The Uncanny Accuracy of Fate

Chapter 26

I'm fast asleep when a resounding crash from the kitchen jolts me awake. Sleepily grabbing my phone off the bedside table, my heartbeat picks up when I realize it's 1:30am. Unplugging and grabbing the lamp off my bedside table, I creep towards the kitchen, gripping my makeshift weapon tightly. Peering around the corner into the kitchen, I laugh out loud at the site I'm met with. Cami, hair messily pulled back and shirt covered in flour, is sitting on the floor, tongue sticking out with concentration, busily mixing something in a big bowl.

"Shit, did I wake you up?" She looks up when she hears my laughter.

"Little bit."

"I dropped a bowl..." Smiling sheepishly, she gestures towards the wooden spoon in her right hand.

"I see. Anything broken?" She shakes her head. "Great. Any particular reason why you're baking and dropping bowls at 1:30 in the morning?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Might be the meds? Dr. Reynolds said something about-"

"Yeah, maybe." I decide to drop it, not pushing for any more details. It's only been a couple of days, but I'm hoping the meds are helping her. I wouldn't know, since she shuts down any time I bring them up, but that's not for lack of trying on my part.

"What are you making?"

"Cookies." She sizes me up for a second, then pats the floor beside her. "Oatmeal chocolate chip. It's-it was my mom's recipe."

Reaching into the bowl, I swipe my finger through the dough before Cami can swat my hand away.

"Dude. This is fantastic. Your mom taught you how to bake?"

"Yeah. She didn't make them very often, but when she did she'd make dozens and dozens. We'd give them to all my teachers and neighbors. Everyone loved her cookies." She stirs through the dough a couple more times, deep in thought. "I haven't made them since-since they died."

Though my heart is breaking for her, this is the longest Cam has ever talked to me about her parents, which I know is a major step for her, both in finding closure and in trusting me.

"You were ten, right?"

"Nine. I went into the system when I was 10. I'd been living with my aunt for a year, but she was really busy with work and didn't have time for a screwed up kid. So."

I sit closer to her, allowing her to rest her head on my shoulder.

"Reminder: you're not screwed up. Hey, Cam?"

"Mhm?"

"How did they, what happened? Only if you want to, that is." I backpedal quickly, worried about ruining the gift she'd just given me.

"No, it's okay. I-just give me a second."

"Take all the time you need." I gently take the bowl out of her hands, moving towards the cabinet to grab a couple of cookie sheets and the parchment paper. Cami stands up to join me, handing me two spoons. After I line the cookie sheets, we start scooping dough onto the sheets, Cami popping about every third spoonful into her mouth. There are about 3 rows of cookies on the sheets when Cami starts talking quietly, remaining focused on her task.

"October of 2008, dad got sick. He was never really sick, so I kind of figured he'd get over it, be back to normal soon. But he never did. Did a good job pretending, though. I never knew anything was wrong. Until, a couple days after Christmas, mom went to wake him up, and she couldn't. He had a fever, like 104. We went to the hospital. Some kind of viral infection with an impossible name, that's what the doctors told us. He never really got better after that. I don't think he was conscious at all in the week before he-"

She cuts herself off abruptly, noticing the tray is full. "I already preheated the oven, can you stick them in?" I nod and grab an oven mitt, and if her voice is a little more fragile than usual, neither of us acknowledge it. When the timer's set, Cami hops up on the counter, a socked foot tapping out a rhythm on the cabinet below.

"Mom was never really...the same. After dad died. She didn't come to the funeral, wouldn't get out of bed. I sat with my math teacher. People came by all the time for the first couple months, brought baked ziti and lemon squares and the same apologies over and over."

She's gazing off into space, eyes glazing over, and I move to stand beside her, offering myself as an anchor to the present, a reminder that all these horrible things are in her past. Clutching my hand gratefully, Cami continues.

"After, I don't know, six months? The sympathy food ran out. Dad's work was still sending money, but mom didn't go to work. She wouldn't leave the house. I walked to school, or my teachers drove me, but they didn't know what was going on. No one did, mom didn't want them to know. It was only me. I was the only one. I should've-should've done something. Told someone."

I'm beginning to regret pushing Cami to talk, as her voice rises in pitch and emotion.

"Cam? Did your mom commit suicide?" I cringe as the sentence leaves my mouth, but at this point she just needs to finish so she can cry it out.

"I came home from school one day, fourth grade. She didn't respond when I came in the door, so I thought maybe she was asleep. She'd take sleeping pills sometimes, that the doctor gave her. But I-I went upstairs and she was in the bathtub. There was, I didn't-so much blood."

At this point she breaks down entirely, sobbing into my shoulder.

"Cami, baby, you can't blame yourself. You were so young. You had no idea-you shouldn't have had that responsibility." I'm stroking her hair when the timer beeps, and she shoots up, shrugging off my hands.

"I'm gonna check on them." A couple of seconds later, she pulls the tray out, smiling victoriously. "Perfect"

I help her get the tray on a cooling rack, then wrap my arms around her from behind, placing a kiss on her cheek. "You know how much I love you, right?"

She snuggles into me, nestling her head into my neck. "I love you. Now try a cookie."

I do, which burns my mouth and my fingers, causing me to yelp and drop the offending baked good.

"Now look what you've done. You've wasted a perfectly good cookie." Snickering, I pick the –now much cooler–cookie up and pop it into my mouth, to howls of protest from Cam.

"Hey, the floor is clean. I should know, I clean it." Conceding, Cami piles some cookies on a plate as I pour us two glasses of milk, and we head to the couch. Stifling a yawn, Cami insists that she's still not tired, and steals the remote to turn on Parks & Rec. We're not quite an episode in when she slumps over dead asleep, and I catch the slipping plate just in time.

Looking at the sleeping girl beside me, a thought that's been running through my mind for weeks finally surfaces to the forefront, and I grab my phone out of my pocket, opening to my messages with Jas.

Hey, can you get to the theatre 15 min early tomorrow? There's something I want to talk to you about.

I get a reply a couple of seconds later.

Absolutely. Everything ok?

Smiling in spite of myself, I type a response.

Yeah, actually. Everything's great.

I make it through approximately half another episode of the show before I pass out too, deciding beds are overrated as I curl around Cami, wondering for the umpteenth time how someone who's been through half of the trauma she has could've possibly turned out this wonderful.