Page 32 of The Upgrade

“Why not?” My therapist bestie sounds baffled. “I’m a big fan of hot guys who deliver multiple O’s.”

“You have Hayden. Get your multiple O’s from him.”

“I do.” It sounds a bit forced, but before I can push, Camille switches gears. “Does the resort look like it does on the website?”

“Better.” Adjusting the brim of my sun hat, I scan the sun-swept expanse of sandy beach. “You’d love this shoreline. Turquoise ocean as far as you can see and white sand for miles. Tons of shirtless men bringing drinks or snacks or offering foot rubs.”

“God, that sounds fabulous. What kind of snacks?”

I laugh because of course that’s what my foodie friend would ask. “I saw chips and guac on the menu. Fresh ceviche, shrimp cocktail?—”

“Served with a side of meat twinkies?”

“Gross,” I say, snickering. She’s the only sex therapist I know with an endless arsenal of penis euphemisms.

“Seriously, how’s the food? The website said it’s five-star quality.”

“No lie.” I sip my mojito as a trio of toucans soars overhead. “For lunch, I had rum glazed rockfish with grilled pineapple and this amazing glass noodle dish. It had coconut and fresh local veggies.”

“Yum.” There’s a grin in her voice and I know what’s coming. “Make sure you save room for all the beef missiles, bacon bazookas, custard pumps, sausage sabers?—”

“You’re disgusting.” It’s why we’ve been friends for so long. “Tell me you don’t talk with patients like this.”

“Of course I don’t. I save it for you, sweetie.”

“Thanks.” I can count on Camille to make me laugh. “Everything okay with Bratwurst?”

“Your cat is currently licking his fuzzy little balls and eating freeze-dried minnows by the dozen.”

“Not at the same time, I hope?”

“I’m so glad you’re doing this, hon.” Camille sighs, and I picture her sitting back on the cushy white couch in the house she shares with her longtime boyfriend. “Putting your pleasure first. You got a little lost for a while there. I worried about you.”

“When?” Not that I’m unaware I went a little off track, but I’m curious. “Where do you think I got lost?”

She’s quiet a moment, considering. There’s a fine line between therapist Camille and bestie Camille. I’m not sure who might speak next.

“You had a wild streak in high school,” she says slowly. “Nothing out of the ordinary. It was great, actually. And for a while there in college and grad school, you got experimental. You did all the fun things so many normal young women try out.”

There’s that word again.Normal. Funny how it means different things, depending on who says it.

“I had fun in my early twenties.” That’s when I had my first threesome. One of three I’ve had in my life, all before age twenty-five.

Camille knows all of this. “But then it’s like something switched off,” she continues. “Like your stepdad’s judgement and your mom’s compliance just…I don’t know. Seeped into your brain in a slow trickle after years of having purity culture poured into you.”

I know what she means, and Camille isn’t wrong. “I watched Perfect Presley getting all the things I wanted,” I admit. “This great career. A cool house. A doting boyfriend who proposed in the world’s most romantic way. I just—I don’t know.”

“You thought maybe your ticket to normal—to winning your parents’ love—was to do everything your stepsister did?”

“Pretty much.” I feel stupid admitting it. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She goes quiet again. “You seemed happy at first. It’s common for women to chase sexual thrills and then settle down. It wasn’t my place to judge. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

So did I. “I wouldn’t have listened,” I say softly. “If you’d told me you thought I was making a mistake with Brock? I don’t think I would have heard you.”

“I know. And I couldn’t risk our friendship like that. I already knew Brock didn’t like us spending time together.”

“True.” That’s one thing I always pushed back on. The only time he referenced ‘your snotty little sex therapist friend,’ I looked him dead in the eye.

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