Brides and Brothers by Anneka R. Walker
Chapter 44
Camille
“Hey, Mom.” Camille’s enthusiasm was lost in her nervous smile. Terry Klinger could be intimidating in her ultrafeminine business suits and her elegant blonde French twists. Always put together perfectly, she possessed an air of confidence Camille had never quite achieved.
“Camille, you look terrible! Have you lost weight? When was the last time you had a facial?” Her mother marched through the doorway and took a visual inventory of the house.
Standing there, holding the door open, Camille wondered, not for the first time, if staying in the same house was such a good idea. “Would you like a tour?”
Her mother peeked into the study and appraised the furniture with the eye of a hawk. “That won’t be necessary.”
Bemoaning her agreement to host her mother, Camille closed the front door and followed her to the formal dining and living room.
Her mother sucked in her breath. “I had no idea you married into money! I’m surprised, of course. Most religious fanatics prefer humble surroundings. Abe must not be very devout.”
Camille rolled her eyes. “His name is Aiden, and he is religious.”
Her mother crossed the room to the fireplace mantel. “The accents are very chic. Show me the rest.”
The sudden change of mind about the house tour annoyed Camille. “Okay,” she said under her breath. She knew her mother would be disappointed with the rest of the house. It paled in comparison to these two rooms. Her mother pranced past her, leaving her unofficial tour guide behind.
“This kitchen is too dark. The layout has potential. The size of the table is perfect for parties—not that you’re into that sort of thing. I would change out the light fixtures to something more modern.”
Camille gripped a chair tightly. She’d never dealt with depression before, but the suffocating feeling inside her was overwhelming. Her mother’s presence was like a match to a dry haystack. Camille glanced in the direction of her bedroom. It would be nice if she could sleep through the next week. It was more appealing than dealing with an absent spouse and a crazy, disapproving mother.
“Are you listening?”
Camille whipped her head to face her mother. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I was asking when Alex will be home.”
“Alex?” Camille’s confusion cleared after a second. “You mean Aiden. He’s out of town on business.” There was no way she was fueling her mother’s poor opinion by giving her any more information than necessary.
Her mother smiled tightly. “That’s where the money is coming from. No one could make a decent living in such a small, rural town.”
Camille didn’t argue. It wasn’t worth her breath.
“Are you sick or something?” her mother asked. “You don’t look well. Maybe I should make you some soup. Leek? Portage? Loaded potato? Cream of tomato? Do you even have ingredients for any of those?”
“I know we have potatoes, so potato soup sounds great. Why don’t you go put your feet up while I get something started.”
Her mother was affronted. “It’s my profession, Camille. I cook. And I’m good at it.”
Camille made a face. “Mom, I know you’re a good cook, but this is my house. I cook in my house.”
Her mother folded her arms and tapped her foot a few times. She did it in a way that looked completely professional when anyone else would look like a child making demands. “All right. If you don’t want me to be here, I can leave.”
Camille rolled her eyes again. “Don’t be like that. If it would make you happy to cook, then please, cook.”
Her mother sucked in her cheeks. “Thank you. I’m always happiest when I’m cooking.”
Camille squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. “Yes, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking. And if you’re taking orders, I could use a chocolate croissant.”
“A chocolate croi—” Her mother looked at her sideways. “Camille Kelly, are you pregnant?”
Camille’s eyes widened.
“You are! What are you thinking? You’re too young to try to be a mother. Your career is completely unstable, your husband is a religious fanatic, and you live in a frozen tundra. Babies can’t survive in this sort of weather!”
Camille pulled out the kitchen chair and sat down. Her head was swimming, and the last thing she wanted to do was start a second argument with her mother. They hadn’t even hit the five-minute mark of being together.
“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, young lady?” her mother barked.
Camille looked at her with a blank expression. “Mom, I’m older than you were when you had both of your children. We live on a potato farm, so we’re clearly not starving. My husband makes enough to support me, and my income is surplus. Babies are born every day in Montana, and it’s shocking, but they actually have incredibly high survival rates. And, please, before we go another minute, that husband of mine, who you keep criticizing and whose name you keep messing up, deserves your respect. He is my spouse, your son-in-law, and the father of my child.”
She was proud that she’d kept her tone neutral, though her words had been backed with firmness. It made her feel like a good teacher. Unfortunately, her student was her mother, and her mother still thought of her as a disobedient child. It was very confusing, and Camille’s head hurt too much to sort it out.
Her mother sighed impatiently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were that attached to him.” She turned and started opening and shutting cupboards.
Camille broke her neutral tone so her voice could be heard over the noise of the cupboards banging shut. “What is that supposed to mean? Of course I’m attached to him. I married him, didn’t I?”
Her mother shrugged and peered into her fridge. “I’ve been married. I know how marriage can be. You obviously got married because you were pregnant, which explains why you married Abel—”
“Aiden,” Camille clarified, “and I know you know his name, so please make an effort and get it right.”
“All right, Aiden. Anyway, it explains why you insisted on such a rushed wedding.”
“Mom! Have you been saving up all these hateful things to say to me? Why are you acting like this? You’re misconstruing everything. You have to know me better than that.”
Her mother pulled out some carrots and celery and an onion from the refrigerator and carried them to the counter. “I might have been saving some of these things up. My therapist has been urging me to express myself to you.”
“Your therapist told you to insult and accuse me?”
“I told him you’d argue with me!” her mother defended.
Camille put her heavy head on the table, and the dam she’d built up around her emotions finally burst. So much for proving to her mother that her lifestyle and choices were the route to happiness. Her tears turned into sniffles and from there to racking sobs. Could life get any more miserable? Her shoulders shook from the intense cry, and nothing and no one could comfort her now.
Several minutes passed, and Camille’s wails weren’t diminishing. She couldn’t help it. It had needed to be released since the night Aiden had left her. After forcing herself to bottle up the fear and pain for two weeks, not even the embarrassment of crying in front of her mother could stop her. Beyond that, Camille had spent the last ten years of her life being a wall of strength and power in order to impress her mother, but it was to no avail.
She felt a hand on her back. It was small and cold. Nothing like Aiden’s comforting touch. She ignored it and kept crying. A fleeting thought, between mountains of self-deprecation, reminded her to be grateful she wasn’t debasing herself in front of her brothers-in-law since they’d insisted she have some time with just her mom.
“Camille!” Her mother’s voice was sharp and made her jump. She lifted her head, confused, tears streaming down her cheeks. “That’s enough. You’ve had yourself a good long cry, and now you need to explain what’s going on.”
Her mother’s bossy demands snapped her out of her sinkhole and back to reality. Camille wiped at her eyes and hiccupped. “I’m sorry. I feel like a train wreck!”
Her mother put her hands on her hips. “It looks like you might actually need your mother’s help for once. All I can say is it’s about time!”
Camille used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe her eyes. “About time?”
“Nothing. Don’t try to analyze it. That’s what my shrink is for.”
Camille took several deep breaths and used her hand as a fan to try to dry her eyes. “I could probably use a therapist these days myself. Perhaps that’s why you’re here,” she joked.
Her mother started chopping vegetables. “Amy kept pushing it and canceling my reservations. She can be very persuasive when she wants to be. It’s as plain as day that she knew about the baby and the condition you’re in. She sent me to take care of you.”
“I’m perfectly capable—”
“I know, I know,” her mother interrupted. “You can take care of yourself. But you don’t have to be a martyr. There were many times I wished my mother would come take care of me, and she never did. After I had my own kid, my mom threw in the towel. In her book, her own motherhood was over. I promised myself I’d never be that way. If I’m going to be a grandma, then I’m going to be the best grandma there ever was.”
Camille’s eyes dried up at her mother’s words. “You mean you’re happy with the idea of being a grandma? Even if it’s not Amy’s child?”
“Amy’s child? What’re you saying?”
“I was under the impression you didn’t want anything to do with me.”
Her mother stood there for a moment, knife poised above the vegetables. “It’s not that I didn’t want anything to do with you. It’s simply that you didn’t need me. But your grandkids will need me, regardless of how capable their mother is.”
Camille looked down at the grain of the table. What she wanted to say was that she did need her mom. She’d always needed her—her approval, her acceptance, her affirmation. “I’ve heard it takes more than parents to raise a child,” she said instead. God knew her limits, but Camille hadn’t expected her mother to be the answer to her prayers. “Wait, did you come because Amy told you to? Or is there another reason?”
Her mother shrugged and ran her hand along a marble vein on the countertop. “Amy hasn’t been calling me as much as she usually does. It’s quiet at home.”
“You’re lonely.”
“Maybe. And I felt bad about missing the wedding. I wanted to be there.”
Astonished, she stared at her mom. “I wanted you to be there too.”
Her mom leaned over the counter. “You know, I’ve made friends with a Christian food blogger.”
A laugh slipped through Camille’s lips. “No way.”
“She’s going to feature me after the New Year. I’m not saying I’ll start going to church, but I realize I’ve been a little extreme in my prejudice.”
Both of them were quiet for a moment. It was hard for her mom to talk about personal things, so Camille didn’t press her for more. This was already a vulnerable conversation for them.
“I’m glad you came, Mom.”
Her mother turned back to her vegetables and nodded once.
“So,” Camille hedged, “counting you, the baby, and me, is there any chance you could make that soup for fourteen?”