Cameron rolls his eyes. “You didn’t do anything that needs defending. We weren’t together, and I was the one who walked away. It hurt, but it was my own fault. Anyway,” he sighs, his hands falling to his sides in resignation, “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

I reach for him, not sure what my plan is until I’m wrapping my arms around him and squeezing. “Stop apologizing for being a good man. For fuck’s sake,” I finish dryly.

He chuckles, low, and squeezes me tighter, lifting me in the air, once, before placing me on my feet.

We pull apart, our eyes meeting and saying things we aren’t ready to vocalize yet.

“I should go. It’s late.”

I nod and lead him out. We make it to his car, and I hug him once more, this time pressing my lips to the spot just above his whiskered cheekbones.

I haven’t seen my mother in years, but that doesn’t mean I’m the least bit shocked when she turns up at the Caroline Street house after lunch, right as the cameras have started rolling. Ada Mae making a surprise appearance, days into shooting, feels pretty par for the course. It’s like she has a sixth sense that alerts her to when things are going well for me and Ada Mae cannot have that.

“Yoo-hoo!” she says, removing her sunglasses and poking her way through the sawdust and tarps in her snakeskin kitten heels.

“Sweet Jesus, here we go,” I mutter under my breath.

“Shelby!” she says, her face quite literally painted in Clin-ique and careful surprise. “Why Shelby, baby, this is wonderful! So rustic!” She pauses a step, facing the camera crew, her manicured hand pressed to her unmoving breast (that I paid for, mind you). “Oh my! What have we heeeere?” She waves at the camera, aghast, as if she’s been beamed down from a spaceship right into this wonderous half-finished living room.

Her faux-shocked expression isn’t even the weirdest thing about her, honestly. The weirdest thing you need to understand about Ada Mae Springfield is she speaks with a Southern accent, but she was born and raised outside Detroit. It’s as though she’s willed herself to be a Southern belle and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was.

Some people have plastic surgery to become someone new; my mother also adopted an entire geographic culture.

“How’d you find me?” I ask bluntly, moving to the sink to rinse the sawdust from my hands. I make a motion to cut the camera, and Steve shakes his head apologetically.