Chapter 40: Epilogue

[vibe track: diamond veins feat. sarah rebecca - french 79]

Cameron ran her fingers over the moon tattoo on the left side of her chest, half of it covered by her V-neck. It had long since healed, but the sight was still new to her, like a change in a landscape she’d been so familiar with for so long. That wasn’t what had drawn her fingers to it, though.

All the other tattoos on her body represented things she never wanted to be able to forget, promises made to her that she considered unbreakable — even the ones that had been broken.

But the moon over her heart, that was a promise she’d made to someone else — the only one inked into her story. And she was determined to never, ever break it.

She needed that reminder now more than ever. Cameron was used to living in a cramped apartment that was constantly filled to the brim with obnoxious strangers — but somehow, none of that chaos had prepared her for Thanksgiving with Henry’s family.

Dinner had been ... an adventure. Unlike Brooke, Henry’s other two sisters were decidedly unimpressed with Cameron — and hadn’t tried especially hard to hide it. She wasn’t sure which had made Henry more livid: when Natalie had pointedly asked Cameron if she’d graduated from college yet, or just having to listen to his nieces and nephews chewing.

Cameron herself hadn’t handled it poorly, she thought. Though on the inside she wanted to explode, on the outside she managed to stay calm and collected.

This isn’t about you, it’s about Henry. You’re gonna be better. You’re gonna be better.

Still, it hurt that Henry had been so easily accepted by the two people in Cameron’s life whose opinions mattered to her. After Brooke had reminded her so much of Henry, she’d let herself imagine that maybe she could...

What, be a part of his family? A few months after you met the guy?

They were only staying one night here, which Cameron was now even more thankful for. She’d been, of course, her usual ball of anxiousness in the week leading up to her first visit with Henry’s family. He’d tried to both soothe her fears and also prepare her a little, warning her that his mom was Italian. As if that were supposed to be some sort of explanation on its own.

But Cameron was finding out now that being around a lot of loud people wasn’t the same as being around a family of loud people.

There was no way for her to blend in and take a breath. If it wasn’t one of his sisters, it was a niece or a nephew — all of them constantly encroaching on one or the other of them, either wanting to hang with Uncle Henry or to get a closer look at the weird girl he’d brought home with him who was closer in age to a few of them than to their uncle.

She knew where his sisters stood, that was for sure. His mom, though ... Cameron had no idea. Diana was probably around the same age as Gram, and seemed to be made of the same sort of stuff. There was something about her that made it clear she wasn’t to be fucked with.

Is that something I just like, get when I get old? Or do I have to do something special to get that for myself?

Henry’s mother’s short hair was darker than her children’s, even at her age, though there was a stately white starting to spread from her temples. She wasn’t as thin as Gram, but had a wiriness to her that Cameron had felt a little too clearly when Diana had greeted her with a full-body hug. Henry had warned her about that, too.

But her eyes always looked even kinder than Henry’s — warmer, but wearier. Cameron would’ve looked at them longer if she hadn’t been sure it would’ve led to a conversation. She was trying to avoid that kind of thing as much as possible.

Other than that, though, the older woman’s expression had stayed unreadable the entire night, just kind of taking everything in. Or maybe more like quietly basking in the family chaos.

Cameron sighed. She needed a cigarette, but she’d been good about not lighting one up. Now wasn’t the time to break. Instead, she was standing in the little hallway outside the bathroom and next to the kitchen — one of the only places in Henry’s mom’s house where there weren’t people underfoot — trying to reset herself as best she could.

Her reverie was interrupted by some clattering of dishes in the kitchen. She didn’t have to strain to hear Henry’s sisters, Natalie and Eleanor, chatting while they cleaned up.

Shit, I probably should have offered to help.

She was about to walk into the kitchen and do just that when she realized their conversation was about Henry.

“—weird to call him ‘Henry’ again,” Natalie said.

“Yeah.” That was Eleanor, Henry’s youngest sister who was only a couple of years older than him. Eleanor was shorter than Brooke, but had similar sharp features. On Brooke they looked bony. On Eleanor, they seemed more like... weapons — ones that had been mostly trained on Cameron all night, it felt like.

She and Henry had apparently been very close, but then ... weren’t anymore. Henry hadn’t gone into detail, but Cameron had a feeling it had something to do with Mal.

As usual.

“Do you think it’s because ... you know...” Natalie asked, without actually saying the most important part.

“Of course,” Eleanor responded after a beat. She let out an exasperated sigh. “I thought we were finally gonna get him back — I haven’t even been to one of these in like, what, almost 10 years? And then he shows up with ... with another one.” A dish slammed to the counter.

While Natalie had been passive-aggressive at dinner, Eleanor had been about as silent as Cameron — but her eyes had rarely left Cameron or Henry.

“Come on, we don’t even—”

“He’s going by Henry again, and she’s ... I mean, did you see her, Nat?!” Eleanor wasn’t even trying to keep her voice down now. “He’s too much of a fucking pussy to make any decisions for himself. I thought it was Mallory, but you know what? I was wrong. It’s him. Now he’s got some punk bitch running his life for him. Whatever. I knew I shouldn’t have come.”

Cameron couldn’t stand by any longer. She wasn’t going to let herself get trapped in the bushes this time.

“Don’t call him that,” she said in an even tone, striding into the kitchen. The two sisters were there, but Cameron was surprised to see Henry’s mom there, too. Still, she meant what she said, no matter who was there to hear it.

She turned to Eleanor, keeping her eyes steady. Henry’s youngest sister didn’t seem like she cared Cameron had overheard — not even a little bit.

“Call me whatever you want, I don’t ... care,” Cameron said, a controlled edge to her voice as she made a conscious effort not to swear — just in case that sort of thing was as frowned upon by Henry’s mom as it was by Gram. “But if you think your brother is some kinda pussy, you don’t know him.”

Eleanor’s eyes didn’t look as warm as Henry’s — they were hard and honed. She took a step toward Cameron. “And you do?” she challenged.

Cameron didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

Eleanor snorted. “You’re a fucking child,” she said, rolling her eyes tauntingly. “You don’t know shit, and you definitely don’t know shit about my brother.”

She brushed past Cameron on her way out of the kitchen, making sure to catch part of Cameron’s shoulder as she did.

Cameron’s blood was boiling, but she tried to keep a lid on it.

It’s not about you. You’re gonna be better. It’s not about you. You’re gonna be better.

Natalie’s mouth was hanging open in apologetic shock as she watched the scene unfold. Henry’s mom sported a pained, ever-so-slight frown, but otherwise hadn’t reacted whatsoever. She seemed more like she was interested in what would happen next.

Seething inside, Cameron knew she couldn’t go back out the same way Eleanor had, so she slid open the sliding glass door on the far side of the kitchen and closed it again behind her, shivering at the cold night air.

She wanted to scream, but knew everyone inside would still be able to hear her, so she made do with walking around the corner where no one could see. Bending over to pummel the dead grass a few times with her fist didn’t do much to make her feel better. But at least it hadn’t hurt her fists.

Closing her eyes, Cameron tried to make the frustration melt away. She was tired of the people close to Henry talking about him that way. Tired of being the only one who saw how much strength he had inside to deal with the shit he carried with him every day — and how much stronger he made her feel.

They all say how fucking much they love Henry, but then they always talk about him like he’s a fucking child who can’t be trusted to make his own decisions.

Reflexively, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the flattened cigarette she kept there. She didn’t even carry a lighter with her anymore, but just holding the cigarette helped. It didn’t really help warm her up, though.

The squeak of the sliding door signaled she was about to have company, making her groan inside. She wasn’t looking for an audience.

Around the corner came Henry’s mother, walking at the deliberate pace of someone her age and carrying a knitted cardigan that was the same style as one she’d put on herself. Cameron quickly hid the cigarette behind her back as Diana handed her the sweater with a little smile. It was pastel peach ... not exactly her color.

“Umm ... thanks,” Cameron mumbled. She put it on, trying to conceal the cigarette in her palm while she did. It did feel warmer, at least.

To her surprise, Henry’s mother produced a cigarette of her own and lit it, then offered her lighter to Cameron.

“Umm ... no, I’m ... I’m quitting. I just hold it.” She demonstrated with a look she hoped conveyed that she knew it was stupid.

The older woman shrugged and tucked the lighter away.

The two of them went through the motions — Cameron just pretending, and Henry’s mom for real — while they gazed up at the gleaming full moon above them. It was a clear, crisp night.

“Quitting, that is good.” The old woman nodded. She had come over from Italy as a young woman and still had the accent. “Why are you quitting?” She turned to Cameron with another unreadable expression. The question sounded as casual as if it were about the weather.

Cameron took a beat before responding. “Henry.”

His mother nodded slowly, as if she’d already known the answer, and took another drag. “My two younger daughters,” she gestured back toward the kitchen, “they ... they live their lives in the sunshine. They don’t know what it’s like to live any other way.”

Diana inhaled from her cigarette again, giving Cameron a sidelong glance, then pointed her cigarette at her. “You, though, Cameron,” the few times she’d said Cameron’s name, it was always Cam-er-on with three distinct syllables, “you are what my grandmother would call, ’tette di ferro.’”

A smile crept onto Diana’s lined face from the corners of her lips. “Iron tits.”

Cameron had to wait a second to make sure she’d heard correctly — and felt a grin break out on her face that quickly grew into a laugh. Henry’s mom started to chuckle too, only encouraging Cameron further as the two women laughed together in the moonlight.