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CASSIE
I’m in Josh’s borrowed T-shirt. An extra-long one. Except it barely covers the boxers he lent me. At least these fit better than the shorts he offered. And if I never see him again, then I don’t have to worry about holding on to a pair of shorts. Boxers are cheaper to replace. My clothes from last night are in a shopping bag. They should be in a trash bag, but I’ll give washing them a shot.
The drive to my place is short. Way shorter than I want it to be. And quiet—other than my directions, telling him where to turn.
There are so many reasons that I’m quiet, but one of them is this truck. A new truck. A new Dodge truck. The truck that was so special to us, that defined a part ofus.That truck is gone. And in its place is this new truck. Shiny. No personality. No history. I wonder if that’s how Josh is now. New. Shiny. No history of us. If I were in my own room right now, I’d bury my head into my pillow and cry it all out. Maybe that’s the first thing I’ll do when I get home.
It seems neither of us knows what to say. Or maybe we know what to say and just don’t say it.Crap. Crap. Crap.
I wish I were bold. I wish I could put it all on the line and find out where he is, where his heart is. But trepidation keeps me from that. And the fear of rejection.
He pulls into an empty space. I glance up at my place. A window shade moves. The one in the living room.
“Cass.”
I turn to look at him, taking in every feature on his face. Drinking him in like I’ll never see him again. I wonder if I will. He’s here, living so close. And yet we’re so far apart. I bite down on my lip hard to distract myself from the tears that want to flow. He’s going to say that it’s all forgiven that he has Billie now. That it was good to catch up with me. That things aren’t the same. That feelings have changed.
“Is this it?” He forks his fingers through his hair, his jaw muscles working, his shoulders tensed and flexed.
He’s asking me? As if I have a choice?He’s the one with the girlfriend. What’s he asking me that for? Is he looking for something on the side? Or a friendship, for old times’ sake?
“What do you want it to be, Josh?” My tone’s a bit more vehement than merited or even planned. I turn away again, it’s not like I can mask emotions. I’ve never been good at that. He’s the one that’s good at hiding his feelings and dealing with stuff. I’ve got so much on my mind. Our baby. Billie. Billie’s baby. My heart aches with the issues bearing down on me.
“Something more than never seeing you again.”
I want to scream at him that this isn’t an answer. That it’s a non-commitment, carefully planned, not bold, and unwilling to put himself or his heart on the line. The other part of me wants to scream at myself for thinking that it could have been something more.
It’s all-or-nothing time for me—even if it’s not for him. “What’s that mean? See you on Facebook? Catch you whenever we’re in the bar you work at?” I keep my eyes glued to the window blinds in my apartment that are still moving. Kara’s keeping an eye on us, I’m sure. Probably worried.
Josh’s hand lands on my shoulder. He runs his fingertips along my skin. He stops at the nape of my neck, using his fingers to turn my head. “I was thinking, maybe we could see each other once in a while.”
I'm not sure how to react. I try to keep the shock from showing on my face. I'm afraid to say what I want to say. But I go ahead and jump in anyway. “Like...”
“Like see each other once in a while, you know. Keep up.”
I try to keep my heart from beating any faster than it already is. As if I can. “Sure.” Again, I reach for the door.
“If you mean it, you’ll need to give me your number.”
I pause and turn to face him. I keep my hand on the handle. “True.”
He grabs a pen from the dash and a business card that’s on the floorboard. “Let’s have it.”
I recite my number, then have him read it back to me because I’m not screwing this one up. He tosses the pen back to the dash and tucks the card between his thigh and the upholstery.
“I’ll give you a shout,” he says casually. So much so that it makes me shake inside.
And then it makes me wonder why the hell I’m letting it affect me like this. Right. Like I can control it.
“Okay.” I close the door behind me and walk toward the stairs that lead up to our door on the second floor.
I don’t turn back to see if he’s watching me or if he’s pulled away or what, but I do look in the reflection of the window. I can’t see his eyes, but he’s facing me. In the shadow of the truck’s cab, dimmed by tinted windows, I can see him.
When I get to the top of the landing, I don’t get a chance to open the door. It flings open. Kara’s there, her dark eyes flashing her Italian temper.
“You had me worried, you know.” She puts her hands on her hips, and I get this vision of her as a mother reprimanding her children.
It must bring out the kid in me because the first thing I do is apologize. “I’m sorry.” And I mean it. I am sorry. I didn’t plan to upset or worry her. How do you explain passion?
