Page 135 of Not That Into You

My dad’s had the same close-cut hairstyle my entire life, but now, there’s silver interspersed with the brown. Looking at his sloped shoulders, I’m struck by how much older he looks. Not that I thought he’d be thirty-five forever, but it’s unsettling to see the signs of aging.

I place my hand on his back. “You okay?”

He grunts, which is the most he’s communicated all morning. We both opted to spend the day in the waiting room, even though the staff said we could leave and they’d call us when my mom was out of surgery.

I brought my computer and have been trying to get some work done while we wait, but my attention is shot, and I keep looking up any time someone pushes through the double doors leading back to the surgery rooms.

It’ll probably be a few hours yet before we hear anything.

My phone pings, and I gladly fish it out of my bag, welcoming the distraction.

Claire: How’s it going?

Monica: Not much to report.

Claire: No news is good news. Hang in there.

Easier said than done, but it is what it is.

I put my phone away and debate whether to attempt more work or maybe read a book. Yawning, I decide getting more caffeine is the better option.

Not surprisingly, I got little sleep last night. If I wasn’t worrying about my mom, I was replaying my last conversation with Cameron. I tried counting sheep, but the little buggers hadn’t cooperated, preferring to wander off and leave me alone with my dark thoughts.

Standing up, I stretch my arms overhead, trying to work out the kinks.

I glance down at my dad. “I’m going to get some coffee. You want anything?”

“No thanks, butterbean.”

I smile. “Okay. Be right back.”

I walk over to the refreshment area and take stock of my options, noting the selection of coffee and tea. The amenities in the outpatient surgery center aren’t bad, but I’d give my right kidney for an Americano. Ah, well. I’m still grateful for the ready source of caffeine.

After dropping a coffee pod into the single-serve coffee machine, I peruse the various packages of snacks before selecting a bag of pretzels and opening it while waiting for my coffee to finish brewing. Popping a pretzel into my mouth, I look over to check on my dad, but he hasn’t moved. I’m about to turn back to my coffee when someone pushes through the front door.

My heart stops as the pretzel absorbs all the moisture in my mouth.

Cameron.

I must’ve said his name out loud because he whips his head around, his gaze locking on mine. His relieved expression quickly morphs into one of determination as he strides forward, coming to stand in front of me.

All I can do is stare while butterflies, birds, and a freaking pterodactyl dance in my stomach. “What are you doing here?”

“How’s your mother?”

“They took her back an hour ago. We still have a few hours.”

He nods.

“Cameron, what are you doing here?”

He looks around the room. “Where’s your dad?”

I point to where my father’s sitting.

Cameron straightens his shoulders and walks over to him.

What is happening?

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