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“Right,” I said, even more quietly. How could I ever have thought it would?
“You should go home now.”
He was right. But I owed him a better apology; Ineededhim to understand. “I’m not that guy from high school.” I was. “I mean, I am. But I’m trying, Cass. I’m trying to—to do—I–” Fuck. “I don’t know why I lie. I get so scared of disappointing people that it’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy. You’re the last person I’d ever want to hurt, and the person I’ve hurt the worst, and I’m so, so sorry.”
“Please go home.”
“Okay, I’m going.”
“You’re still standing here.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing and leave.”
“Okay.”
I backed up and misjudged where the step was. I started to topple backward. Cass caught my coat and pulled me upright—a gentleman to the end. If I were him, I would have just let me crack my head on the stoop, then drilled a hole in my shattered skull so the witches couldn’t use it as a boat.
I was just pathetic enough to cling to the moment where his fingers were twisted in my coat, holding me steady. I stared into his eyes, eyes I’d loved for so many years that I could still find every green fleck in the hazel without even trying.
Then he let go.
And I left.
* * *
When the girls and I entered the Christmas Valley High auditorium the next night, Jake was already seated in the third row. He stood and waved wildly to us, and the whole auditorium turned to see who he was waving at. Including Cass, who was three seats down from Jake.
Of course Linda and Mom would get Cass and me tickets next to each other. Of course. I thought about using the twins as a buffer, but Ada was already sliding into the seat next to Jake, and Em scooted past me to sit with her sister. Slowly, reluctantly, I lowered myself into the seat beside Cass.
He didn’t shift away like I had cooties or anything, but he did hold himself very stiffly. I busied myself looking at the program.Christmas Valley’s Third Annual Rock the Night Away Recital. I scanned the bios and saw a lot of moms of former high school classmates. A few dads. A few strangers. Under the ‘My Christmas Wish’ section, everyone had put peace on Earth except for my mom, who had put universal healthcare, and Linda who had put a Peloton.
Donna Fischer appeared suddenly at the end of our aisle. She leaned over Cass, who leaned back to give her room, and she whispered, “Frances?”
I closed my program. “Yes?”
“We were wondering if you could come backstage. It’s your mother.”
My chest seized as worst-case scenarios flooded my mind. “Is she okay?” I demanded.
“Yes. She’s—physically fine.”
“Physically?”
“She just wants to talk to you.”
I stood and pushed past Cass, practically racing up the stage steps and into the wings.
“She’s actually on the other side,” Donna called.
I jogged across the stage to the other side and slipped into the wings there. Mom was slumped in a chair between the masking curtains, wearing a velvet Santa gown, her face pale and her eyes swollen. “Mom? What’s wrong?”
She closed her eyes and took several short, sharp breaths. “I can’t do it, Fran.”
“What? Can’t do—the dance?”
She shook her head, eyes suddenly open and pleading. “I can’t.”
