so loud through the phone I wince and recoil.
“I knew it!” she shrieks.
Normally this would be reason enough for me to remove myself from the slumber party atmosphere and go make a sandwich or take a shower or something, but I can’t get myself off the hook so soon on this one. I was part of the “big secret,” and so I guess I should stick out the rest of the conversation.
“I’m so excited, Cam. Really, you have no idea.”
“Actually, uhh, yeah she has a pretty good idea,” I say.
Camryn looks at me warningly.
“Thank you, Nat. I’m excited, too. And we’ve already decided on a name. Well, technically Andrew chose the name.”
“What?” Natalie says in a deadpanned tone. “You mean like he actually … picked it out?” She says this as if it’s something very dangerous.
What, do all women think guys suck at names, or some shit?
“Lily Marybeth Parrish,” Camryn says proudly.
It makes me feel that much better that my girl really seems to love the name as much as I do and isn’t just pretending to keep from hurting my feelings.
“Oh my God, I actually like that, Cam. Andrew, you did good!”
Not that I needed the Natalie stamp of approval, but it still makes me grin like a little boy that even she likes it.
Yesterday was an exhausting day. In a good way. Good news seemed to come from everywhere, and I’m still reeling about it all. It’ll only make tonight at our favorite bar in Houston that much more exciting.
Andrew and I started playing a few bars here and there a little over a month ago, and I love it. Before Andrew, I never in my life imagined playing live in bars. Playing live anywhere, for that matter. It’s not something that crossed my mind even once. But the taste I got for it back in New Orleans opened up a new world to me. Of course, Andrew being there with me played a huge part in my enjoyment of it and that still holds true today. I doubt I could keep doing this if it weren’t for him.
Performing isn’t what I enjoy the most; performing with him is what makes me love it.
I talk to my mom for a while about coming home in a couple of days, and she’s so excited to see me. She and Roger got hitched in Mexico! It kind of ticked me off because I didn’t get to be there, but now that I think about it more it doesn’t bother me. They were being spontaneous. They did what they felt they wanted to do in their hearts and just went for it. I’ve learned during my time with Andrew that being spontaneous and breaking free from the mold is often a good thing. After all, we wouldn’t be together today if I myself didn’t have some firsthand experience with being spontaneous.
As far as our own wedding date, well, we haven’t set one. We talked about it one night and agreed that we will get married when and wherever it feels right. No dates. No planning. No five-thousand-dollar dress that I’ll only wear once. No matching the flowers with the décor. No best man or maids of honor. All of that stuff stresses both of us out just thinking about it.
We’ll get married when we’re ready, and we both know that the wait has nothing to do with not being sure. It’s what we both want, there’s no mistaking that.
I hear Andrew rustling the keys in the apartment door and I meet him there. I jump up, wrapping my legs tight around his waist, and kiss him fully on the mouth. He slams the door shut with his foot and wraps his arms around me, keeping his lips locked with mine.
“What was that for?” he asks, pulling away.
“I’m just excited.”
His dimples deepen.
I hold on to him with my arms draped around his neck as he carries me through the living room and into the kitchen.
“I wish I would’ve taken you home sooner,” he says, setting me on top of the bar. He stands between my suspended legs and tosses his keys on the counter.
“None of that guilty stuff,” I say, pecking him once on the lips. “I’ll miss Texas if I stay in North Carolina too long, I’m sure.”
He smiles but doesn’t seem convinced of that.
“You don’t have to make a decision now,” he says, “but I do want you to decide where we’re going to live, and I don’t want you picking Texas because of me. I love my mom, but I won’t be as homesick as you.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because I’ve lived on my own for a while,” he says. “You never got the chance to do that before you left Raleigh.”
He grins, stepping back subtly, and adds, “Besides, you’re all hormonal and crazy and shit, so I’ll gladly do whatever you say and you won’t get any arguments from me.”
I playfully kick my leg out at him, but miss him on purpose.
He leans in between my legs, lifts the end of my shirt, and then presses his warm lips against my belly.
“What about Billy Frank?” I ask as he lifts upright. “If you leave him again he might never hire you back.”
Andrew laughs and makes his way around the bar and toward the cabinets. I swing around on the top of the bar to face him, hanging my legs over the opposite side.
“Billy Frank has been my boss off and on since I was sixteen,” he says, taking down a box of cereal. “We’re more like family, so it’s not your average mechanic job. I need him more than he needs me.”
“Why do you still do it?” I ask.
“What, work under a hood?”
I nod.
He pours milk over the cereal he just made and puts it back in the fridge. “I like working on cars,” he says and then takes a monstrous bite. With his mouth full, he goes on, “Kind of like a hobby, I guess. And besides, I like to keep the money flowing in the bank.”
I feel a little small, not having a job yet. He senses it, like he seems to sense just about everything. He swallows the food and points his spoon at me. “Don’t do that.”
I just look at him curiously, pretending not to know about how easily he caught on.
He sits on the barstool next to me, propping his shoes on the spindles below.
“You do realize you work, right?” he asks, looking at me in a sidelong manner. “Last week we raked in four hundred bucks the night we played at Levy’s. Four hundred in one night ain’t too shabby.”
“I know,” I say. “It just doesn’t feel like a job.”
He laughs lightly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t feel like a job because you happen to enjoy it. And because you’re not punching a clock.”
He has a point, but I wasn’t quite finished explaining. “If we were constantly on the road, didn’t have rent and utilities and a baby on the way, it would be different.” I take a sharp breath and just get to the point. “I want to get a hobby job. Like you.”
He nods. “Awesome,” he says and takes another bite, all the while sitting casually with his arms resting on the bar around his bowl. “What would you like to do?” He points at me. “Note the important keyword in that question: like.”
I think on it a moment, pursing my lips in contemplation.
“Well, I like to clean, so maybe I could get a job at a hotel,” I begin. “Or it might be nice to work at Starbucks or something.”
He shakes his