“You can’t seriously like him,” Camille says.
“Well, I do,” I say as I crumble a wad of paper towels in my fist. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Camille sighs loudly. “Look, Emily. I didn’t want to tell you this, but while you were in the other room with Mom, Brody… well, he hit on me. I told you that he used to like me in high school, and… I guess he still does.”