Page 108 of Hold the Pickle
But then Camryn met Max. He was Franklin’s best friend back then.
Things got tough when Franklin declared his sister off limits, leading to blows, and ultimately a disaster that forced Cam to cut her brother out of her life.
Now he’ll be an uncle, if they can all mend the bridge. Uncle Sherman won’t encourage it. Max might.
But regardless of what happens in Camryn’s family, the Pickles are strong. “Granny Alma will be with us too,” I tell her. “We’re going to surround them with love.”
Mom sniffs, pressing a tissue to her nose. “We will.”
After ten hours of driving, we contemplate stopping for the night in Vegas, but Mom takes a driving shift. We arrive in LA around ten p.m.
“Should we go to the hospital?” Mom asks, gripping the wheel as we navigate the mostly empty highways.
“I have a key to their house if you want to sleep. The last update was that they expected the baby in the middle of the night.” I’ve been texting with Max.
“That’s a long labor,” Mom says. “It only took six hours with you.”
“What about Rhett? Do first babies take longer?”
She nods, glancing down at my phone for navigation. “He was eight.”
“Cam is so tiny. I don’t see how that baby can even be in there.”
“It’s amazing how we stretch.” Mom exits, and I see we’re heading toward South General.
Would Dalton be at the hospital? I haven’t texted him to tell him that Camryn is there. Isn’t he on the maternity ward now? I’ve only had scant details of his move to neonatology. I’m not clear if the NICU is on the same level as regular maternity. Probably. It would make sense.
What if I see him?
I probably look a fright. I pull down the mirror, blinking at the automatic light. My hair is all over the place, falling from the messy bun I shoved it into when we got the message that Cam’s water had broken.
I didn’t shower. I threw on a pair of sweats.
Why didn’t I think this through?
I tug my hair down, but that’s not much better. It cascades over my shoulders in a snarled mass, half straight, half crimped from the elastic band.
Mom glances over at me. “I don’t think anyone will care how you look.”
Right. Dalton was a roommate. I can’t mention him.
I say the only thing I can think of. “Max will tease me.”
“He’ll do that no matter what.”
That’s true. All the cousins are close, but I’ve always had a special relationship with Max. It’s one of the reasons I ran to his deli when I graduated, trying to avoid the Pickle empire.
And I’d done it. I’m well on my way to understanding the business model of animal rescues, and their expenses, their needs, how they operate.
I’m happy there. And I have the family’s blessing.
I snap the mirror closed and throw my hair back into its messy bun. It’s fine. I probably won’t see him, anyway.
We pass the entrance to the ER, and I can picture Dalton standing out there, opening the door of the car he called after my bar debacle. It seems so very long ago.
Mom turns into the garage, and I have to bite my lip to stem the flood of emotion. I want to see him. I will see him. It would be wrong not to see him while I’m here.
I jerk my hair down again and rake my fingers through it. I have lip gloss in my bag. I can tidy up. There will be hours to wait.
