Chapter Eight
Preston
Hey you, I texted. I'm sorry about earlier.
My annoyance at finding Camille at my workplace was weighing heavily on me. After I'd had a chance to think about it, I realized I could have handled it better. I shouldn't have been so cold or blunt when I'd spoken to her, especially, after having had such an amazing night with her. I knew I wanted to see her again, I just wasn't sure when. Carter's soccer schedule was going to keep me busy for a while, and with his birthday coming up, we had a party to plan. I wanted to see her, but I was short on time.
In fact, I was shopping for said birthday party while I texted Camille. I waited for her response while trying to remember Melody's requests for Carter's birthday cake. I stared at the display, trying to remember her exact words before deciding to text her instead.
I quickly typed in, Iron Man cake with buttercream, correct?
I put my phone away and stared at the options again, knowing that Melody didn't always have her phone on her. I could order the cake later, sure, but the bakery we'd chosen usually had a several weeks long waiting list. When I was a kid, supermarket cakes were fine, but Melody had finer tastes than that, she'd always wanted better. Expected it. Demanded it.
Which was why I was standing in a fancy-schmancy bakery filled with hipsters and wondering if the place could even actually deliver an Iron Man cake, or if we'd have to settle for something more artistic.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out to see a confused text back from Camille. Just question marks.
“Oh shit,” I mumbled, realizing I'd sent her the text with the cake question by accident.
I typed out a response, basically saying “Oops. Wrong message! Sorry!”
The sales associate stepped out of the back before room I could send my question to the right woman. My stomach was churning, and I had the beginnings of a monster headache and I quickly looked over their choices once more. I realized they had way more options than just whipped topping or buttercream, and we could have ganache or even fondant if we so desired.
Not that either made sense for a soon-to-be-seven-year old's birthday party.
“Uhh yes, I'm here to put in an order.”
The girl was a peppy blonde who looked high on sugar. She had a wide engaging smile stretching from ear-to-ear. Her name tag said her name was Holly, and it seemed fitting for her for some odd reason. “What kind of cake would you like?” she asked, her voice almost sing-songy and sickly sweet. I could see why she worked at a bakery.
“That's what I'm trying to figure out. The birthday theme is Iron Man,” I said. “Do you happen to have any suggestion?”
The girl looked puzzled. “We could probably work with that, but you'll probably have to purchase the toys that go on top of the cake separately. Typically, we don't normally do themed children's cakes here.”
“I know, his mom just loves your cakes, and insisted we get it from here,” I said, feeling incredibly sheepish. Next time, I'd let Melody handle the cake. “I'm sure whatever you can come up with will be just fine.”
My phone continued to buzz with new messages, which I ignored as I went through the options with Holly the cake peddler. We settled on a red buttercream cake with gold accents. I'd pick up a few figurines to put on top later. Holly rung me up and put in the order just as a line of people came through the door. Holly looked up brightly, her smile and glittering eyes both somehow vacant.
“Would you like a platter of cookies to go with your cake?” she asked.
“Sure, why not,” I muttered, reaching for my phone as it went off for the millionth time.
Between Camille and Melody, I groaned, seeing that I had a bunch of texts and a few missed calls. Great. Melody even left a voicemail, checking on the cake, I was sure. She'd never trusted that I could do anything like this on my own and always had to hover over me, checking to see what and how I was doing, ready to pounce if I faltered in any way. Annoyed, I put my phone away and paid for the order, resisting Holly's attempts to upsell me some more. She was persistent, I had to give her that.
“No, I don't need a cupcake for the road, but thanks anyway,” I said.
She smiled. “My pleasure.”
I hurried out the door toward my car when my phone went off again. Melody. Again. This time, I answered.
“Yes?” I barked.
“Did you get the cake ordered like I'd asked?”
“Yes, dear,” I muttered dryly. “Cake is ordered and paid for. Oh, I added a cookie platter to the order as well.”
“Why would you do that?” she asked, sounding horrified. “You know my mom is making her famous chocolate chip cookies for the party. She'll be completely insulted that you bought cookies from a bakery.”
I sighed, getting into my car. Typical Melody, nitpick every last thing down to the very last detail. I swear, she always had to have something to bitch about.
“Fine, we'll just keep the cookies for ourselves,” I said. “She'll never have to know.”
“Preston, you know I try to limit how much sugar Carter consumes,” she said. “It's not good for him.”
“So, what do you want me to do, Melody?” I asked, trying to hold my temper in check. “Do you want me to cancel the cookies?”
“No, I guess not,” she sighed, her voice exasperated. “Just take them into the office or something, I don't know.”
“Fine,” I said. “I'll do that. Anything else you need me to do while I'm out?”
I hated asking such an open-ended question. Melody could always find something for me to do – and most of the time, it was tedious and irritating. But, when it came to Carter and making sure his birthday was a success and he was happy, I would have done anything. Even run into the nightmare that was Party City if the need arose.
“No, I'll handle the rest,” she snapped
The unspoken part of the sentiment she'd expressed was, “Because you'll find a way to screw things up” or maybe just “I want you to help, but only if you pester me enough so I can play the martyr.” If there was one thing Melody reveled in, it was hanging up on her cross, making other people feel like shit. It was one thing she'd always been good at.
My eyes were heavy, and it was getting late. I honestly had no desire to argue with her, so I dropped it. I'd be sure to pay for it later, but in the meantime, I just wanted to get home and sort things out with Camille. I needed to apologize for being a dick to her earlier in the day, needed to find a way to somehow explain the text I'd accidentally sent her, and hopefully set up some time to see her. Between party planning and soccer practice, I wasn't sure how – but, I was going to find a way.
I didn't check my phone again until I got home, and I saw a few texts from Camille. Melody had kept me so busy with the cake, I totally forgot about getting back to Camille. I looked at the clock and saw that it was already after nine. I didn't want to risk calling and waking her, so I sent a follow-up text just to apologize.
Sorry we kept missing each other. I had to run some errands. Talk soon, okay?
No response ever came, so I assumed she'd gone to bed, and decided to do the same myself. I promised myself that I'd talk to her early the next day. Maybe, even call her, to explain the situation and to apologize.
My schedule was full, but I was going to have to make time, somehow. She deserved no less.