar case atop the pile and flipping the tailgate up. It creaks loudly, then closes with a metallic bang.

“Come on,” Brad says, unlocking the passenger door. “Get in.”

“Thanks,” Cameron mutters, hopping onto the seat with the box on his lap.

Brad and Elizabeth’s house is on the outskirts of town, where subdivisions pop up overnight like a bad rash. Unnecessary plaster columns and fake brick facades and four-car garages. Bougie as shit. Elizabeth’s parents gave them a huge chunk of money for the down payment a few years ago after their wedding. Must be nice.

But Cameron doesn’t complain about any of these things on the fifteen-minute drive there from his apartment. His old apartment. It’s Katie’s apartment, now. Her name alone is on the lease. When he first moved in, she was constantly on his case about calling the landlord to be officially added, because Katie always follows the rules. But after a while, she let it drop. Maybe she saw this coming.

“What’s in the box?” Brad asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Baby vipers,” Cameron deadpans, not missing a beat. “Dozens of them. I hope Elizabeth likes snakes.”

Half an hour later, Brad slides a coaster across the coffee table before he hands Cameron a sweating pint glass, as Cameron finishes explaining what happened.

“Maybe she’ll get over it,” Brad says, yawning. “Just give her a couple of days.”

Cameron looks up. “She threw my shit on the lawn, like something from some dumb chick-flick movie. Every damn thing I own.”

Brad glances at the pile in the corner. “That’s really everything you own?”

“I mean, not literally. But you know.” Cameron frowns. What about his Xbox, still parked in the cabinet under Katie’s TV? He’d skirted overdraft fees to buy that thing when it first came out. But it might as well be Katie’s now. Like hell is he going back there to beg for it.

Maybe those couple of bags, and one dubious box, really are all he owns now.

Cameron’s eyes fix on Brad’s oversized bay window when he continues, “We can’t all live in a McMansion, you know.” It was meant as a joke, but the words spray out like acid. He attempts to soften his tone. “I mean, I’ve just been embracing my minimalist side.”

Brad raises an eyebrow, stares at Cameron for a long moment, then raises his pint. “Well, here’s to new beginnings.”

“Thanks for letting me crash again. I owe you one.” Cameron clinks, and lager sloshes over the rim, dribbling on the table. Seemingly out of thin air Brad comes up with a paper towel, then leans over to dab the spill.

“You owe me, like, ten. I charge extra for checking in after midnight.” Brad grins, but his eyes are serious. “And I know I don’t need to tell you this again, but you’ll owe me new furniture if you mess anything up.”

Cameron nods. He got the same speech last week when he crashed on the couch after the bar. Elizabeth just got new living room furniture, and apparently its utilization for normal living room activities, like sitting and lounging, is a sensitive subject. He used to sleep in the guest room when he crashed here, but it’s been remodeled for the baby now. Just last month, Cameron patched the drywall in the closet, for payment in pizza, after Brad tore it up trying to install some ridiculous shelving system. Cameron could patch drywall in his sleep, and in fact he did one time. Or half-asleep, anyway. Or so the foreman of that job site claimed before sacking Cameron on the spot.