‘Uh huh,’ he says, swigging from the bottle and looking down at his shoes. ‘Read the caption.’
‘Introducing Aiden Ito-Meijer, born on October 4th (4 days sooner than scheduled). 6lbs8oz. Mom and baby are doing great #blessed #love #family. So this means –’
‘Exactly,’ he nods, and the relief is almost palpable. It’s radiating off him. ‘And now read this.’
He takes the phone back and opens up his text messages. Hands it back.
Nic. Please can you reply. I’ve met someone. I don’t want to fuck that up. So I just really need to know.
Delivered 10/10/2012
Guess my Instagram photo gave you your answer. You don’t have a baby, Mazel tov!
Congratulations Nicole. I hope it’s all going well.
Thank you Jesse. It is, and I appreciate that you asked. I guess you might have questions about how fast it all happened with me and Kevin, but you have to know that I didn’t know him before I left California.
It’s fine. I’m happy for you. Genuinely.
So… did you fuck it up? Can I ask that?
I did. Spectacularly actually. But I’m going to try and fix it.
Well, good luck. Be happy.
* * *
‘I know I should have said something,’ he says. ‘But I was just so wrapped up in every minute of being with you, and I didn’t know how to. I guess I wanted to know for sure one way or the other, you know? And I really wasn’t lying when I said she was hard to get hold of.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘Everything’s going to be okay,’ and we grin at each other like loons. Then he slides his arm across my shoulders and pulls me close and I shiver as his hand moves across my skin. And he kisses the top of my head the way he did all the time in California, and for the first time since I left him there, I feel light.
‘Hey,’ I say, into his chest. ‘You never told me you were on Instagram.’
‘I’m not really. I’ll probably delete it later.’
‘Or you could keep it,’ I say.
‘Yeah? Why?’
‘Well, you liked her photo. So now she’ll be checking up on you.’
‘You think?’
‘God, Jesse,’ I say, rolling my eyes. ‘Yes. There’ll be a part of her that’s a little bit curious to see if we did patch it up.’
He looks like he’s weighing up this thought in his head.
‘Perhaps,’ he says.
‘Or don’t. Delete it. Tell me to fuck off if you like.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever tell you to fuck off, Cass,’ he shrugs.
‘Where are you staying tonight?’
He nods towards the abbey and suddenly it’s clear that when Rachel told me over coffee she knew things would get easier, it’s because she really did know.
‘Oh, thank God. Is there room for a little one? I am meant to be staying with my parents, but they’ll both be wrecked, and if Dad starts getting amorous with Mum in the taxi, I swear I’ll throw myself out of it.’
Jesse laughs. ‘We can’t have that,’ he says. ‘Not after I’ve flown five thousand miles to get you back.’ We finish what’s left in the bottle and I link my hands together around him and lean my head against his shoulder.
‘I’m so happy you’re here,’ I say. ‘I’ve listened to a lot of sad music in the last few weeks. Mostly Coldplay.’
‘God. You must have been pretty miserable.’
‘You have no idea.’
‘I think I probably do,’ he says. ‘Do you want to go back inside? I have some drunk parents to meet, no?’ He takes my hand and we walk back towards the party. Inside, the band has finished their set and ‘Here In Your Arms’ by Hellogoodbye is playing, and it’s all autotuney with a happy pop rhythm.
‘Just a heads up,’ I say, stopping. ‘My parents know exactly who you are. And so do all my friends.’ He stops and sighs and looks up at the sky.
‘I’m gonna need more wine,’ he says. I laugh. We kiss.
And up in space, the sliver of moon shines. The stars are aligned.
Epilogue
January 2014
(Fifteen months later)
The departure lounge at Heathrow is bustling and I can’t really get comfy on my chair. Why don’t they have better chairs? People wait around for ages in these places, the chairs should be comfier. I’ve done some shopping and I’m in possession of a giant Toblerone and new mascara that promises to make my lashes look like falsies. I reckon it will be a killer to get off. Outside is the plane I am about to board, and it’s being loaded up with luggage by men in fluorescent yellow vests and thick gloves. If you really look you can see their breath in the freezing air as they toss each case on board. I think I saw mine get chucked on but I can’t be sure.
It’s the last time I’ll be seeing this airport in a while. This time I’m not coming back. It took long enough, what with all the paperwork and the processes and the interview at the US embassy about how we met. But I have a beautiful sparkly ring on my finger, and a visa stuck in my passport. I’m off to live in California, under the condition that Jesse has ninety days to make an honest woman of me after we land. He tells me it’s a lot warmer there than it is here. I’m wearing shearling-lined boots all the same.
A tap on my arm pulls my attention from the frigid tarmac.
‘I got you a latte.’
‘Ooh my hero,’ I say, taking the cup. I pull off the lid and blow on the foamy top and it separates, revealing hot milky coffee underneath. Jesse sits down next to me and looks at his watch.
‘Not long now,’ he says. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘A little nervous. Mainly excited. It’s going to be weird not having to leave this time.’
‘Weird, but… excellent?’
* * *
Cabin crew walk past and they stop at the gate. Shiny red shoes and sensible skirts. Purple neck scarves and immaculate hair. Our flight is called. He takes my hand, the one with the ring on it, and squeezes it. We are off.
A LETTER FROM STEPHIE
Recently, one of my best friends reminded me that when we were sixteen I swore that one day I’d get a book published. It took another eighteen years, but here I am. This has been the dreamiest of dreams come true, and I’m thrilled to be able to call Hera my book home.
And I wanted to say a big thank you to you, the reader, for choosing Call Me, Maybe. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. What started out as a fleeting daydream after I found my own 90’s teen crush on Instagram quickly bedded down and grew roots and turned into one of the best things I’ve ever done.
It’s been a blast creating Cassie and Jesse’s story, from ambling around London, looking out for the tiny little details that would bring this story to life, to learning how to play the bass for book research, and sitting on the pier at Seal Beach, California, drinking iced tea and watching the way the sun sparkles off the Pacific. I’ve tried to recapture the intense magic of a teenage crush, and all the feelings, relatable, I think, to us all, that that brings.
I’d love to hear from you, so if you have any comments or just wanted to say hi, you can find me on my social media channels:
twitter.com/imcountingufoz
instagram.com/imcountingufoz
facebook.com/stephiechapmanauthor
And if you felt like leaving a review, that’d be wonderful too.
Thanks again for reading my book and being so wonderfully supportive - it really does mean the world!
Big love,
Stephie
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First of all, to Keshini and Lindsey - Thank you millions for the support and encouragement. For believing in Cassie and Jesse, and for the dream come true. I’m so ecstatic to be able to call Hera my book home. Thanks to super editor Jennie - yes, nine times out of ten it was ‘fragment for style’!
To all my family, but especially to my mum, thanks for letting me sound off story ideas on the way to work. You were usually right, proving yet a
gain that Mother really does know best. Thanks to Ross for living and breathing this book with me for the last four years. For taking over when I needed the time to write, for providing me with wine and dinner and telling me when Jesse wasn’t blokey enough. To Ruby and Elliot for not bickering too much and for understanding when Mummy had a deadline. I love you all.
To my writing babes, Becky Williams, Lia Louis, Laura Pearson and Lynsey James for being the best cheer squad a girl could wish for. Thanks for the support, the unwavering belief and all the Ben Barnes gifs (and insta messages!). Thanks to Aimee Horton, who probably doesn’t know I did a weep when she said she knew this book was my heart, but who does now. It’s true. I felt seen.
And to my soul sisters Katherine and Ve. Thank you for being such queens. Female friendship is precious and little fragments of ours have worked themselves into this book. Thanks to Rich for all the slap bass vids, near constant validation of all my life choices (‘YOLO’) and music recs, but especially for Call Me Maybe. Bet you didn’t realise when you chucked that suggestion my way just how far I’d run with it, eh?! Thank you as well to my work fam-jam, for the often hilarious office chat and the walks-with-a-fag around campus and, quite honestly, for the bags of inspiration for a future book!
To Adam for bestowing upon me the bass. My dude, where to even start with this one? You’ve helped me more than I think you could ever imagine. Without you I’d still be listening to songs without trying to figure out what key they’re in, and if that really was a pentatonic scale I thought I just heard. And I’d definitely assume that ‘playing in the pocket’ meant something smutty.
And finally, to four brothers from Canada, not Nebraska, who still to this day hold a little piece of my heart. Thanks for the music and the memories.
First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Hera
Hera Books
28b Cricketfield Road
London, E5 8NS
United Kingdom
Copyright © Steph Chapman, 2019
The moral right of Steph Chapman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781912973309
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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