I'll Be Holding on to You

the deli

The next day I roused Cam enough to take his meds at eleven, then left all of them sleeping and took his car because it had a better sound system than mine and I liked my bass. I hit up the library and ran a few other errands, ending up at the grocery store last.

I was picking out bananas when my mom texted me that everyone had left and she was on her way to head shrink some patients. That meant I needed to go home, because we didn't leave Cameron alone for long.

When I walked into my room, he was still in bed.

"No, uh-uh," I said, throwing my purse in the direction of my computer chair and a little impressed when it landed there. I jumped on the bed, kind of directly on him. "Get your lazy ass up."

"I'm up, I'm up," he said, shoving me off half heartedly. "I just took a nap. Otherwise I've been up since you left. Mom's been here."

My mom was his psychiatrist, and had been for the twelve years we'd known each other. She and my father had also adopted him when we were twelve.

"So that doesn't mean you can go back to bed now, I just got home. So c'mon."

He yawned, nodding. And flopped back down.

"Get up, you." I grabbed the covers and pulled, taking them along with me into my bathroom.

"Hey," he protested, but I remained steadfast. The blankets took up residence on the tiled floor and I locked the door so he couldn't get them back. This was sort of routine. As far as anything we did was routine.

I showered and left my hair wet so it could curl. It was warm enough though summer was ending. 

We watched some shows in bed while he worked on waking up for three hours, and then headed downstairs.

Our dad was in our kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. The parents spent most of their time working or in the cottage on our property, when they weren't traveling. But they made the occasional foray into the big house. We didn't mind.

Cam and I perched on counter stools, where some homemade blueberry muffins with organic blueberries and crumble topping sat on a plate, courtesy of Mo. 

"How was everyone's day?" Dad asked, dipping a bread plate into the soapy water.

Erika was texting me. "Fine," I said, distracted. I texted back that we would come and get them as I bit into a muffin. Oh my God, heaven. "How was work?"

"Productive," he said contentedly. He was a brilliant man and taught because he loved it. "What are you kids up to tonight?"

Cam had produced his notepad and was drawing. "Same thing we do every night," he offered.

"Pinky," I added, completing the quote. 

He reached over to steal some of the crunchy topping and I slapped his hand away and put his own muffin in front of him. A cityscape full of buildings was rapidly appearing on his paper, a somehow realistic caricature. 

"Hang out here?" Dad dried out a cup and put it away.

"Probably," I agreed. 

I slid off my stool, grabbing both muffins although he would only eat the top of his, and tugged Cam's sleeve. "Let's go." We farewelled my father and Cam drove since he was feeling good.

We pulled up on their long curving driveway and they were sitting on the porch, Mo smoking a cigarette in the near-dark. Six cars were available in the several garages adorning the mansion, but Erika had too much road rage to drive, and Moey refused to drive her anywhere because she stressed him out, so we usually just picked them up if they weren't already at my house.