The list is complete.

I’ve checked all ten things off and I really do feel like a newer version of myself. Although thinking about it, about my state of mind after I found Sebastian with that hooker, I have to wonder if I really needed the list to reinvent myself or just some time on my own.

There were so many things wrong with Sebastian and me that I had become focused on those wrong things. I just couldn’t see that we weren’t perfect for each other because I wanted perfect so much. I wanted a family. To belong to someone. To be loved. And he had what I wanted. Offered it to me. Sebastian was really close with his family, and I loved that about him. I loved them. They loved me too. But he always put them before me. He put almost everything before me. Normally, it wasn’t a problem, but sometimes it was.

His constantly being late also bothered me. As did the fact that he would forget to do about half of the things he said he would. Nothing big. Just little things, like he’d say he’d pick up ice cream for after dinner and show up at my place without it. Tell me he’d bring me coffee in the morning and never show up. When we’d talk later, he’d tell me he got called into work. Maybe it was true, maybe not. I could never tell.

The sun is hot in the bluest of skies today. The air is warm. And palm trees are swaying back and forth. I really do love it here.

As soon as I turn the corner, I spot Cam’s mop of dark brown hair. He’s sitting at an outdoor table at the café around the block from my work, just like he told me he would be doing today at noon when we firmed up our lunch plans, but he’s alone, he’s with Brooklyn.

“I don’t know, man, but I’d say that’s an easy one,” Brooklyn says to Cam, removing his dark sunglasses. His light blue eyes almost disappear as he squints against the sun.

“You’re a lot of fucking help,” Cam says in return.

“What’s easy?” I ask as I approach Cam from behind.

His head snaps around. He looks a little guilty about something. Ever since the pregnancy scare I have felt that something’s going on. My mind might be reading too much into everything, but I can’t stop myself. He seems to be pulling away from me. And after his forgetting lunch yesterday, all I can think about is how everything started to fall apart with Sebastian just in this way. Small things that at the time meant nothing, but they should have been seen as signs.

“Hey, there you are.” Cam stands up.

I glance over at Brooklyn to see if he’ll answer, but obviously he isn’t going to either.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say.

“You’re not late,” Cam says, lowering his head.

I turn my cheek so his kiss lands on it. I have no idea why I do that.

His eyes sweep me in my short skirt and jacket and I know he has sex on his mind. He always does. Not that I don’t, but I’m also starting to feel that maybe we’re overly focused on it. That we need more balance. He didn’t come over last night, but he did call me, and so we had sex—phone sex, but sex nonetheless.

“What? Does my breath smell?” he jokes, and pulls my chair out.

Feeling guilty for transferring my old feelings from Sebastian onto him, I resolve to stop it. So when he leans down to place my napkin on my lap, I whisper, “You do smell—good enough to eat.”

I’m full of mixed signals and even I know it. If it’s driving me crazy, it must be driving him crazy. I should tell him—tell him how I feel so he knows. And then we can approach whatever is going on together.

I will tell him.

Soon.

“Hey Brooklyn, I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Yeah, Cam and I have this thing to take care of this afternoon—hope you don’t mind.”

It could be my imagination, but I swear Cam just kicked him under the table.

“No, not at all,” I say.

Thing.

What thing?

Cam squeezes my hand and leans over to kiss me again.

Brooklyn sits there with his notebook in front of him and an amused look on his face.

Cam rolls his eyes. “What?”

“You’re different when you have a girlfriend.”

Cam shrugs, or maybe flinches, I’m not sure. “No, I’m not.”

Brooklyn opens his notebook and jots something down, then looks up. “You are. It’s good, man, though. It’s all good. In fact, I’m using you both as my muses for my screenplay.”

“Whatever, dude,” Cam comments.

Brooklyn shrugs and then waves the waiter over and points to the menu. “Three to start.”

“I’ll get those right away, sir,” the waiter answers.

“Wheatgrass shots,” says Cam. “What kind of restaurant is this, anyway?”

My gag reflex kicks in. No way am I drinking one of those. “Raw food,” I answer, turning around and pointing to the sign under the name. “You picked it, so I assumed you liked it.”

He shakes his head no. “Brooklyn suggested it.”

I feel a little more deflated. This was our lunch date and he let someone else pick the spot.

Stop it, Makayla. It’s no big deal.

Cam opens his menu. “Kale chips, sunchokes, seawitch? Are you kidding me? What kind of food is this?”

Ignoring him, I look at my own menu. “I haven’t eaten here. What’s good?” I ask Brooklyn.

Cam bursts out laughing. “Let’s just say whatever you order, you’ll want an early dinner.”

I glare at him again.

He tosses me a questioning look as if he doesn’t know why I’ve reacted that way. Especially since he knows I talk about Maggie and her food choices all the time. Again, I don’t know why I reacted that way either.

“Speaking of dinner,” I say. “I was thinking we could try to cook something together, like we’ve talked about.”

“I can’t, Makayla, I’m sorry,” he says, “but I don’t think I’ll be back before nine tonight.”

“Oh, right,” I say, “you and Brooklyn have a thing.”

Brooklyn looks uncomfortable.

I don’t want him to be, so I smile and make like all is good. Like I used to do with Sebastian.

Conversation during our meal is mostly about my jewelry business. I feel like I’m doing most of the talking. Cam seems preoccupied. Even with Brooklyn here, it feels strained and once we’ve finished eating, I feel a little impatient to leave and I stand up.

“Where are you going?” Cam asks me.

“I have to get back to work.”

“I’ll walk back with you.”

“I have some stops to make. I’ll catch up with you later,” I tell him.

I don’t have stops.

I want him to insist he walk me. Lame, I know. I want to feel like he’s putting me first. Lame again, I know.

“Okay.” He lowers his head to kiss me.

Again I turn my cheek.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he whispers.

“Nothing. I just have a lot to do. See you, Brooklyn,” I say, and turn and walk away. Tears leak from my eyes and I can’t stop them.

Okay, late PMS must be so much worse than normal PMS.

Right?

Don’t answer that.

It has to be.