Finally, the afternoon of Cameron’s birthday arrived. I was surprisingly tense.
“Is he going to like me?” I asked Oliver on the phone.
“Of course he is,” Oliver replied. “Stop being silly and get over here.”
I was still on my meds, although I was feeling better than I could ever remember feeling. Love was a better cure than any chemical. And I did have love. I loved Oliver and he loved me. Soon, I’d grow to love Cameron as my son, and I’m sure he’d grow to love me.
I showered and dressed for the party. At three in the afternoon, I wrapped the painting I’d done and put it in the back of my car. I got into the driver’s seat and sat there as nervous as I would have been on a first date. I didn’t have a lot of experience with children. My own childhood could hardly be considered a success.
