by Lindsey Hart
It breaks my heart that Cassie had already decided this at the start of the week. Was she ever going to tell me how she felt? It’s not a very nice thing to do to someone. I feel like she was just playing games with me. I don’t really know her. Maybe she gets off on this kind of thing. Maybe literally. Without me. Maybe she just wanted to have a good time. We didn’t talk about strings. Maybe I read too much into this. I can’t blame her for my own stupidity or how hard I was falling—how hard I already fell.
“Yeah. Friends,” I mutter. I paste on a smile, not that it matters because she’s not looking at me anymore and stumble out of her office.
This is what I get for thinking with my dick. The universe really couldn’t make that clearer. If it was trying to punish me, it’s spot fucking on with this one.
“John, wait!” Cassie catches up with me. Her small hand closes around my arm. The heat of her touch sears me right through my clothes. “I—I didn’t mean it like that. I—let me explain.”
I realize we’re in the middle of the hall here, and quickly shuttle her off the last few feet to my office. I don’t like closing us in there because there are all sorts of reminders about what I’d hoped for. I feel like a naïve kid with a crush on the babysitter getting let down hard when he realizes she already has a boyfriend, and she’s ten years older than their eight-year-old self. I might be speaking from experience. Disappointment and heartache at any age hurt.
“I’m scared,” Cassie pleads. She snatches her hand back. “I’ve been hurt before.” Just because she’s genuine, it doesn’t erase the sting of her words. “The last time, it was a third-degree burn. It left me completely numb. Straight down to the core.”
“So what? You’re telling me that you didn’t choose to feel something? That you’re scared to feel it? That you’re afraid to move forward, so it’s better not to? That’s great.”
“I didn’t plan for you to just walk into my life like this,” she hisses, ready to battle now that I let my uncontrolled sarcasm leach into my less than compassionate summation.
“That must be a real burden for you. Being so numb for such a long time then unexpectedly feeling something.”
“You don’t have to make fun of me! You don’t have to treat my pain and my past like they don’t matter. Maybe you really are a giant ball bag.”
“Didn’t you say most hot guys were? I guess you were right.”
“I wanted you to understand. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to work on the right words all week.”
“I get it. You didn’t need to find the right words. I get that you’re too scared to take a chance on your own feelings, and you want to punish me for it. I had nothing to go on, and I still went for it. Even when you spilled coffee all over me, were rude and angry for no reason, threw water in my face and left dinner, humiliated me, left me on a curb, made it very obvious to the Smyths that you considered being thought of as a couple totally appalling, and confessed to me that you did all of that because you felt something for me. You know what I think? I think you’re a coward. I might be a ball bag, but you could use a ball bag of your own. Count me out, though, on that. Just to be clear.”
Cassie straightens, gives me a look of death, and storms out of my office. The entire building vibrates when her door slams a few seconds later.
I wish I could stumble over to my desk, sink down, let my anger cool, and my hurt leach away. I wish I could write an email apologizing for what I said. I wish I could do some damn work. I wish I could concentrate.
None of that is going to happen, so I snatch my car keys off the back of my desk and stalk down the hall. I just want to be able to take a breath again. The way my chest is compressed and constricted, it doesn’t look like it’s going to be an option, whether locked in my office or outside of it.
I pass right by the bathrooms on my way out.
I fucking wish I had a jar of pickles right now. I’d drive to a certain someone’s house and break in. Revenge—not that I want revenge because it’s not going to help anything, and not that I’d ever actually burglarize someone’s house—would be a dish best served flushed.
CHAPTER 19
Cassie
I know I made a mistake. I knew it the second I broke up with John. Technically, I don’t know if we broke up because technically, I don’t even know if we were dating.
I manage to hide out at work for two weeks. I manage to hide from my mom and Bill. I go through the motions. I have dinner with them. I turn in my spreadsheets and reports. On the outside, I think I have everyone fooled. I even manage to keep the real truth from Rin and Aria.
Until I can’t.
It’s Aria who starts off our group texts. It’s late, but it’s a Saturday night, so I don’t think she cares what time it is. My phone lights up on the nightstand. I’m lying in bed, not sleeping as usual, when I hear it ding a second time, and then a third. So many texts in a row can only mean Aria and Rin. I roll over and snatch it off the table.
ARIA: Is anyone there? Hello? Bishes? Besties? Helllllooooo!
ARIA: Come on. It’s not that late. You have to be awake.
ARIA: Don’t ignore me. The only reason you have to ignore me is if you’re banging someone, and I doubt either of you are doing that. I’m patient. I can wait.
ARIA: Hello? Seriously. I’m not patient. You both know that. Stop banging and answer your phone.
ARIA: I SAID STOP!
RIN: Oh my god. You’re incessant.
ARIA: Were you banging? Sorry, Aiden.
RIN: You’re not sorry. And ladies don’t kiss and tell.
ARIA: Gross.
Reading through the texts, I can’t help but crack a smile. It feels good. It actually feels like my face is going to split in two, but that’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s been a long couple of weeks. I need this. I need my besties.
CASSIE: The only thing gross is thinking about you with Lucas. I’ll never get used to it. I actually choose not to think about it. I just prefer to think of you both as business partners.
ARIA: WITH BENEFITS! (thumbs up emoji)
RIN: Please don’t say that’s your symbol for finger banging.
CASSIE: My eyes are bleeding. (skull emoji)
ARIA: Lucas already passed out for the night. I have some standards. But thanks. I’m honored that you think I can text and multitask in that department at the same time. I’m not sure Lucas would agree if it’s a compliment to his skills.
CASSIE: If you can stop talking about my brother in horrendous ways that make me want to bleach my eyes and run off a cliff, I have something I need to say.
RIN: Oh, boy.
ARIA: It’s about the hottie from the office, isn’t it? Let me guess. You had really good sex with him and then kicked him to the curb, and he’s a stage five clinger, and it’s making things awkward at work.
RIN: I didn’t mean for you to stop seeing him! Oh, no! NO! Seriously! You didn’t stop seeing him because of what I said, did you?
ARIA: Wait, what did you say? Why wasn’t I included in this conversation? We both know I’m the voice of reason when it comes to the three of us.
RIN: I just laughed so hard that I snorted milk through my nose.
ARIA: You weren’t even drinking milk. You don’t drink milk. (middle finger emoji, cow emoji, glass of milk and cookies emoji, sad face emoji)
I’m guessing the last one is directed at me. Yeah, I pretty much feel like the emoji. A big, sad, drooping, downturned mouth and scrunched up eyes. They should really draw eyes on that face. Eyes that are red-rimmed and swollen from crying. They should make a regret emoji. I have no idea what that would look like, but maybe a time machine since having one would likely fix most people’s problems.
ARIA: Are you binging on ice cream and sad chick flicks? Not the romantic comedy ones, but the actual sad ones? Like period dramas where people die, and you can’t stop crying?
RIN: Pleeeeeaaaassssseeeee tell me this is not because of what I said.
ARIA: I�
�m still waiting to hear what you said, exactly.
CASSIE: It’s not because of what you said. I panicked. Okay, maybe it’s a little bit because of what you said. Mostly, it’s because I have a past. I probably would have choked anyway. Things were going way too well with John.
ARIA: So, hottie has a name.
ARIA: Too bad you want him back. If he was an asshole, I’d like to make toilet jokes about his name.
CASSIE: Because that’s not at all cliché.
RIN: How can we fix it? Can it be fixed? Tell us what to do! We’ll help. I’ll fly there. Right now. Booking a ticket right now.
CASSIE: No! It’s alright. I need to do this myself.
ARIA: Do you still wear panties?
CASSIE: Of course, I wear panties!
ARIA: It’s time to get out the big girl ones, as they say. Put them on. Do them up. Who cares if they’re ugly or gross or it’s painful to even look at them. You have to wear them. Tell Hottie Toilet Name that you’re sorry. Declare your undying love. Tell him that you can’t live without him. You probably learned it best from all the sappy romances you’ve been watching and bawling over. I know you!
RIN: Come on. I don’t think she needs that right now. I agree. You should tell him what really happened. You can blame me. Please blame me. Try and get him to understand. It also wouldn’t hurt to put on a sexy pair of panties. Leave the big girl granny ones in the drawer. (winking emoji, granny head emoji)
CASSIE: I already tried to explain to him.
ARIA: Was he pissed off? He probably didn’t even hear you. You have to do something to get his attention.
RIN: For once, she’s right. Do something big. Something over the top. Something grand.
CASSIE: Ummm….any suggestions?
The phone stays silent for a few minutes, and I set it back down on the bed beside me. I stare up the ceiling, waiting for inspiration. I’ll probably be waiting here until I’m old and grey and have an actual use for granny panties.
Or not.
Suddenly, I have an idea. It’s a terrible one, but it might be the best shot I have. It will involve a heck of a lot of swallowing my pride, sucking it up, being honest, and general humiliation, but I’m down.
I’m so freaking down.
CHAPTER 20
John
The past couple of weeks were shit weeks, and as of just after ten this morning, it’s getting worse. One of my coworkers, Dave, who handles the paperwork on the legal side of things—you know the place you work for is the real deal when they hire their own business lawyers—barges into my office. His face is red, and he’s puffing hard.
“John. Uh—it’s your car. In the parking lot. Something’s up with it. You better go check it out.”
I’m not sure how Dave knows what my car looks like, but he looks frazzled like he just ran a marathon through a blizzard to get here to tell me about it. I’m not going to force him to endure the inquisition. Instead, I grab my keys, give him a nod of thanks before I take off, and practically run out to the parking lot.
I stop just shy of my car.
It doesn’t appear like there’s anything wrong with it. The alarm isn’t going off. There are no busted windows. No slashed tires. No keyed sides or any other vandalism that I can see. I slowly circle the car before I give my head a shake. I do another pass just to make sure everything is fine, and then I see it.
A single pickle. Sitting on top of the driver’s side wiper blade. I don’t know how I missed it before. And then I see her.
Cassie. Her hair is curled into flowing waves, and she is wearing a plain black dress that fits snugly in all the right places. She looks like a vision walking towards me from the office. I realize then that I’ve been set up. I wonder what the heck she got Dave to do to get red in the face like that. I imagine her coaching him on his jumping jacks outside, and a reluctant smile tugs at my lips.
“John…” Cassie’s a little out of breath herself by the time she reaches the car. She stands on the other side while I stand facing her. “You found the pickle. Good.”
“I did find it. You really shouldn’t have…”
“I should have.” She smiles shyly, and her whole face is transformed. I can tell she’s nervous. Her hands keep flexing at her sides. I already know what she’s going to say, but there’s no way I’m letting her off the hook. I want to hear it. I want to hear everything.
“So, you go around putting pickles on everyone’s cars, or am I special?”
“You’re special. You’re very, very special. John, I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you how sorry. I panicked. All I’ve done is panic since I met you. You probably think I’m a total spaz. Or that I need professional help. I might be. And I might need it. I’m not ruling either of those things out. I wanted to try and explain. I—I tried before, but neither of us was in the right frame of mind for it. I’ll make it short and sweet because it’s hot out here, and it’s starting to smell like vinegar and hot pickles, and that’s kind of gross.”
I inhale and find that she’s right. It does kind of smell like raunchy, rotting pickles.
“I have a past. Everyone does. Mine isn’t that pretty, at least when it comes to romance. I made all the wrong choices. I was used. I let someone close to my heart when they didn’t deserve a spot there, and I paid for it. In court. In cash. I got used, and it sucked. It sucked a lot. I haven’t taken many chances since then. Okay, I haven’t taken any. You were my first. In years. It was amazing. All of it. I’m sorry I acted so dumb. I’m sorry about the coffee, and the door thing, and the water. I’m sorry I had a meltdown and tried to make a break for it. I didn’t really want to run. Running sucked. It wasn’t fun. I missed you. You were so close. Just down the hall, but I couldn’t talk to you. I wanted to see you, but I couldn’t even be brave enough to do that. I talked to my best friends, and they said I should do something big. Something sensational. This was all I could think of. A lame, wilted pickle on your car.”
“It got my attention,” I admit, tight-lipped.
“Thanks. I think. Anyway, I said I’d keep it brief. So, I will. That’s pretty much everything I have to say. Other than, I’m so sorry. I don’t normally act this way. I’m not normally so wild like that. I don’t scare off easily. I am loyal. When I love, I love deeply, and it would take an army to move me if it’s real. I hurt you. I know I did. It was wrong. It was so wrong, and I’m so sorry. I want another chance. Please. Just one more? I know I’m bound to screw up again, in other small ways, I’m sure, so maybe a few chances after that too?”
I shake my head. It’s the craziest, most heartfelt apology I’ve ever received. Cassie’s face is completely open. I can see every flicker of emotion laid bare. She’s not acting. This isn’t forced. Everything she just said came from the truest source. It’s real. This is real. People make mistakes. Fear and love or desire or whatever it is we feel at this point can make people do really strange things.
When I was younger, I might have nursed my hurt pride and wounded feelings, but not now. What’s the point of holding a grudge or punishing her when she’s sincerely sorry? I’d be punishing both of us. I’d probably only succeed in driving her away for good, and that’s the last thing I want. Time might not heal everything, but it does offer clarity. The last time we talked, I was angry. I didn’t want to listen to anything she had to say. I cooled off, and then I was the one who wanted to talk to her, but I didn’t know how, or if she’d even want me to. I hate the beating a dead horse saying because it’s weird and disgusting, but it’s what I thought I might be doing. Plus, hormones and the scary L-word make us all do crazy things we regret. It makes us act like different people. So does fear. And pain. And hurt.
“I’d really like to get that dinner,” Cassie presses since I haven’t said anything. “And I’d like to meet your family. One day. Uh, it just so happens I have this house I don’t even like that much. I bought it as an investment, and I’ve decided to put it up for sale. Furnished, since I don’t like any of the
crap in there anyway. I’m sure I’ll make a good margin on it. If I do, I was wondering if you’d like to take a trip to Europe and see everything you talked about. And if your parents want to come too. And your brother and sister and their families. And if you don’t want to go with me, that’s okay. I’ll give it to you as a work bonus. The money. So you can take them.”
“Is that a bribe?”
“No. It’s not a bribe.”
“Is it charity?”
Cassie twists her hands in front of her. “No. It’s not charity. It’s just a gift to two people who raised a very nice person, and who, by the sounds of it, deserve it more than anyone else in the world. Even if you despise me, I hope you’ll still accept it. For them.”
“So, let me get this straight. Someone hurt you. A lot. By taking your money, and now you want me to take your money?”
“No.” Cassie’s eyes flood with tears, but she blinks hard, so they don’t spill. “He didn’t hurt me by taking a gift. He made me think he loved me when it wasn’t real. It went on for almost two years, and he never meant any of it. That’s what hurts. Finding out the love wasn’t real, and it had never been. It wasn’t about the money at all. That was just an extra kick in the teeth.”
“You should find out where he lives and pickle his house. You know, like with eggs, but with pickles. Maybe with eggs too.”
“What?” Her eyes get huge. Big and round, luminous and beautiful. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
“And dinner? What do you say about that?”
Up until this morning, I don’t know what I would have said to that. I was pissed a few weeks ago, but the anger drained away into the numbness Cassie was talking about. I recognized it immediately for what it was. I didn’t want to feel that way, so I let the pain in, and then I let it go. I figured she probably had a good reason for doing what she did, and that it wasn’t me. My mom, like I’m sure every mother does, used to tell me that if things are meant to work out, they will. I think every book I’ve ever read kind of implies that too. And just about every movie I’ve ever seen. I don’t actually believe it’s that easy. It takes hard work. It takes sucking it up. It takes forgiveness and tenderness, not bitterness and grudge-holding and anger. It takes laughter and kindness.