Page 17 of Things We Tell Ourselves

Wade’s reaction is something she’s grown up seeing anytime she’s asked about her mom. Like everyone else, they’re always surprised to hear the news when they ask about her family. Occasionally, if she didn’t know the person well enough, she would just make something up, but she doesn’t want to do that with Wade.

“And my dad’s idea of cooking is limited to what can be cooked on a barbecue pit or a microwave.”

“I’m sorry,” Wade says, looking pitiful.

“No big deal, it wasn’t your fault.” It’s a reply she’s used countless times growing up. She found that it made people feel slightly better by pointing out the obvious while showing them that she was okay with it, but Wade shakes his head.

“No, I should have done my due diligence. I bet my mom hasn’t asked about her, has she?”

Camille gives her head a brief shake.

“That’s right,” he continues, cutting his next bite of omelet. “That’s because she knows everything there is to know about you and Ms. Sykes.” Seeing Camille’s eyes widen, he breaks into a grin. “I bet she also knows your blood type and the name of your first boyfriend.”

They stare at each other a minute before Wade breaks out into a deep laugh. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

Camille chuckles. As they stare at each other, she imagines a private detective following them around in Dallas. Photographing Camille in the department store buying cellulite cream or stuffing their faces at Evelyn’s parent’s restaurant a couple of weeks back to celebrate hearing from the Flexinburg Group.

“I knew you were joking because it would be impossible for anyone to know all of that about me,” she smiles despite her initial shock. Of course they do some digging, especially since she was brought to Leah Bloom’s private home. She shouldn’t be surprised.

Wade tilts his head at her, swallowing. “Why, because you don’t have blood?”

“No,” she chuckles, “because I’ve never had a serious boyfriend.”

Wade stops while cutting his next bite.

“Not that I haven’t dated around,” she fumbles. “They’ve just….” she shrugs, “never turned into anything substantial.” She turns her attention to her omelet, cutting into the fluffy egg, tomato and ham falling out.

Camille stuffs the bite of omelet into her mouth, hoping this was the end of the discussion.

Wade reaches across the table for one of the slices of cantaloupe. “I bet I’ve dated worse.”

She swallows. “I’m not the betting type, and it wouldn’t be a fair bet anyways.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “How so?”

“For one,” she starts, laying her fork down to grab a slice of cantaloupe as well, “I don’t come from a well-to-do family, so there’s that, and I’ve only ever lived in Dallas, so my dating pool is far smaller than yours, Mr. Jet-setting Executive, who flies to Los Angeles last minute to visit his mother’s mansion in the middle of the night and scares her guests.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he laughs, “and you’ve got the rest of that all wrong. I had and still have a tiny dating pool due to my family’s wealth—”

“All of them beauty queens and under twenty, I imagine.”

He smirks hard, trying not to laugh. “I can’t date just anyone,” he continues, jutting his lower jaw out at her as she chuckles under her breath. “My brother set me up on one date a few months ago, and the photos ended up in the tabloids. It turns out she had just broken up with some rapper the week before. When my mom finds out about things like that, she doesn’t let me hear the end of it.”

“You poor thing,” she mocks.

“I’m serious. Think about it: My grandfather used to warn me about my public standing. In high school, photos of me making out with a girl somehow made it to my grandfather. The next day, Bloom and Bloom’s stock dipped two percent. It didn’t make sense until my mother sat me down to tell me that her father was under investigation for securities fraud. Thanks to social media, making out with some girl at a party could turn into a loss of face for my family. A big enough scandal could mean a loss of jobs for the thousands of people we employ.”

“Okay,” Camille chews slowly, “you may not have as wide of a dating pool as I thought, but I bet you haven’t ever gone on a date with someone just to learn that he has a foot fetish and heard you had nice feet from his roommate who talked to you all of two weeks and then ghosted you.”

Wade’s lips curl into a devious grin. “Did he ask for foot pics?”

“Even better,” Camille chuckles at the once sore memory, “he wanted me to show him my feet right there in the middle of the restaurant. I never had to intentionally keep my feet from view before. It’s harder than you think.”

“I bet.” He turns somber, leaning in over his plate. “I had a buddy who tried to hook me up with the stepmom of a girl I went to homecoming with senior year. She was divorced by then, but still, all I remember is when she chastised us for not using their car service to drive home after we’d gone to an afterparty.”

Camille giggles. “Is that the best you got?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been shown photos of what our kids would look like, and the waiter hadn’t even taken our drink orders.” Camille’s giggles grow, and Wade raises his brow. “I was genuinely terrified at that point.”

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