Someone to Stay Read online

  “What’s the matter?” he asked her, dreading the answer.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and she reached a hand out but stopped before it made contact with his arm. She hesitated, looking at her hand and then looking at him. “I’m...sort of a mess. I’m not good at this.” She dropped her hand, and Jake sorely wished she would have touched him.

  “Not good at what? Being with me?”

  “Anyone. I’m a...loner. Since my dad...I mean, I broke up with my last boyfriend when my dad died. I haven’t thought about a relationship since. I haven’t met anyone new in so long I’m not sure how to get to know you. And I feel like I’m upsetting you and I’m not trying to.”

  At this, Jake reacted partly out of instinct, partly out of compassion: he reached for her, arms circling her back, pulling her toward him. It was too hot to be doing this, and he could feel the moisture that was collecting on the back of her shirt from the heat, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He breathed in the scent of her hair and closed his eyes.

  She was stiff at first, as if uncertain what to do. But then he felt her own arms reach around him, and they stood that way for perhaps too long before parting.

  “You have not upset me.” Jake felt it was extremely important that she know this. “Not even a little. I’ve upset myself, honestly, becauseI can’t answer your questions. You ask good questions. Things I don’t dare ask myself.”

  They were incredibly close. Jake’s eyes darted to her mouth which had opened, her cheeks flushed. She hadn’t quite let go of him and her hands were resting lightly on his arms. He imagined himself leaning in, closing that distance again, feeling her breath against his mouth as he kissed her.

  Her face was open, her eyes darting between his eyes and his mouth, her body lightly pressed against his. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her so badly that he could scarce think of anything else - that is, until he heard the sound of twigs snapping and saw people rounding the corner a little ways off. He stepped away from her, quickly, and averted his gaze as the couple walked passed them, chattering about a new restaurant they had tried.

  It was only when their voices entirely faded that Cassie spoke.

  “Well...we could head back, if you’d like.”

  The previous moment of intimacy was over, he could see it on her face. Disappointing, but necessary, he supposed. He forced himself to look away from her mouth - and instead met her eyes, seeing uncertainty there.

  “Do you want to?” he asked.

  “No...but it’s nearly noon.”

  Jake gestured for her to follow him up the path, and they resumed walking.

  “Today is one of the few days that’s mine. I intend to spend it with you for a while longer, if you’ll allow it.”

  “I - of course I will, Jake.”

  Her response warmed him; he eyed the space between them momentarily, her hand swinging back and forth an invitation for him to reach and grab it, but he didn’t.

  They walked at a slow pace, not trying to exert themselves; Cassie was silent for a while, but, eventually, they fell into easy conversation, thankfully much lighter than before. But, in between the quips and flirtations and laughs, Jake felt that something had happened between them, something meaningful, that he couldn’t get out of his mind. He felt a sense of closeness to her now that he definitely hadn’t felt before - and he found himself looking at her, watching her, her animated face and perfect smile and aura of exuberance that he couldn’t help but revel in.

  It was amazing, he thought, that just four days ago he had stood on the balcony of the hotel, watching the town below, the paparazzi driving him back inside. He had thought then that this was going to be a long two months. Looking at her, he couldn’t help but smile to himself, a bit of sadness mixed in with the happiness.

  It would go quick, too quick. And before he knew it, he’d have to leave.

  6.

  “Hey!”

  Sam’s face was all smiles when she opened the door and Cassie stepped inside of her duplex. Scott, Sam’s little Yorkshire Terrier, was barking and racing around Cassie’s feet, eliciting a giggle from her as she reached down to pet him. He barely stayed still long enough to let her before he raced off to grab a rope toy from the other side of the room, bringing it back to her and wiggling his hair. Sam and Cassie both laughed at this, and Cassie kicked off her flip flops.

  “So, what’s up? Are you ready for the marathon?” Cassie asked. Scott, apparently having decided that the two of them were not going to play with him, trotted to his bed in the living room and began to gnaw on his rope.

  “Duh. Want a glass of wine or something?” Sam asked.

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  She looked around the room; it had been a couple weeks since she was last here but everything looked largely the same. She eyed a picture of Sam and herself, framed and sitting on the coffee table. It was taken at least two years ago - Sam’s hair was much longer, and darker, her toothy smile on full display. Cassie herself hadn’t changed much, although she felt shelooked older now. Next to that photo was another framed photo of Sam and Madison taken at a concert last summer.

  Next to Cassie, Madison was one of Sam’s oldest friends; she transferred into their high school in the middle of freshman year, quickly becoming close to Sam, yet never quite getting along with Cassie. She could remember the dry remarks, the snide comments - eventually, Cassie gave up trying, and now she and Madison were little more than acquaintances.

  “Here you go,” Sam said, handing her a glass of wine. Cassie smiled her thanks, and they sat down on the couch together, settling in. Gossip Girl was already playing, but it was quiet in the background. They’d seen every episode probably a hundred times anyway, and Cassie knew that this was just another way for Sam to get her out and involved again. She pretended to watch for a while, her thoughts drifting despite her efforts to pay attention.

  It had been a full two days since Cassie had seen Jake - she’d dropped him off at the hotel after hiking, with promises from him that they’d see each other again soon. He had called her the night before, sounding weary and distant. He’d explained that they were now fully moved on site, and she’d tried to picture him in a trailer: the small space seemed unimaginable. He’d said it was a rough first day of filming, but didn’t specify why. His voice, so close to her ear again, made her long to see his face - but she had kept that quiet. They made tentative dinner plans for Friday evening; it was a short day for him and she managed to get the evening off. He had jokingly said it was his turn to take her somewhere, and that he’d pick her up this time, and that they were going somewhere in Pittsburgh and she’d want to wear a dress, if she could. He had sounded so polite, and so demure about the whole thing, that she couldn’t help but giggle at his request.

  He wasn’t much of a texter - it was obvious he would rather talk, if he was able, but he would send her little things throughout the day, unexpectedly popping up on her phone, making her break into a smile that wouldn’t be easily explained if someone were to ask. She hadn’t told anybody about Jake except Sam; not even her mom knew yet. Partly because she knew he was quite a private man - perhaps too private. also because she knew that whatever this was, it wasn’t permanent. She thought of his smile, his laugh; she knew already that she was going to be very sorry to say goodbye.

  “So?” Sam said, cutting her out of her thoughts. “How did it go? You sort of didn’t answer me when I texted you about it.”

  Cassie took a sip of wine, thinking over how she wanted to reply. She had, at the time, just told Sam that it ‘went well’ without going into specifics. She wasn’t sure exactly what she should say about the date - it was incredibly personal, the things they talked about, things that she wouldn’t want Jake repeating...so why would she repeat the things he said?

  “It went good, like I said. We walked a couple trails and talked.”

  “It’s like pulling teeth, really. What did you talk about?”

  Her tone was playf
ul, and Cassie smiled. “Things. You know. The normal stuff. He’s from London, his mom and dad are still together, his mom bakes, uh...what did he call them? Biscuits, for a living. And cakes. And his dad is a dentist.”

  “Sounds normal. What else?”

  “Well...” Cassie faltered. “We kind of talked about...about my dad. Sort of.”

  She could see Sam shifting in her seat in the corner of her eye. She refused to look at her - Cassie’s glass was extremely interesting at this point; she watched the way the light from the lamp hit it and changed its color to amber, to gold.

  “You talked about your dad with Jake?”

  There was no doubt about it - Sam’s tone of voice was tinged with hurt.

  “Sam - no. Not really. I just - the other night when he asked what I did when I wasn’t working, I - I told him about my sketching. I don’t even know why. But I said that I didn’t do it for fun. And when we were hiking, he wanted to know why I did it if it wasn’t for fun. And - I just...I told him. I didn’t want to. I hadn’t planned to. You know how I feel about that.”

  She felt a hand reach and pat her upper arm, the touch warm.

  “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s a natural thing that’s going to come up in conversation sometimes.”

  Nodding, Cassie took another drink of her wine, still avoiding Sam’s gaze. Her eyes fixated on the TV, the characters living through their own dramas, their own demons. But that was fake - when the cameras stopped rolling, those characters ceased to exist. Cassie did not have that luxury.

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I just don’t want you to think that I spilled my guts to some stranger.”

  “Hey - it’s not my place to tell you who you can or can’t...uh, spill your guts to. But you know, Jake isn’t a stranger any more. Did you guys...you know, kiss?”

  Cassie turned to look at Sam, who was extremely animated at this point, her mouth curved into a conspiratorial smile; Cassie could hardly keep her own smile from forming at the obvious interest Sam had in this.

  And then, she thought of that moment - the one in which she had thought, for a breathtaking second, that Jake was going to kiss her. He certainly had that look, the kind you think of when you imagine that perfect moment before a kiss, the one where he looks at you, all softness and buoyancy, his eyes locked on your lips. She remembered thinking, This is like a fantasy. A fantasy that had been interrupted, that hadn’t come to any fruition. When he let her go, she wanted to grab him again.

  “No, Sam. We didn’t kiss.”

  She could hear the disappointment in her own voice and nearly cringed.

  She’d wanted that kiss - oh yes, she could remember it now, that feeling of want, the terrible, irrational worry that it would happen and it wouldn’t all at the same time. In the present, Cassie’s eyes flicked away from Sam’s, embarrassed.

  “What is it?” Sam asked, the desire to push Cassie toward an answer evident on her face. Cassie shrugged, swirling her wine around in her glass, not really seeing it.

  “C’mon, Cassie. How can we talk about anything if you get all closed off like this? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong, I promise. I just didn’t realize that...I kind of wished he had kissed me.”

  Her face was probably a thousand shades of red. Sam giggled a bit, either not seeing how uncomfortable Cassie was or simply ignoring it.

  “Maybe he’s too much of a gentleman. I hear the English are a different breed of man.”

  Her preposterous comment caused Cassie to momentarily forget her embarrassment and she burst into laughter.

  “What?” Sam asked with mock affront. “I have. Maybe...he wants to wait for the second date?”

  She ended her statement as a question; Cassie met her eye again and smiled shyly.

  “We’re going to dinner on Friday.”

  Excitedly, Sam clapped her hands. “I knew it!”

  “Sam, I just have to ask - you’re keeping this quiet, right? You...haven’t told Madison, or anyone? Because Jake is a private guy, which you told me yourself.”

  A raised eyebrow was her only response for a beat. “I haven’t told anyone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “C’mon. Yes, I’m sure. I wouldn’t do that to you. And I definitely don’t need Jake Mason angry at me before I even get an autograph.”

  Cassie breathed a sigh of relief, exhaling pent up worry she didn’t even know she was holding onto.

  “But - Cassie. I know he’s private, but if he’s telling you not to tell anyone about this -”

  “No, no. He hasn’t done that.”

  Sam’s face hardened, all of her previous playfulness gone. “Then? What’s the deal? Have you even told your mom?”

  Cassie shook her head. “I don’t want to tell anyone about this when I don’t even know what it is.”

  Their show was all but forgotten - the muffled sounds of voices, of music, were playing in the background, but neither of them were giving it any attention anymore.

  “I guess I wouldn’t know what it is either,” Sam said then, shrugging. “But maybe on your date you should ask him? And maybe find out if you can tell your mom about it? I mean - don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want my mom to know about every date I went on, Lord help us all if she did, but this is kind of a big deal. Isn’t it?”

  Trying to look at it from Sam’s perspective was hard. Cassie just didn’t care about actors and magazines and pop stars like she did; to her, at this point, Jake was Jake. He was not someone to covet, or idolize, like Sam obviously did - he was a human with messy issues and experiences and joys just like Cassie, just like anyone else in this town.

  “It’s not a big deal, no,” Cassie said finally. “I mean, the only reason it would be is because he’s a celebrity, which frankly sounds sickening to me. I don’t want to exploit him or blow up what we have out of proportion because of what he does for a living. I want to do this as naturally as possible. And besides - he’s leaving in two months. You said it yourself.”

  Sam sighed, a weary sound not at all like her. “Yeah, I did say that. But you misunderstand - I don’t want you to make a big deal over it because he’s a celebrity. You know I’m a huge fan of his, but you also have to know that I am glad you and he hit it off. But Cassie - don’t you see? You’ve hit it off with someone. For the first time since your dad. That’s a big deal for you.”

  Cassie sat back, allowing the words to numb her. What Sam said was true - she hadn’t been with anyone since her dad died; she had told Jake that much. But was it a big deal, just because she found herself interested in a man? Was that something to be celebrated? Cassie didn’t exactly think so. She struggled to find an appropriate response that wouldn’t belittle Sam’s sentiments yet would express her reluctance to agree that romantic relationships were something to rejoice in when compared to the alternative.

  “Sam, I’ve had no problems being alone. I don’t need a relationship to be happy.”

  “I’m not saying that you do. But who was the last person you’ve hung out with besides me, before Jake? Cassie, I had to practically dig you out of your bed last fall to get you out into the world again. You can’t say that you’ve had ‘no problems’ being alone.”

  Cassie bit the inside of her cheek, her throat beginning to burn. Was Sam trying to be so callous?

  “Woah - stop that,” Sam said abruptly, reaching out to grip her shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Yes, you did,” Cassie replied, pulling away, “Or you wouldn’t have said it.”

  There was a very still silence after this; she refused to look at Sam and looked just about anywhere else - the wall behind her, the small kitchen table with mismatched chairs, the calendar on the wall that showed the previous month. Cassie wondered what, exactly, had just transpired between them - a simple conversation turned sour, acrid, before her eyes, and she could hardly understand why.

  “Cassie, I’m sorry.”

  Sam’s voice had a strang
e note of resignation in it, a sense of remorse that sounded entirely out of place here. Cassie decided to look at her then, taking in the dejected expression and knit brow. Sam meant it, but she was also conflicted.

  Cassie wasn’t sure what caused her to speak - it was as if she had no control over her own voice.

  “Do you think I’m this broken thing?” Her question was loud, too loud for the small space. Sam flinched. Cassie continued, relentlessly, imagining her words as acid that could corrode, corrupt. “Something you can just fix up eventually, with your smiles and your questions and your endless coffee dates and bike rides?”

  Sam said nothing. She simply stared, the beginnings of defiance and hurt at battle with each other on her face.

  “I think you do,” Cassie said then, ruthlessly. “You think that somehow you can completely erase the fact that my father is dead with your cloud of fucking optimism.”

  Anger was overpowering Cassie’s sense of reason; she set her wine glass down on the coffee table with shaking hands, the clink as loud as her words.

  “I think you should go,” Sam said finally, her voice quiet yet steady. Her words were rather unnecessary, too, given that Cassie had stood up and made her way to the kitchen table where she had dropped her bag. Fumbling for her keys, she dug them out, opening the door and slamming it with all her strength behind her.

  The day had dawned bright and cold - Cassie stood on the front porch, coat zipped and buttoned up all the way to her chin, her hat and earmuffs and mittens and scarf barely adding any residual warmth at all. She stomped her feet, cushioned in her new snow boots, and huffed a breath of air that looked like a pillar of smoke.

  “Dad!” she called, her voice echoing shrilly, bouncing off the roof of the porch. “I’m freezing out here!”

  “Hold your horses!” she heard from within the house. “I’ll be there in two minutes!”