Page 56 of Cold Feet
I shifted again slightly, trying to get comfortable, trying to quiet my racing thoughts.
"Can't sleep?" Cam's voice came softly through the darkness.
I sighed. "No."
"Me either."
More silence, but different now – acknowledged, shared. I could hear the distant sound of the AC unit, the music of the occasional night bird, the eternal rhythm of the waves.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked after a moment.
"Talk about what?" I hedged, though we both knew exactly what he meant.
I could practically hear him smile in the darkness. "The weather. The fascinating economic state of the NHL. Why your Aunt Margaret owns seventeen pairs of the exact same sandals in different colors."
Despite myself, I laughed softly. "How do you know about Aunt Margaret's sandals?"
"She told me. In great detail. Something about the company discontinuing her favorite style, so she bought out their remaining stock in every color. She seemed very proud of her foresight."
"That sounds like Aunt Margaret."
"She also told me you went through a phase where you only wore purple. For an entire year."
I groaned. "I was seven! Why is she telling you these things?"
"Because that's what families do," he said, his voice warming. "They embarrass you in front of people and tell stories you'd rather forget and show baby pictures where you're naked in a bathtub."
"Oh dear dawg. Did she show you bathtub pictures?" I demanded, horrified.
"Not yet, “ he teased. “But there's always tomorrow."
I rolled onto my side to face him, though I could barely make out his profile in the darkness. "If you see a single naked baby picture of me, Murphy, our deal is off."
He chuckled, a low rumble that I could feel through the mattress. "No deal. Those pictures are actually my primary motivation for this whole fake engagement. Besides, I want to see what our imaginary children will look like."
The easy banter settled something in me, eased the tight knot of tension that had been coiled in my chest since the beach. The darkness made everything feel intimate, cushioned, safe. As if the words we spoke here couldn't follow us into daylight.
"Your family is amazing, you know," he said after a moment, his voice shifting to something more serious. "I didn't really know it could be like this."
"They're... they're pretty great."
"They love you. Really love you. Not because of what you do or who you know or what you can give them. Just because you're you." There was a wistfulness in his voice that made my heart twist. "That's rare."
I thought about what I knew of Cam's family, which wasn't much, despite working with him for years. He had a complicated relationship with his mother and father. A collection of step-parents that seemed to rotate every few years. But the details were fuzzy, the full picture unclear.
"What was your family like?" I asked. "Growing up, I mean."
He was quiet for so long I thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, lacking its usual bravado.
"Chaotic. Unpredictable. Always changing." He shifted slightly, the sheets rustling. "My mom remarried three times before I graduated high school. My dad, four times. I had different bedrooms in different houses almost every year. Christmas looked different each year: new traditions, new step-siblings, new rules. By the time I was ten, I'd learned to sleep with my hockey gear in my room so I wouldn't forget it when we moved again."
The image of a young Cam, clutching his gear like a security blanket in an ever-changing series of bedrooms, made my throat tighten.
"You learn not to get too attached," he continued, "because that stepmom who makes the good brownies, or the stepdad who helped you with your algebra homework might just disappear one day and never call again. My third stepdad taught me to ride abike, took me fishing every weekend for a year. Then one day, my mom tells me they're splitting up, and I never saw him again. Like, poof!" He paused. "I was eight."
"That sounds hard," I said quietly, wanting to reach for him in the darkness but holding back.
"You adapt," he said simply, though I could hear the cost of that adaptation in his voice. "You figure out how to fit in, how to be what each new family needs. What will make the new step-parent like you, what will keep the peace."
