Starting Over (6 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
hat weekend, Josie attends another sleepover at her friend Carrie’s house. While she’s gone, I’ll be spending my time getting my frustrations out on canvas, which is the only way I know to cope when difficult situations arise in my life.

Before I head into my artist cave, I have to run a few errands. For the next couple of hours I’m going to the art supply store, followed by Home Depot, and finally ending up at the Publix around the corner from my town house.

I’m mindlessly going through the motions of testing out the quality of a particular mango when I hear my name. Turning around, I find Mr. Thomas pushing a shopping cart my way until he’s standing right next to me.

“Mr. Thomas—”

“It’s Cameron,” he says with a smirk.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting. Well, I didn’t forget that Cameron is your name. I just keep forgetting to call you that instead of Mr. Thomas.”

He chuckles, and his eyes soften around the edges while he’s positioning his cart around to face me dead-on. This doesn’t help my nervousness, so I keep babbling a mile a minute.

“I didn’t know you live around here. Do you like mangoes too? We love them at our house. In fact, I make the best mango smoothie. It’s one of my specialties.”

“I can see that,” he says and glances down to my shopping cart.

I’ve been tossing mangoes from the display into my cart the whole time I’ve been going off on a tangent about my ability to make smoothies. Scrambling, I grab a few mangoes at a time and put them back on the pile, only to have them start toppling down like some sick game of mango Jenga. And to my utter embarrassment, they start falling down onto the ground around my feet. The worst part is that I’m still rambling on about the different varieties of smoothies I can make using mangoes as the main ingredient.

God, how suave can I be?

Cameron bends down to where I’m kneeling on the floor of the grocery store. He smells so good this close, like if I could bottle up the sun and spray it on myself, and something else . . . hmm, maybe vanilla? Whatever it is, it’s delicious. When he leans forward to help, his face is so close to mine, and I blurt out, “Did you know that your eyes are very dark, almost black like the night sky?”

Right then another mango falls on my head, keeping me from speaking out loud, which is probably a good thing if that last comment was any indication.

He tries to cover up his laughter and the ensuing awkwardness by saying, “Here, how about you pick them up and hand them to me, and then I’ll pile them back up?”

In short order, I hand him one mango at a time and he stacks them strategically so that it’s impossible for them to fall again. I stand and watch as he’s holding the last mango and mulling over the display.

“Look,” I say, pointing to what looks like an empty space on the top right of the display. “There’s a spot there on the top of the pile for that last one.”

“A pile is more like a heap, which sounds and looks mostly unorganized.” Cameron pauses and then places the final mango on the bottom left carefully. He steps back and inspects his work. “See, by placing it just at that exact spot, the weight distribution is slightly more even, which makes it less likely for the stack to fall, even if someone takes a mango from the bottom.”

I’m kind of speechless at his thought process and find myself staring at him in confusion. To most women, this process of his for stacking mangoes would be the signal to turn and run in the opposite direction. But for me, it’s the complete opposite, which is a problem since I should not be turned on by my daughter’s science teacher.

“I’m sorry,” he says self-consciously. “Sometimes the science part of me wins out.”

“Oh, don’t apologize. It’s fascinating that you were able to figure it out that way, because I do something similar.” I turn to look at the display, tilt my head a bit while examining them, and continue. “See, I’d look at this pile of mangoes and consider the color and blush of certain mangoes and think that was too much orange on the left side and too much red on the right. I’d rearrange them so that the colors bled more into each other, almost like creating a rainbow of mangoes. And then I’d have to apologize for letting the artist in me win out yet again.”

“Well then, looks like we both have an affliction.”

“Looks like it,” I say. “The only problem is that I actually need to buy a couple of these mangoes but don’t want to ruin your scientific masterpiece.”

Cameron takes a step closer, and this time I don’t make a complete ass of myself and say a thing about his black-as-night eyes. I inch over as he proceeds to carefully select two mangoes that are perfectly ripe without collapsing the display again. “Here, these two ought to work for your smoothie.”

I take them and put them in my cart. “Thank you . . . Cameron.”

“You’re welcome, Vanessa.”

With that, he tips his head and starts to walk away, as if he had a hat to bid me adieu, like an actor from a movie in the forties . . . or maybe I’m just imagining things where he’s concerned. But not even a few feet away from me, he stops pushing his cart, swings back around, and comes toward me again.

“This may seem very forward of me, and if it is, I apologize in advance. But there is a coffee shop around the corner, and I was wondering if you’d like to grab a cup with me.”

I would have never guessed that that was what he was going to say. I have a million thoughts running through my brain, but first and foremost is that agreeing to meeting him, even for a simple coffee, can’t be ethical with him being Josie’s teacher. I’m taken aback, which must have shown on my face, because he then smiles meekly and adds, “Just as friends, to discuss the theory of mangoes, of course.”

I relax a bit and surprise myself by saying yes. Albeit with my heart hammering like a hummingbird’s wings, and I’m almost positive that my upper lip is sweaty from nerves. I surprise myself even further by exchanging cell phone numbers . . . just in case. Just in case of what, I’m not sure, but he asked, and I would feel like a fool if I didn’t when he so readily gave me his.

“Okay, so, I’ll drop off these groceries at home and meet you there in about a half hour?” I ask him.

Cameron nods. “And you’ll text me if you’re running late so I won’t be that guy that gets stood up at the coffee shop, right?”

Laughing, I say, “Of course.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon then.”

He backs up his cart and turns around, leaving for good this time and leaving me wondering if I agreed to a date with my daughter’s teacher or if it’s really just a friendly cup of coffee.

Now I’ve been out of the game for quite some time, but if memory serves, this right here feels and looks like a date.

I know it’s only a cup of coffee, but there’s something about the way he looks at me; thoughtful and friendly, yes, but more than that. Cameron’s eyes, as black as they may be, convey warmth to his every word, as if they were carefully constructed in his mind before leaving his full lips. And his lips . . . the way he licks them every so often like a nervous tic, is beyond adorable. So needless to say, I find myself in deep trouble. Because I can’t deny that I am totally attracted to him.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Cameron says, pulling me from my straying thoughts.

I didn’t even notice I had been off to la-la land.

“I’m sorry, sometimes I can be a little flighty I guess.”

Why did I say that? I’m not flighty, I’m just preoccupied. Great, now he’ll think that I’m a space cadet.

“I don’t think you’re flighty at all. In fact, you come across as anything but.”

Now my curiosity has gotten the better of me. But I don’t know him well enough to ask him to elaborate. I decide to try and level the playing field instead. “So, what made you decide to become a science teacher?”

He takes a drink of his coffee and puts the mug on the small table between us. He rubs the back of his neck while his face breaks into a shy smile. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of a nerd.”

“I don’t think you’re a nerd at all. In fact, you come across as anything but,” I say with a giggle and wink playfully at him.

Oh my God, Vanessa, get ahold of yourself and do not wink at him again.

“Touché,” he says with a laugh. “Honestly, I always had a thing for scientific facts and random trivia ever since I was a little kid.”

“Like what, for instance?”

He hesitates, as if telling me will divulge his inner nerd more than he thinks he already has. If possible, it makes him even more charming.

“For instance, did you know that a meteoroid can travel through the solar system at a speed of around twenty-six miles per second? Or that it’s because of the sun and moon’s gravity that we have high and low tides? Or that the sun is over three hundred thousand times larger than earth?”

“That’s pretty impressive. I can see the appeal of that kind of stuff to a wide-eyed little boy.” I take a sip of my coffee and then say, “I was never one for logical; in fact, I was the polar opposite when I was a little girl.”

“I bet you were beautiful in whatever you did.”

He clears his throat before saying, “I’m sorry, what I meant to say is I’m sure you were very pretty as a little girl. Dammit, that’s not right either. Not to say you weren’t very pretty as a little girl, not that I would know either since I didn’t meet you until recently. Wait, that’s not right either. What I meant to say, rather, what I
mean
to say is that you’re very pretty now, just as I’m sure you were back then.”

Wow, just wow. My eyes are wide as saucers as I try to take in everything that just came out of his mouth. I think . . . nah, that can’t be true.

“I’m so sorry,” Cameron says as he nervously fiddles with the coffee cup, turning it around and around on the table with his hands. His head is slightly lowered, but then he lifts his eyes to meet mine again and says, “I’m not very good at this, am I?”

Nope, I was right. He likes me.

The funny thing is that even though I know this isn’t necessarily a good development—because the fact remains, he is Josie’s teacher—I feel almost giddy from my head to my toes, like I am a teenager all over again.

“Cameron,” I say gently, “I’m flattered, I really am, but . . .”

“You don’t have to say it, Vanessa,” he says. “I’m used to being shot
down. Sometimes I wish I could catch myself before I open my mouth
to speak. Actually, sometimes, I probably shouldn’t speak at all.”

“If it makes you feel any better, if you weren’t Josie’s teacher . . .” I hesitate to find the right words. “It’s just not something that could happen between us. I do like you as a friend though. And I do need a friend in my life, so you can be my first new friend if you’d like.”

He leans back in his chair, more relaxed than I’ve seen him during this entire conversation, which now that I think of it was supposed to be friendly from the get-go. But when I dig down deep inside myself, I know that I was fooling myself. The attraction was there from the moment I laid eyes on him, like a magnet pulling me to him at full force. Had I known he felt the same pull, I would have never agreed to this single cup of coffee with him. Because that’s what it’s going to have to be, just this one time, and then we’ll go our separate ways, he back to his hot science teacher corner and me back to my parent of one his students corner.

“Vanessa, you do know that there is no rule that says a teacher cannot date one of their students’ parents, right?”

“Um, come again?”

Cameron leans forward, licks his lips again, the action forcing me to wonder for the first time how they would feel against mine. Soft and plush, I bet, with maybe a hint of tenderness, yet forceful and sure so I’d know without a doubt that he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

“There isn’t anything wrong with us being out like this as friends or if we were on an actual d—”

“Don’t say it,” I say in a panic. All this time I simply figured it was not acceptable or something to that effect. I never in a million years would have guessed it was totally okay to date one of my daughter’s teachers. Which begs the question: How many other women has he tried this with? Am I only one in a long line of women he’s attempted to seduce? Because that’s what I think he’s trying to do to me. With his supercute and sexy nerd thing, and his awkward and shy and then totally out of the blue forwardness . . . I bet he’s done this before. And now I feel like a complete idiot.

“I better get going,” I say and stand up. “Thank you so much for the cup of coffee, it was really nice.”

Before Cameron can say anything to me, I’m already heading out the door like a torpedo, walking as fast as I can to my car to go home, which is where I should have stayed to begin with. Because there is no way in the world that I’m going to be “that woman”: the one who’s the sucker for a handsome face and the aw-shucks personality, along with the other countless women he’s probably roped in before me.

Uh-uh, not this woman. No way!

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
here are two types of people in this world: those who love Halloween
and those who hate it. I fall into the former . . . big-time.

Don’t get me wrong, Christmas is great too, and I love celebrating it with my family every year. Who doesn’t want to get presents from some jolly old man in a big red suit from the North Pole? But Halloween? Well, I fell in love with Halloween as soon as I was told that I could dress up in a costume and ask people for candy. The idea that I could become whomever I wanted for a day blew my mind. I was that kid who was already thinking of costumes by the end of the summer, and I was also that kid who had her mom sewing up until the moment I went trick-or-treating because I kept changing my mind about who or what I wanted to be.

Some of my fondest memories of Josie are of the Halloweens we’ve shared. Even before she was born, since I didn’t know if she would be a boy or a girl, I bought unisex costumes so I would be prepared. Luckily, or really because she had no choice in the matter because I pretty much shoved it down her throat, she loves the holiday as much as I do.

I usually help out as much as I can at Josie’s school events. This year, when they finally decided to take my advice and have a Halloween dance, I jumped at the opportunity to be a chaperone as well as help decorate. So for the last couple of days leading up to tonight’s dance, I’ve left work and hightailed it to her school to work with other volunteer parents to get the decorations ready. I would be a liar if I didn’t say that every time I set foot on the school’s property, I’m not a little anxious about running into Cameron.

Okay, maybe a lot anxious.

I haven’t seen or spoken to him since I practically sprinted out of the coffee shop a couple of weeks ago. And if I’m being honest with myself, I feel bad about that. One, because I assumed that he must be some sort of science-teacher Casanova with all the single parents of the female persuasion. And two, he was so nice, and even if nothing ever happened between us of the romantic variety, which I still am on the fence about because I bet Josie would probably freak out if it ever did, I meant what I said to him about needing a friend in my life. And he seems so genuine and kind that I think that he would be a great candidate to fill that position.

So I’ve come to the conclusion that if I do see him, I won’t run. I’ll talk to him and be civilized and try to get to a point where we can be friends. Maybe . . . we’ll see. At the very least, I’ll apologize for my behavior that day at the coffee shop.

I’m putting the finishing touches on my costume when I call out to Josie from my bedroom to see if she’s almost ready to leave.

“Mom, that costume is awesome on you,” she says when she appears in the doorway.

I turn around to find her in what I can only assume is supposed to be a costume, but I’m not sure. She’s wearing a green, oversized T-shirt over tan leggings with a thin green mask like Zorro’s over her eyes.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” I ask her.

“Leonardo, I think,” she says. “Oh wait, no, that’s Carrie’s costume. I’m Michelangelo, and Lorelei is going to be Donatello.”

“You’re all going to be famous Renaissance painters?”

“Mom, haven’t you ever heard of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?”

“Ooooh, okay! Oh that’s kind of cute,” I say and go back to putting on the final piece of my costume. “Here, help me with this, please?”

Once she’s done, I take a step back and inspect myself . . . I do look awesome!

I bought this Batgirl costume from a seller on Etsy about three months ago and have been dying to wear it. It’s authentic Barbara Gordon circa 1960s style: black vinyl bodysuit with the yellow bat sign across the chest, matching yellow gloves with the spikes, and a yellow belt with a bat on the buckle. To finish it off, I straightened my usually wavy, long dirty-blonde hair and put a little bouffant on the top so that my bat ears look like they’re sprouting from the top of my head. The only thing left is to put on my black vinyl boots, and I’m all set to patrol the streets of Gotham.

We arrive at Josie’s school about a half hour later to find that Carrie and Lorelei are indeed dressed exactly as she is, and they look pretty cute when they’re all together. After I get them to pose for a few pictures, which they are happy to do since I haven’t met a tween yet who doesn’t love an opportunity to make duck faces into the camera, I leave them to their own devices and go about chaperoning the actual dance for a while.

I’m so happy to see that a lot of the student body have shown up and look to be having a great time. A great time in separate little groups, that is. Because nobody is dancing to the music the poor deejay has been playing. When I was their age, if there was a boom box nearby, it was on, so I have no idea what to make of this.

I see one of the other moms who had been helping decorate for the last couple of days dressed as Little Bo Peep standing by herself, so I head over to where she is on the far side of the gym.

“Hey, Maria, you look great, by the way. I love your costume.”

“Thanks, you too,” she says. “I wish I could still wear something like that. But that last kid tore me up.”

Okay, I’m just going to ignore that comment. “So are you noticing the same thing I’ve been noticing?”

“The no dancing, you mean?” she asks. “I think they’re all afraid to be the first one out there and be made fun of.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely,” Maria says with a laugh. “Girl, don’t you remember what it was like to be their age?”

“Of course I do, but if there was a dance at school, we danced.”

Right then, the deejay of course decides to slow things down. As if this already awkward group of tweens didn’t know what to do with an upbeat tempo, so he wants to take it to this level? This is a disaster.

“I’m going to go talk to the deejay. I’ll be right back.”

I take two steps backward on what is technically the dance floor as I’m saying this to Maria, then turn around quickly and run right into Cameron. Literally. Face-first somewhere around his collarbone. He puts his hands on my upper arms to pull me back slowly, but I keep my head down, and that’s when I see what he’s wearing.

It’s a dark purple jacket with a green vest and a purple dress shirt underneath it. In the pocket of his suit jacket is the joker from a deck of cards. I’m almost afraid to look up, because I know that if I do, I’ll be way too happy.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” he asks.

When I don’t answer because I’m still staring at his Adam’s apple, he takes his finger and puts it under my chin and slowly tilts my face up so I can meet his eyes, and that’s when I see the green spray in his hair.

“Vanessa, are you okay?”

My suspicions are confirmed; he’s dressed as the Joker. It’s like costume kismet. Out of all the costumes in the world, he had to go and pick this one, and it seems to fit him to a tee. If possible, it makes him more handsome than I already thought he was. Which I know wouldn’t make sense to most women, but I’m definitely not most women.

“I’m fine, thanks, and I’m so sorry for running into you. I should really look where I’m going,” I say finally. His hands fall away from my face and arm, and we stand there for a second or two in awkward silence. “I was just going to talk to the deejay about changing the music up to get these kids dancing.”

He smiles warmly, his eyes doing that little crinkle at the corners thing again. “That’s funny, because I was just coming over to ask you to dance.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“Why so serious?” he asks with a smirk.

I can’t help it; I start to laugh, because that might be the most perfect comeback anyone could say to me right now.

“I figure that if the kids see someone else dancing, they’ll get the idea, then follow suit. It’s all quite scientific, you see.”

He says this to me as he takes both my hands in his and pulls me forward a couple of steps. The next thing I know, he lets go with one hand and smoothly wraps it around my waist . . . then we’re dancing before I can say no.

I glance around me to see that every single set of eyes is on us. But there is only one pair of eyes that interests me. So I keep looking until I find them over Cameron’s left shoulder.

Josie is with her friends still and is watching me with her mouth
agape as I slow dance in the middle of the gym with her teacher, as is
the entire student body in what can only be called stunned silence. This
is
sooo
bad, but I’m stuck until the song is finished because it wouldn’t
look too good if I ran from the dance floor. It isn’t until Cameron takes
me on a full rotation that I can see Josie again. But this time she has a smile on her face, which makes me breathe a sigh of relief. From the corner of my eye, I see a few kids start to trickle onto the dance floor.

“It worked,” I whisper to Cameron.

He leans down to whisper in my ear. “We’re practically heroes . . . even though we’re sworn enemies.”

“Why did you pick that costume anyway?” I ask him, still in a quiet voice.

“I don’t know, I kind of just really like the look of it.” He stares at me a beat, then asks, “How about you?”

“As your sworn enemy, I cannot divulge that answer.” I stand on my tiptoes and quietly say, “Plus, Bruce Wayne might get jealous.”

He laughs, and it isn’t until that moment that I realize that the music has already changed back to an upbeat song, but we’re still dancing in a slow circle, his hand wound around my waist and one of my hands lightly gripping the back of his neck. I try to put some space between us, but he stops me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Cameron, we can’t be dancing like this still. People will talk. Plus, my daughter is here.”

I make a mental note to talk to Josie about this later tonight or tomorrow as Cameron canvasses the room to notice what I’ve already observed: the kids are doing their own thing; it’s the parents who are still staring. Honest to God, I don’t know which is worse at this point.

“Okay,” he says reluctantly. “But before I let you go, can I ask you something?”

I nod.

“As I tried to tell you that day in the coffee shop, there isn’t a rule in place about dating a student’s parent—”

“I’m so sorry about storming off that day,” I say to him abruptly. “I didn’t mean to do that. I just didn’t know what to think. Honestly, I still don’t know what to think about it.”

“It’s okay.” He stops moving me around in slow circles long enough to ask, “What I’m trying to get at is, well, I’m wondering if you’d think about letting me take you out to dinner sometime.”

I told myself that I’d be okay with us being friends even though it would be weird knowing that we are attracted to each other. And I have been psyching myself up very recently to possibly start dating again. Even Josie was on board with the idea. But I’m not sure that this is what I had in mind. It’s just too . . . I don’t even know . . . maybe too close to home or something?

“Can I think about it?”

His face drops for a second, disappointment clouding his normally welcoming eyes and bright smile, making me feel terrible instantly.

“Sure. Of course,” he says slightly more formally than he’s spoken to me before.

With that, he lets me go and I already miss being held by him. He was a very good dancer: strong and assured, gentle, yet commanding in his leading. The best part about being so close to him was his warmth; it’s like snuggling up to the best pillow ever, but only after it had been lying in the sun all day.

Now it’s my turn to feel disappointed as I watch Cameron turn around and walk away from me, leaving me on the dance floor surrounded by kids dancing. It’s all very surreal and like something out of a really bad eighties movie.

I feel a small tug on my right arm and turn to find Josie and her two other Renaissance Ninja Turtle Zorro mask–wearing friends bouncing from foot to foot with excitement.

“Mom, we need to talk,” she says forcefully and starts pulling me off the dance floor to a small corner of the gym where the lighting is so dim that I can barely make out which one of them is which until Josie starts talking again. “Okay, so we had been planning to hook you up with Carrie’s dad since her parents are divorced and that way we could be stepsisters, but this is a whole new ball game.”

“Yeah,” Carrie and Lorelei say at the same time.

“You like Mr. Thomas,” Josie announces, and her friends nod their heads in agreement. “And he obviously likes you.”

“I mean, who wouldn’t? Just look at her.” This is from Carrie, who inspects me up and down and then up again. “She’s way hot.”

“Yeah,” says Lorelei.

“So we’ve changed the plan around so that you get together with Mr. Thomas instead,” Josie goes on to say. “I mean, he’s pretty cute too. Better looking than Carrie’s dad. No offense.”

“None taken,” Carrie says, surprisingly. “He’s not bad or anything, but he really needs to start working out if he wants to be a hit with the ladies. Mr. Thomas already has that part covered.”

“Yeah,” Lorelei adds.

I put my hands up to stop them from talking. “Girls, stop for a minute!”

They all look at me through their masks with expectant eyes. For the first time, I realize just how much Josie had been secretly hoping I’d start dating sooner rather than later, which comes as a shock even though we had discussed it recently. And for some reason, my mind goes straight to her father, Matthew, and that letter that’s sitting at the bottom of my purse. Maybe it’s the fact that she doesn’t know her own father, and it bothers her more than she’s ever let on. Or maybe she really wants me to do my own thing.

“First of all,” I say to Carrie, “I’ve met your dad, he’s very handsome, but it would be very strange to ever date him because . . . well, I’ve known him
and
your mother for so long and . . . let’s just say he’s not my type, but thanks for the offer. Secondly, Josie, are you sure you would be okay with this?”

She tilts her head to the side in confusion. “Okay with what?”