Page 2 of Camp Bliss
I click the Zoom icon in my dock and join the meeting.
“Hey, man!”
At first, all I see is a backlit silhouette. Josh presses in closer to me so we’re both in the shot.
“I’d say it’s great to see you,” Josh says to the screen, “but you look like Emperor Palpatine. Turn a light on for fuck’s sake.”
“What? Oh.” Chuckling, his friend Zach—or the dark blob moving on-screen—leans out of frame. There’s a click, and when he leans back, I frown.
Because he looks nothing like the skinny, pimple-faced guy with the copper buzz cut from Josh’s Sigma Chi pictures.
Except maybe the hair color.
But the buzz cut is long gone. It may have been the last haircut the man ever had. The guy on-screen has a flame-colored mane that would make Mufasa jealous.
Are you sure that’s him?I want to ask. Would it be rude to mute our mic and ask?
Isn’t he supposed to be a lawyer?
He doesn’t look like a lawyer.
He looks like a …
A surfer.
I glance at Josh. The way my boyfriend’s hair falls into his eyes. The goatee that could have used a trim a week ago. I wouldn’t say he looks like a surfer, exactly, but he’s just as rough around the edges.
I stare back into the camera and try to play catch up. “Hey Zach. I’m Greta. So nice to… uh… sort of meet you.”
“Yeah… Hey,” Zach says, but he’s frowning now too. I shift my gaze to check out our little square on the monitor to see what he’s seeing.
I don’t look like a surfer either.
I look like, well, a teacher. A 27-year-old teacher, but a teacher nonetheless. My light brown curls are pinned up in a barrette. And I took out my contacts when I got home because grading final exams was getting to me, so I’m wearing my square-rimmed glasses. And, shit, I still have my faculty lanyard around my neck.
I make a face and whip the thing off. Josh side-eyes me with anAre you okay?expression. I nod.
“So, Zach, give it to me straight.” Josh launches in. “Did you pull the trigger?”
A smile streaks across Zach’s face as he lifts a bottle of Guinness to the camera. “What do you think?”
Josh raises his Stella. “Aww, hell, yeah! Man, aren’t you glad you took my advice to buy that condo?”
Zach huffs a laugh. “Best investment I ever made.”
“More where that came from,” Josh says, sounding happy and proud.
I finally smile. I can feel Josh’s excitement, and it’s a welcome relief.
“So, it’s all set? You’re selling the condo?” I ask, wanting to be sure. A lot of dominoes have to fall for this thing to really, really happen, and I don’t want to be living on hope if it’s false.
Zach’s eyes tighten, but he’s still smiling. “Yep. We close Monday. I’m moving out this weekend, selling my Honda, shipping what I can’t live without to you guys, and hopping on a plane Wednesday morning.”
Oh. That’s right. In less than a week, Zach will be moving in with us. Living in our little two-bedroom house until the three of us close on the property—or until the lease on our house runs out at the end of June.
Whichever comes first.
I shake off those thoughts. Now’s not the time to worry about living with a stranger. Or being homeless. We have too much to do.
