Page 14 of Things We Tell Ourselves

Gwen turns to Derrick. “Why aren’t you writing this down?”

Derrick reaches for his suitcase and stops, meeting Gwen’s gaze. “I can’t go to them with terms like that.” He takes a deep breath. “Look, I only have the authorization to offer you eight-hundred thousand for the…” he glances at Gwen.

Gwen blinks at him. “Oxygen Recycler.”

Camille lets out a low cackle, lifting her chin to the ceiling. “He doesn’t even know the name.”

Evelyn shakes her head in disappointment as she rises to her feet. “He has no clue what you’ve created. I’m done.” She looks down at Camille. “You ready to go?”

Camille stands, her grip tight on her bag. Derrick gapes at them. Gwen’s lower lip wrinkles, eying Derrick and looking more annoyed with him than surprised that they’re walking out. She goes to the door, opening it for them as they exit.

“It really was nice to meet you both,” she emphasizes.

“Thanks,” Camille murmurs. Evelyn stays silent ahead of her.

Five

It’s nine in the morning when Camille walks out of the upstairs guesthouse, feeling renewed. She woke up at eight, vaguely remembering her dream about the Toronto meeting but feeling empowered. Drawing on that, she is determined to make a good impression. With a cool shower and fresh hair, she opted for lip gloss instead of lipstick. With the warm sun beaming down on her, she is ready for the day.

The pool is as beautiful in the daylight as it was last night. She watches herself in the reflection of the main house’s patio door. When she gets under the back patio, she can see Leah standing at the stove cooking omelets. She walks inside, appreciating the smell of freshly diced vegetables. Next to the stove beside her are tomatoes, onions, ham, mushrooms, bags of various cheeses, and an eighteen-count carton of free-range eggs. Camille’s mouth is watering before she can even see what Leah has in the skillet.

“Good morning,” she grins, eyeing the omelet Leah folds in half on the skillet like a professional chef.

“Good morning, dear,” Leah greets her dreamily from the stove, not looking away from the skillet. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Camille steps closer to her to admire the fluffiness of her omelet.

Leah lets out a little gasp when she sees her. “Oh my,” she whispers. Camille raises an eyebrow, following her gaze down to her outfit.

“Oh, no. Do I have a stain?” Camille asks, running a hand over the front of her shirt.

“No, you look…good. So good that I’m a little sad.” Leah turns her attention back to the stove, lowering the temperature.

Camille glances down at the boot on her foot, no scooter in sight.

“I was hoping my youngest son would be coming in this weekend so I could introduce you, but I haven’t been able to get ahold of him.” She takes a plate from the stack on the counter.

“So you really are trying to hook me up with your son?”

“Oh, no,” Leah laughs. “It would just be nice to see Easton realize what is possible in one’s youth. But despite what my older son may have lead you to believe, I don’t do that passive-aggressive management, especially not where their love lives are concerned,” Leah huffs, moving the omelet from the skillet to the plate and then sets it down. “They may act like I try to control them, but little do they know what true dictatorship is like. Back in my day, my parents controlled where I went and who I was seen with. Every remotely life-changing decision I made went through my parents first: what college I’d attend, what sorority I’d join, and most importantly, whom I dated. My father was never prouder than the day I brought Wade and Easton’s father home to meet him.” She prepares the skillet for another omelet, adding more butter. “But as much as meeting you—a college graduate who saw a need and went out and created a way to fill it—could be motivational for him, I would never dictate either of my sons’ lives. I know too well how detrimental it can be.” She picks up the eggs, glancing at Camille. “How many eggs would you like in yours?”

Camille pauses, unsure how many eggs were needed for an omelet the size of the one she just made. “Can I have one just like that?” she asks, pointing at the plated omelet on the other side of Leah.

“My pleasure,” she beams, laying a paper towel on top of the plated omelet to help keep it warm. Camille watches as she cracks three eggs into the bowl sitting next to the stove, whisking them before pouring the eggs into the skillet, looking every bit the experienced housewife with no sign of being the owner of a multibillion-dollar corporation that caters to the needs of hospitals and private facilities alike all around the globe. Camille hesitates.

“So, do you run Bloom and Bloom by yourself?”

She watches as Leah runs her tongue over her front teeth, tossing in the tomatoes, cheese, and ham Camille requested for her omelet. “I have a board of executives who oversee our daily duties. When my father passed away, they hoped that I’d be more of a figurehead,” she smiles slyly as the omelet takes shape in the skillet, “and they were wrong.”

“Speaking of execs,” Wade announces, emerging from the hallway next to the kitchen.

Leah and Camille glance over at him. “And where did you sleep last night?” Leah asks.

He gives her a lazy grin. “In the guest bedroom, where I can control the thermostat.”

“You can control the temperature in every bedroom,” Leah retorts, eyeing him as he checks to see what she’s cooking.

Camille takes a step back away from Leah as Wade leans over Leah’s shoulder. Camille inhales, catching his warm, soapy scent as he grabs some tomatoes and ham.

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