Page 36 of Things We Tell Ourselves

Camille grins. “Better give her an extra shot, just to be safe.”

Marcy smiles as she turns from Camille to open a cabinet to the left of the stove. Inside is full of glasses for nearly every occasion. “I’m not talking about the princess.” She takes down a margarita glass and two shot glasses. “I’m talking about us.” She pours a shot for each of them. “Bottoms up,” she says, handing Camille a shot of tequila.

They both turn to look out the window. Sadie has her cellphone out, holding it up in front of her to take a selfie that undoubtedly shows her perfectly round derriere. They down their shots without a word.

Down the hall, Leah shouts out in pain. “Ouch!”

“Ouch is right,” Nancy barks.

Camille slaps her shot glass on the island counter. “Oh no,” she gasps, taking off down the hallway that leads to Leah’s room, imaging Leah laid out on the floor where she’s fallen, Nancy struggling over her to get her upright.

Camille takes off to the hallway. Marcy’s voice barely audible behind her, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Leah’s bedroom door is ajar. Camille pauses, her hand on the doorknob, hearing Nancy’s voice inside.

“Don’t you dare act like you’re hurt. My brother hasn’t spoken to me in over a year.”

“You promised,” Leah hisses, “that we’d tell everyone together, but then you went off and told Dan all by yourself. If anything, his reaction proves that people aren’t ready to accept us.”

“My brother is as big of a bigot as your parents were when they were alive,” Nancy’s voice rises.

Camille takes her hand off the door, stepping back.

“The kids will be different, and you know it.”

The door swings open. Like a deer in headlights, Camille has no idea what to do. She stares up at Nancy, unable to move. Nancy casts her eyes down at her briefly.

“We really should quit meeting like this.”

“What was that?” Leah asks, her voice on the edge of shouting.

Nancy stomps off, leaving Camille staring at Leah as she limps over to the door, her boot on but no scooter. Leah glares at her.

“I’m so sorry.” Camille can’t say it fast enough. “I heard you yell, and I thought you were hurt.”

“I’m the only one who’s hurt,” Nancy snaps.

“Don’t be like this,” Leah calls out, limping quickly past Camille after Nancy. “This is supposed to be a fun, relaxing weekend.”

Camille stands speechless, slowly regaining the use of her legs. Leah limps her way to the front door. Camille slowly trailing behind her. When she makes it out of the hallway into the living room, Nancy is already out the front door storming off, down the front path, much like the first night Camille met her.

“Can you just wait?” Leah pleads at the open door.

Nancy halts, spinning around to look at her. “All I’ve done is wait for you.”

Camille looks away, fearing that she might witness Nancy cry.

“I am done waiting.”

Marcy’s facing the stove, clearly acting like she can’t hear every word. Camille crosses the living room, hurrying to the kitchen to put some distance between her and what she just witnessed when the front door slams shut. Leah limps over to them.

“Ms. Lee.”

Camille freezes, too scared to turn around. “Yes?”

“Let me talk to you a moment.”

Marcy turns around at the sound of Leah limping away from them toward her bedroom. Her eyes bulge as she looks at Camille, frozen yet again between the kitchen and the living room. “Go,” she mouths silently.

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