. 25-27

Author's note:

If you're seeing Lupine Dreams for the first time, welcome! It's a romance through and through, aimed at your heart, not necessarily other parts (; If complicated, imperfect characters you wanna root for are your thing, check out the

series page

to read a full description and give it a shot! If the characters click with you, you'll be caught up in no time (: But you will need to have read it all to understand what's going on. Enjoy! (:

~~~

Chapter 25

Heather evidently hadn't brought any treats, but that didn't stop Henry from walking into Monday morning coffee practically whistling.

"There he is!" Paul said, toasting his mug to Henry as he took a seat in one of the tiny desks next to Paul and in front of Heather. "The legend himself! You wouldn't

believe

how often you came up in the locker room on Friday, big guy."

Henry gave Paul a look that said he was used to it. "Hey, with a body like this," he said, gesturing at his mid-30s physique, "I can't expect people

not

to talk. Just no touching," he said with a smirk and a wag of his finger.

Paul laughed while Henry poured some of the proffered coffee into his

Oh Yes Wyoming!

mug. Heather didn't seem as amused, but Henry didn't give it much notice.

"So, slugger, what's the story? You two dating? Or you just hang out when you have bus duty?" Paul said.

"Slugger?"

Paul shrugged. "I'm runnin' outta nicknames. 'Champ?' Is that better?"

Henry considered thoughtfully, as if he were a connoisseur -- tasting it -- then gave a slow nod of approval.

"Okay then,

champ

, I didn't even know you guys were still seeing each other." Paul took a sip of his coffee, asking the question again. "So what's the deal?"

"Umm..." Henry wasn't actually sure

what

he and Cameron were, which was why he'd been stalling for time. But there really wasn't a better word for what they were doing. "I guess we sort of are, yeah. We're just kinda...feelin' it out." He sipped from his own mug while Paul and Heather exchanged one of their glances. Henry groaned inside.

They don't trust me with anything, do they.

Then he stopped himself.

Well...if they knew what happened with Mallory, they'd probably feel pretty vindicated about that, huh. Fine. Point taken.

"Sure, that sounds like you," Paul said, deadpan. "All your friends, we call you 'Mr. Go-With-The-Flow.' Because of how chill you are about these kinds of things."

Heather nodded in agreement. "That's right. I wanted Mr. Chill, but that was too close to Mr. Freeze and we didn't wanna get sued." She gave a weak smile, almost like she felt obligated to make some dumb joke but wasn't really feeling it.

They paused for a second and Henry thought maybe the conversation was moving on...but then Heather had more to say.

"So...it's not really anything, like, serious. You're just--"

Paul finished her sentence for her. "Going with the flow. Like you do."

Heather nodded her agreement. "Yeah." She sounded like she was trying to reassure herself rather than asking a real question of Henry.

Henry tilted his head back and forth, not really sure of the answer to that, either.

What does "serious" actually mean? Like, do hospital visits count as serious?

"Well...I...had dinner with her, umm -- like her grandma, I guess, last night. Not really her grandma, but she raised her."

Heather and Paul gave each other another look, longer this time, and Paul didn't seem as amused anymore.

"What?" Henry said, a little miffed at how his friends were treating him.

They're looking at me like I just casually told them I was shooting up heroin or something. What is their problem?

They both shifted uncomfortably in their seats, like they didn't know which one should go first.

"Stop doing that, geez," Henry snapped. "Not gonna lie, guys, I kinda thought you'd be like...I dunno,

happier

for me.

I'm

happy. It went really well, by the way, not that either of you asked." He took another sip.

He probably wasn't as pissed off as he sounded, he was just confused why they were being so weird about this. He'd done exactly what they wanted him to do, and here he was, feeling good about it.

And then they keep doing that look between each other that they do when they think I'm about to go off the deep end.

"Hey, no, bro, that' s good, that's good, really," Paul said, conciliatory.

Then Heather took over. "It's just...don't you think that's moving kinda fast?"

Henry wasn't actually going to dispute that. It

was

kind of fast. But...whatever he and Cameron had going on, it wasn't exactly following a traditional roadmap. So, who was to say what order things had to happen in?

"I'm sure she's cool, really," Heather said, her hands raised defensively. She didn't really seem that sure at all, though, from what Henry could tell. "But...Andrew...you're 36 years old. She's, what, 25?"

He thought that was supposed to be rhetorical, but Heather left it hanging for him to confirm or deny. "Twenty-three," he mumbled.

Heather pursed her lips. "Yeah. Twenty-three. And you...you basically met her parents already after...like a couple weeks or something?" She looked concerned that Henry wasn't going to listen to her.

Gee, I wonder why.

Paul spoke up before Henry could really say anything in response. "Can I ask you something?" he said, sitting up in the fourth-grade desk he was stuffed into. He'd been a little more sympathetic, so Henry nodded, figuring maybe he was gonna be the good cop here.

"What do you guys do when you hang out?" Paul said. As much as Henry wanted to read into it, there wasn't any accusation in the question. He sounded genuinely curious. That made it hard to get upset about.

Then why am I getting upset?

He knew why, of course: They were asking all the questions he'd already asked himself. And he hadn't ever actually come up with the answers.

"What do you mean, 'what do we do when we hang out' -- what do

we

do when we hang out?" Henry said, gesturing to the three of them without trying to keep the resentment from his tone.

Paul shrugged. "We play boardgames, we go see movies sometimes. We've got the staff softball team in the spring--"

Henry held up a hand. "Okay, geez, I get it," he said. "Fine, Paul -- I'll date you."

Heather didn't seem amused, but Paul laughed.

"I mean, you get what I'm saying though, right, man? Hey, hey, don't get me wrong," Paul continued, cautioning with his hand, "I'm the one who told you to get out there and explore the universe of pussy, I know I did. And that's good, man! I'm really glad you found somebody." Henry could tell a major "but" was incoming. "But...maybe, you know, maybe just be careful with how quickly you...like...." He looked extremely uncomfortable, trying to figure out the right word, and eventually just let it drop.

Heather picked it up. "Andrew," she said in a low tone, like she was trying to level with him about a secret. She was fiddling with her coffee cup, clearly just as uncomfortable as Paul...and yet, continuing anyway. "You...you seem like you're really putting a lot into this, is all." She looked up to his eyes now. "How many dates have you even been on? Not counting, you know, the dinner with her grandma." Heather either wasn't as good at keeping the accusation out of her voice as Paul was, or she wasn't even trying.

Henry's cheeks burned. "It's...hard to say," he said, jutting out his jaw.

Why are they pressing this so fucking hard? They don't even know her!

"It's not that simple, okay?"

Heather nodded as if she'd known he was going to say that. "So...less than five?"

Henry's lips pressed into a straight line and he looked to Paul for support. But he was inspecting his coffee cup.

When Henry didn't answer, Heather tried again. "Less than four?"

Henry snapped his eyes to her, pissed off now -- both that she was pushing it, and that he couldn't really give a number because of the weird ways he and Cameron had usually ended up together.

Does it count as a date if she's recovering from the hospital? How about when I was blackout drunk and passed out on her mattress?

"

Fewer

than four," the English teacher in him spat out icily, even while confirming her guess. "Yeah. Sure."

Heather nodded again, like she was laying out a case in court and the witness had just admitted to something damning. Paul shifted further with a discomfort that had nothing to do with the size of the desk. That meant Heather must have more to say.

When she did, her voice was quiet, but with an even sharper edge to it. She was saying something she didn't take joy in, but felt needed to be said. Or needed to be

heard

.

"Did your 'family emergency' last week have anything to do with her?" Heather's green eyes were as caring as ever, but they were steady, expecting an answer. Not because she wanted to know -- clearly because she

already

knew.

Somehow.

Henry smacked his mug down on the desk, sloshing a bit of coffee over the side. "Yes, okay, she was in the fucking

hospital

, and then she stayed with me for a couple days. So I don't know,

Heather

-- maybe you can decide whether that adds to my date counter or not." His voice was raised now, nearing a yell. "What the

fuck

is this? Why are you guys ambushing me over this?"

They looked at each other again, infuriating Henry even more -- until he realized that meant they

still

weren't done.

What the hell, they have

more??

Without looking at him, Heather gingerly pointed to the mug he'd slammed on the desk. "I noticed you got a new mug a little bit ago," she said quietly.

Henry's wild eyes darted down to the mug, staring at it as if it had betrayed him.

"We're happy you're moving on from Mallory -- really, that's great, man," Paul said, just as gently. In fact, it unnerved Henry how gently he was speaking. "Maybe we pushed you too fast to get back out there. I'm sorry, man, really." Paul reached over and patted him on the shoulder. Henry wasn't ready to look up and acknowledge him yet.

"You just were so wrapped up in Mallory," Paul continued, "like she dictated every part of who you were. And you're a great dude!" He waited until Henry finally looked up at him, to see the earnestness on his face. "Too good a dude to have somebody else decide who you are

for

you. You get what we're saying?" Paul looked pained, like he was trying to will understanding into his friend. Frankly, Henry wasn't entirely sure he wanted it.

More likely, Henry thought to himself, he already understood what they were saying before they'd even said it. He just hadn't wanted to face it yet. He still didn't.

Chancing a look at Heather, she returned the same pained, hopeful expression as Paul, still fiddling with her mug.

Henry's gaze drifted back down to the coffee cup Cameron had given him after he spent the night at her apartment, when he'd been so fucked up.

So fucked up just from

seeing

my ex-wife out and about somewhere. That was all it took for me to completely disintegrate. And then...not to mention...the backsliding they don't even know about.

After their ill-advised night together, he'd delved so deep into the depths of that depression Mallory had left him in. And then, he'd come out of it so easily when Kendra had called him to the hospital.

Poof

.

His emptiness had been almost completely wiped away just by getting Cameron to smile at him

once

-- the girl he barely knew, really. The girl he had nothing in common with. The girl who was basically still a

girl

, closer to his niece's age than to his own. Mallory had left him in shambles, and then he'd attached himself to the first woman who came along -- and let

her

control his mood instead.

That's...that's not what happened. That's not how it felt. That's not what this is, goddammit!

He didn't know who he was trying to convince.

Looking back up at Paul, then to Heather, their expressions hadn't changed. They probably saw the turmoil plainly on his face -- apparently they could read him like a book.

"That's...that's not how it is," he said out loud now. But there was as little conviction in his voice as there had been in his thoughts.

Heather took a deep breath, again looking for courage in her cup before turning back up to him. "Andrew...what does she call you?"

He froze. He didn't want to answer. But he knew Heather already knew the answer, and that she knew he knew. She just wanted her friend to face it, to come to terms with what

he

already knew: He'd given up so much control of his own identity that he'd let some girl he barely knew change his

name

.

Even...even in my own head.

A chill spread up Henry's spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He was spinning, and he gripped the desk tightly, hoping the other two teachers wouldn't notice.

The words he'd spoken to his sister a few weeks ago rippled through his mind like the tear that was dropping into his coffee:

Who even am I without her?

Did he have any idea who he was on his own? If he didn't have someone to latch onto...

would I be anyone at all?

Heather had gotten up and come around, kneeling in front of him now. Why did he constantly have to be treated like a child?

Maybe because I keep acting like one.

"We want you to be happy," she said softly, tipping up his chin to look at her. "Really, Andrew, we do. Maybe...don't be in such a rush, though, okay?" She gave him a weak smile, trying to build him back up now that they'd broken him down. "And maybe...maybe whatever this thing is you've got with Cameron, maybe it's the real thing. Why couldn't it be? We're not saying it's not, or that there's anything bad about her -- nothing like that." Paul's hand was on his back now, adding his support. "Just...go slow. Be careful. That's all we're saying."

Henry didn't know what to say. He looked down again. The

Oh Yes Wyoming!

cup stared up at him smugly, no reflection showing in the muddy brown coffee inside.

Is that because it's coffee and not water?

Or is there just nothing for it to reflect back?

Chapter 26

[vibe track: higher self - karmic]

Jessica was getting over a two percent response rate today -- higher than Cameron usually managed. Maybe it was something in her voice. Today, even her cubicle didn't feel as hopeless.

She pretended to check the time on her cellphone again, even though it was right there on her computer screen. Henry hadn't responded yet.

He hadn't had much to say today, despite her prodding. She didn't want to look desperate though, so she'd left it alone.

Maybe they caught on to the whole porn scheme and he has to actually teach.

Everybody had a teacher in school who really spoke to them. Even Cameron. She didn't have many times she wanted to remember from school, but Mrs. Hennings was always kind, and she let Cameron stay in her classroom some afternoons to wait for Gram to come get her.

How many kids feel that way about Henry? About "Mr. M?"

She smiled to herself, pretty sure she knew the answer just from a few minutes of watching him on bus duty.

Tonight, she was heading back to her apartment. Her first night since...since she'd been in the hospital.

Surprisingly, though, Cameron found she wasn't actually feeling that anxious about it.

It's just a place. A room.

The only thing in it was whatever she brought with her. Right?

Right.

Plus...

Henry will be there.

***

Work went by more quickly than Cameron had thought possible. On her way to the Shitmobile, she texted Henry to let him know she was leaving work. He still hadn't responded yet, but she wasn't that concerned.

She

was the ghoster, not him.

When she walked into her apartment, she heard a door close somewhere down the hallway. It wasn't Kendra, she knew. Kendra was in Sacramento again. She wasn't really sure why her friend kept having to make trips over there to check out that school.

Isn't that something you can do online anyway?

Cameron's other roommates...weren't real big fans of hers. They'd all moved in here out of convenience. Only Cameron and Kendra had known each other beforehand, and if one of the others had an issue with Cameron -- one bad enough that they thought it was worth the risk to bring up -- they went to Kendra with it, not Cameron. That was probably smart for everybody, she admitted to herself.

Well, not Viv. She's not afraid of me. But she's hardly ever here.

That left the mystery door-closer as either Parker or...Naomi. Cameron's eyes flicked to the coffeemaker in the kitchen. It looked like it was still working fine. So why did she feel guilty?

Oh right.

She remembered the feeling of Naomi's friend's hair ripping off her scalp, the frightened, wild look in her eyes when Cameron threatened to kill her.

I...was ready to, too. Fuck.

Who even

was

that person? Cameron had a hard time believing she could've ever felt that angry, that full of rage. But she had. That person was still inside somewhere, she knew.

The least I can do is replace her mug, I guess. Fuck. I still gotta do that.

Cameron slowed to a stop outside her room. A new door was staring back at her, one that looked much sturdier, like it wouldn't bow very easily from a few punches.

It's just a room.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for the brand-new doorknob and slowly turned the gleaming, bright brass. The door swung open easily, without so much as a squeak.

As she flicked on the light and stepped into the room, she expected to feel...

something

.

But she didn't.

See? It's just a room.

Cameron let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

The faint, lingering smell of bleach and cleaner stung her nostrils. The carpet had clearly been cleaned. The two other mattresses were stacked snugly in a corner and her own was in the middle of the floor, the wooden warning sign lying on top of it. Wispy gray curtains had replaced the blackout shades that had hung there before, the new ones left wide open to let in the glare of the streetlights and a view of the building across the street.

Cameron checked the closet, making sure nothing else had been changed -- but it had. Her tops were all hanging in a row and the rest of her clothes were in neat, separate piles.

Kendra's been busy.

Her friend had her own shit to deal with. But she'd found time to wash and organize all Cameron's clothes anyway. For some reason, that made her miss Kendra -- and appreciate her -- even more than the clean carpet or the new door.

She set down the duffel bag that held all the stuff she'd been wearing and using at Henry's and Gram's the past week, vowing to deal with it later just as carefully as Kendra had done...though she was pretty sure she wouldn't.

After opening the window a crack so she could smoke, Cameron dragged her mattress parallel and tossed the handmade sign into the closet. Finally, she took a seat on the mattress and set her backpack down, heaving a sigh.

It was quiet.

The occasional mumble of some TV show came from the room next to her, only a little less audible than the rumble of nighttime traffic outside the open window.

Naomi then.

Cameron's eyes settled on a spot in the center of the room, uncovered now that she had moved her mattress. It was lighter than the rest of the carpet, bleached into a splotchy oval. She couldn't remember what happened there. And she didn't want to.