Someone to Stay Page 14

  “Please leave a message after the tone.”

  Beep.

  There was a certain amount of loneliness in talking to a recording, so she hung up without leaving one, and instead sent Sam a text.

  Hey. I just wanted to talk to you. Please call me when you can.

  “Cassie?” her mom called from downstairs. She stood and made her way to the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you come down a minute?”

  Wordlessly, Cassie went down the stairs to her mom sitting in the living room, knitting in hand. Her mom’s cat, Max, was perched on the couch, watching her with disinterest.

  “What’s up?” Cassie asked, sitting on the couch, reaching a hand out to stroke Max absently.

  “You wanna tell me where you were at almost 3 in the morning?”

  Her voice wasn’t chiding, just curious. Cassie’s face burned regardless, her hand stalling over Max’s fur; he stood up at the abrupt change and jumped off the couch, trotting away.

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.” She remembered her promise to be more honest with her mom, and, after a stab of guilt, she added, “With Jake.”

  “You and Jake went walking in the middle of the night?” her mom asked incredulously.

  “Yeah.”

  They were both silent for a moment after this, her mom continuing to knit, the afghan she was making spread over her lap. After Cassie’s dad died, her mom picked up the hobby, something to distract her, Cassie supposed. She began to make things for the needy, eventually settling on the blankets, just going at them in her spare time in between her nursing shifts at the assisted living facility.

  “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

  “I - I do,” Cassie replied, taken aback by her own response. Because, at this point, the word ‘like’ seemed like a very dumbed down way to put it after all that they’d shared. She thought of their conversation the night before, the way he seemed to know exactly what to say when she fell apart right in front of him, the haunted look in his eyes when he spoke of his sister.

  “He was such a gentleman when he came for you the other night. So polite. I can see why you’re so interested.”

  “Ugh, mom,” Cassie said, giggling.

  “Well! It’s true. You know, since your dad...you haven’t been quite yourself. I’m glad to see you getting out again.”

  Those words, while milder, were still so similar to Sam’s. Why didn’t they sting as much? Why didn’t she feel that familiar creep of provocation? Was it because she was her mother, also a part of this loss? Or was it because of Jake, that inexplicable way he had of making her open up?

  Instead of dwelling on it, she asked something she had never asked before. “Do you miss him?”

  Her mom looked startled: her eyebrows rose, her hands stilled. She lifted her head, looking at Cassie, the eye contact burning. And then, looking away, she said, “Every day.”

  “How do you...” Cassie started, flailing for words. Her mouth felt dry, and she swallowed. It felt like her throat was full of ash. “How do you deal with it?”

  “One day at a time, sweetie,” her mom said sadly. “Same as you.”

  But I don’t, she told herself, holding back a flinch at the realization. I don’t ‘deal’ with it. She looked at her hands, so pale in the afternoon light, remembering her confession to Jake. I fucking hated him for what he was doing to me, to my mom. She looked back up at her mom, remembering how thin she’d gotten during those weeks while her dad was in the hospital, remembering the tears, the pale, frightened expression perpetually on her face.

  “You never talk about your dad. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Oh, yeah. I was just...wondering.”

  “Okay, just checking.” Her hands continued to move, the needles bobbing in and out, and Cassie watched her, transfixed, as she created something from nothing, remembering the picture she had sketched just yesterday. Her mom broke her thoughts again when she asked, “When are you seeing Jake again?”

  A small smile spread across Cassie’s face, and she said shyly, “In a couple hours. We’re going to see a movie.”

  “Oh? Which one?”

  “That comedy - All In.”

  “How long is he in town for?” her mom asked, needles clicking, her tone shifting. “After he’s done acting, doesn’t he have to leave?”

  “Uh - yeah. He’ll be leaving in like, six weeks or so. He said their official done-date is August 25th, and sometimes they might extend it if they can’t get what they need, but he didn’t anticipate that happening.”

  “And have you two talked about what your plans are for after he leaves?”

  Cassie shook her head. “We haven’t.”

  Her mom’s silence spoke volumes.

  “Don’t let me tell you what to do in your relationships, but I think you guys should talk about it. Six weeks is not a long time at all.”

  “I know, mom,” she said quietly. Cassie tried to picture Jake leaving, and it hurt. She remembered Sam’s advice, given not even that long ago relatively speaking, though it felt like forever at this point. You’d be surprised what can happen in two months, she’d said. I wouldn’t get too attached if I were you.

  Was she attached? The willful part of her would have liked to say no. But, if last night were any indication...

  “I just want you to be careful,” her mom said. “You’ve been through so much.”

  Cassie nodded, the only thing she could trust herself to do.

  11.

  Sam didn’t call her back.

  Maybe it was rude, but Cassie she couldn’t stop herself from checking her phone throughout the day after Jake picked her up. He was his usual graceful self, looking very attractive in a green V-neck and jeans, his hair curlier than usual in the humidity. His smile had nearly taken her breath away as he showed up at her door, that coyness so natural on his face. The green in his shirt made his eyes the same color, and she had stared, transfixed, before giving him a smile of her own.

  There was no discussion of the previous night - which she’d been a strange mixture of disappointed and relieved about - and he’d taken her hand in the car as they drove to the theater, thumb tracing a small, circular pattern into her palm. The touch reverberated through her; she’d wondered how it was possible to feel so much from so little. He’d asked her if everything was alright after she’d checked her phone for the fifth time.

  “I took your advice,” Cassie had replied, quietly. “I called Sam, but she hasn’t called me back.”

  A look of understanding, of empathy, crossed over Jake’s face; he’d squeezed her hand in response.

  The movie was certainly the comedy it had promised to be, but she found herself unable to fully focus on it, instead allowing herself to become distracted by her thoughts, by Jake. She wasn’t, she knew, enjoying his company as much as she would have liked. Her mother’s words, Sam’s words, kept echoing through her head. I think you guys should talk about it, her mom had said earlier in the day. And Sam’s admonishments to not become too attached, Cassie thought, were no longer an option. Maybe she should have listened, but...

  What was the point in spending time together if not to forge a bond? She’d looked at him, in the darkness of the theater, his face lit up from the screen. He’d noticed her scrutiny and turned to smile warmly at her. Her heart leapt to her throat; she was overcome by how perfect he looked like that.

  It was too late, she had realized then, to stop herself from becoming attached.

  After the movie, they walked out quickly; Cassie was apprehensive that he’d be recognized and become upset, but the theater was slow and there were only a couple people in the lobby when they left. Walking into the bright parking lot, they went to his car, getting in despite the heat radiating off the seats. He started the car and turned the air conditioning on full blast, and they waited for it to kick in.

  “So,” Jake said, “What did you think?”

  Cassie smiled, trying not to
look too much like a deer in headlights; she’d been so lost in thought for most of the movie she was unable to answer this honestly. “Oh, it was good. Funny.”

  Jake reached a hand out, cupping her cheek lightly, a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re so stunning, Cassie.”

  Something about this felt so much more intimate than anything else they’d ever shared; maybe she was lost in the moment, or maybe it was just her own emotions so mixed and in turmoil that made her feel this way. Her face burned where his hand rested - she couldn’t look away from him, didn’t try.

  “You are too, you know,” she said.

  “Ah, well...” he removed his hand, looking bashfully away. “You’re too kind.” He began to drive, pulling out of the parking spot.

  At a loss for words, she looked down at her hands, struggling to say what had been on her mind since he picked her up.

  “Jake...”

  “Hmm?”

  Now fully cool, he turned the air down, the sound of the turn signal blinking the overbearing noise in the car as they waited at the red light. She looked at him, fearful, the words caught in her mouth.

  “Jake, I - I was wondering...” She squashed her fear down neatly and forced herself to get the question out. “What happens when you leave?”

  The light turned green, and there was a significant hesitation before he hit the gas. She watched him closely, trying to gauge his feelings, but his face was now a perfect mask.

  “You mean, what happens with us,” he said carefully. It was not a question.

  “Uh, yeah. That’s what I’m asking.” Her heart, always so noticeable recently, kicked into overdrive, the anxiety of the situation causing her to wish she hadn’t said anything at all. And what was worse was that she had no idea what she wanted him to say.

  “When I leave, I’ll be going back to London for a few months, and then...it’ll be back to work. I have another film lined up, not officially, but my agent wants me to sign on for it because it’s a series of three and it’s guaranteed. That’s not to be repeated, mind you,” he added hastily, shooting her a glance. She was startled at how bitter his tone sounded, as if the movie deal was something that disgusted him. His tone turned much lighter when he said, “But...Cassie. I want what you want. Do you want to try...a long distance thing? I’m definitely not opposed to it, but it could be months in between seeing each other, depending on where I’m filming. Of course, I’d visit you as often as I could...”

  He trailed off, and Cassie thought about what he was offering. A long distance relationship. It was difficult to fathom: Jake being on the other side of the world, in some cases unreachable. What would it be like to be unable to talk to him, see him whenever she wanted? For the first time, she thought that maybe this had been a huge mistake.

  Why had she signed on for something that had a glaring end-date? A relationship with a deadline - unless she wanted to string it out, allow herself to be tied to someone who wasn’t even from the same country as her. The prospect seemed overwhelmingly lonely suddenly, and she steeled herself.

  “How often are you in the States?” she asked him.

  “Oh, well, over the past few years I’ve been here a fair amount. But if I’m not filming, I’m just here for...for a day or two at a time, interviews, press things, conventions, premieres. It’s not...I don’t have a house here or anything like that.”

  Cassie opened her mouth, the question on the tip of her tongue, but nothing came out. Jake was silent, allowing her time to get a grip on what she wanted to say, and how.

  “Do you think...I mean, honestly, do you think it could work?” she asked finally.

  “I think...I think it could.” He paused and licked his lips. She saw the flicker of indecision on his face, and then a sort of grimness set in, a firmness she hadn’t seen before. “But to be honest? My business isn’t...” he trailed off, and she felt his hand rest on hers; he met her eye quickly and looked to the road again, an obvious hint of sadness there. “My business isn’t very kind, Cassie. I wish I could say that we could absolutely do long distance and have it work beautifully, but I’ve seen enough end poorly to know better. I...please don’t get me wrong. I’ve been enjoying spending time with you so much. I don’t want to stop. But if it’s a problem - if me leaving is a problem, that is - then I understand if you’d like to stop.”

  “I don’t,” Cassie said immediately, before she had time to think about it. “I don’t want to stop, Jake.”

  “You’re sure?” he asked; she heard the hope in those two words, like someone who’d been shown the light at the end of the tunnel but couldn’t be sure if it was safe trust it.

  “I am.” She smiled at him, trying to persuade him, trying to chase her own doubts away with the action.

  “Okay. I just don’t want you to feel as if I’m pressuring you. I want you to do what you want to do.”

  I want you, she thought then, a blush creeping over her face. She turned away from him, toward the window, watching the houses pass by.

  “I am. Doing what I want, that is.”

  The tension in the car was palpable, the heaviness substantial. They were close to her house by now, the familiar landscape rushing by, the world largely unchanged from her memories as a child.

  “I hope Sam calls you,” Jake said randomly, after a few moments of silence. They were on her street now, she could see her house.

  “I hope she does too. But I can understand why she hasn’t,” Cassie said, sadly.

  “She will. She’ll come around.” He pulled his hand away, turning into her drive, putting the car in park and shutting the engine off.

  She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. They both watched each other for a moment, Jake’s face suddenly turned shy, and without thinking, Cassie asked, “Want to see my house before you go?”

  “I’d love to,” he replied.

  Stepping into Cassie’s house, Jake took in the foyer area; his eyes darted from the stairs to the living room, the hall leading back to what looked like the kitchen, white walls meeting a dark wooden floor - all the things he’d seen before when he had picked her up on Friday. It felt like much more than just two days had passed since then.

  “Mom?” Cassie said, stepping to the living room opening, hand resting on the frame, then stepping back and making her way down the hall. “Where are you? I’ve brought Jake in to show him around.”

  Jake heard a clanging sound; he followed her down the hall into the kitchen where Mrs. Mills was washing a pan in the sink, her back to them. Setting the pan on the drying rack, she turned her head, grabbing a dish towel to dry her hands.

  “Oh, hey, Cassie. Hi, Jake, it’s nice to see you again.”

  “It’s nice to see you as well, Mrs. Mills,” Jake replied, running a hand through his hair, leaning against the door frame. The kitchen was homely; the window above the sink overlooked a spacious garden, the evening light casting an orange glow across it. He saw Cassie walk to the refrigerator, adorned with magnets, photos, business cards, papers.

  Opening it, she asked, “Can I get you something to drink? Water, juice, pop, uh...tea?”

  Jake chuckled. “Sure. Just water is fine, my dear.”

  “Have you guys eaten?” Mrs. Mills asked them.

  “We haven’t,” Cassie replied, handing Jake a bottle of water and then opening a can of diet soda.

  “Then why don’t you stay for dinner, Jake?” her mom asked, looking at him. “I’m making chicken.”

  “Oh,” Jake said. His first instinct was to say no, to say that he had a scene to prepare for, sleep to catch up on. But looking at the two of them standing there, watching him, Cassie’s face unreadable as she waited for his response, he found himself nodding. “I’d love to. That sounds great.”

  “C’mon,” Cassie said, waving her hand, gesturing around the room. “Let me show you around. This is obviously the kitchen.”

  He followed her through the house, trying to take in all the small details of that made it
a home: the portraits of Cassie as a child, the hand painted coffee mug proudly on display in the hutch in the dining room, the massive half-knit afghan resting on a chair in the living room.

  “Oh, my mom knits those for needy families,” she said, when she noticed where he was looking. She picked up the remote resting on the coffee table and turned the TV off, making her way out of the living room and into the foyer again. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  The stairs led to a hallway with more wooden flooring - there was a bathroom around the corner and three other doors shut. Each were opened by Cassie to reveal a cluttered office and a large bedroom that she said was her mom’s, and then the last door opened to reveal Cassie’s room.

  “And this is my room,” she said, gesturing for him to step inside.

  It was, he supposed, plain as far as most rooms went: there was a queen-sized bed next to the window up against the far wall, but otherwise there was a minimal amount of furniture. Just a dresser, nightstand, a small desk and a TV mounted to the wall, with stacks and stacks of books lined up along the floorboards. He smiled at her, eyes drifting toward them.

  “Uh, yeah, I just haven’t gotten around to buying a bookshelf,” she said, obviously self-conscious about her storage habit.

  They stepped fully inside, and Cassie shut the door behind them, walking toward her bed. She plopped on it, placing her phone and soda on the nightstand.

  “I think it’s charming,” Jake said, following her and sitting next to her. The bed sagged under the weight, the box spring squeaking at the sudden movement. “No posters?”

  Cassie shook her head. “I’ve never been much of a poster kind of girl.”

  She looked very suddenly morose, a slight frown on her face as she looked across the room at the closed door. Jake reached a hand out, cupping her opposite cheek, turning her face toward him.

  “What is it?”

  She smiled weakly, leaning into his touch. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing doesn’t look like you just did,” he said lightly, nudging her cheek gently before dropping his hand. Not for the first time, he thought of the previous night, that shadow crossing over her face as she sat on the swings in the dark, the words she had said in the midst of her grief. His own grief, his own demons, had come to the surface too. Not even Gina had done that, in their two years together. Gina had only known about Emma purely based on the facts; he’d never opened up to her like he had with Cassie. Gina had never even asked.