The Possibility of Us

by Unknown

  “You want to watch a movie or something?” he asked, joining me on the bed. He turned on the TV and starting flipping through channels.

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  “What else are we supposed to do? It’s seven o’clock and I’m not tired.”

  “Fine,” I said, sitting up and crossing my arms. “Put on a movie.”

  He continued flipping, going up, up, up the channels until the pay-per-view screen came on. I guess it was hard to pick what movie to watch with the girl who ruined your life.

  He started back down the channels again.

  Before I’d been with Ben, I’d never wanted a guy to touch me ever again, and after, I’d thought I was done for good. Next to him now, so dangerously close to him, I couldn’t think about anything but his hands, his lips, all over my skin.

  I needed to get out of this bed.

  I jumped up and stood across the room where two bags sat. “Which one is Drew’s?”

  “The one on the left; why?” Ben squinted.

  “No reason,” I said, staring at it, my hand on the lighter in my pocket.

  “Don’t,” Ben said.

  “What?”

  “I know you Cassie, just don’t.”

  “Fine,” I said, walking over to the mini-bar. “Who’s paying for the room then?”

  “Drew,” he said, his face now full squint. “He’s the one with the credit card. I’m supposed to pay him back, though.”

  Even across the room, I still felt his pull; forcing myself to stand still was like a tearing in my chest.

  “What if you didn’t pay him back? What if we got a few pay-per-view movies and cleaned out the mini-bar and you never paid him back?”

  “Wow.” He laughed. “You are pissed.”

  “You in?” A sinister smile came to my lips. “Or out?”

  I watched a similar smile pass across his face. “In.” He nodded. “So in.”

  “Good,” I said, getting up and walking over to the mini-bar. “’Cause I’m really fucking hungry.” I grabbed a bag of potato chips and started to crunch them down. I knew it was immature, but it was stuff our faces, or lie next to each other in that bed.

  This, at least, was a safe desire.

  “Me, too,” Ben said, jumping off the bed and joining me. He opened a package of M&M’s and poured them into his mouth like they were water.

  I laughed, weightless in the glee of being next to Ben again and having such simple needs met so simply. “Macadamia nuts are expensive,” I said, opening the jar and tossing them into my mouth one by one.

  “You’re going to have to eat faster if we’re going to do any real damage,” Ben said, egging me on.

  I put the jar to my mouth and poured the nuts in, so many my cheeks swelled like a chipmunk’s.

  Ben looked at me and laughed— a beautiful booming laugh with no intention in it. A laugh just wanting to be heard.

  I felt silly with my mouth so full in front of him, but I also loved how Ben could bring that out in me. How I clearly brought it out in him.

  “If you die from choking, this whole thing is going to be a lot less funny,” he said.

  I forced myself to swallow. “I’d hate to disappoint you.”

  “Would you?” he asked, stepping closer to me. Close enough that I could sense his pulse beating in his temple, his gaze scoured over me, my face, to my chest and back again, rubbing me raw.

  “Does this mean we’re friends again?” I managed to whisper. Afraid if I spoke too loudly, I would scare him away.

  “I don’t think we’ve ever just been friends.” His eyes fell on mine like the blizzard outside—forceful, heavy, and intense. He slid his finger along the edge of my lip, his touch as soft as a snowflake, as powerful as a million of them. “Salt,” he explained, wiping it away.

  My pulse ticked in my neck; my face flooded with warmth. So much for denying what our close quarters were creating. “There’s a first time for everything,” I said, burrowing my head into the mini-fridge, trying to cool down.

  I heard him knock on the window. “I guess it makes sense that hell has literally frozen over.”

  “Where’s your snare drum when you need it?” I asked, turning to look at him.

  “This is good,” he said. His words seemed to be for me, but his hands indicated the food we’d just eaten. “But I think we could do better.” He walked back to the bed, grabbed the room service menu from the nightstand, and scanned it. “How about we order some steaks?”

  Chapter Ten

  Ben

  It was quiet in the room, dark. If I’d woken up from a dream, I could have convinced myself we were back in that motel room six months ago in California, except we would never have spent almost three hundred dollars on room service, movies, and mini-bar snacks. Except I would have been able to reach over the span of blankets and sheets and hold Cassie, to touch her cheek or kiss the back of her head.

  It was all I could think about now; every second spent next to her and unable to touch her screamed longer than an eternity. I forced my hands under the pillow, closed my lips in on themselves, anything to stop the itch expanding into every part of me, an itch that only her kiss, her breath, her touch could scratch.

  Maybe Drew being a total asshole could turn into a good thing. With him keeping Laura occupied, I had a chance to keep Cassie occupied. Maybe it would give us the time to work toward getting back to the way we were before the leaves and snow fell. Maybe the miles between our lips could become feet and inches and then nothing.

  I turned to look at her, a shadowy lump fully clothed on top of the comforter.

  Her hatred of Drew had brought us back, briefly. Making him pay, literally, had put us on the same team again. Had made her laugh and smile, had reminded me why I’d been drawn to her in the first place.

  She didn’t take shit from anyone, ever, and I admired the hell out of her for it.

  I’d done a lot of things for Drew I didn’t want to do, the worst of which had sent me to Turning Pines. Was I just living up to my side of our pact, or letting him dictate my life? Was I just a good brother or a pushover?

  Was I so much of a pushover I would let Cassie walk out of my life again just to prove I could survive without her?

  “I can feel you staring,” Cassie said, her back to me.

  “I’m not,” I lied. “I just can’t sleep.”

  “Me neither,” she said, sitting up, her hair as dark as a shadow against the white pillow, her skin seemingly glowing in the light from the clock radio on the nightstand.

  “Why can’t you sleep?” I asked.

  “Why can’t you?” she fired back.

  “My stomach,” I said. It was that, but it was also being so close to Cassie again, I didn’t want to waste a moment.

  “Mine too,” she said, groaning.

  “Honestly, I don’t really sleep well. Not anymore, anyway,” I admitted. Words I probably couldn’t say if we weren’t in the dark, if she could see my face—if we hadn’t just spent hours eating and laughing and not talking about us.

  “When did anymore start?” she asked.

  I swallowed hard. “Two months and twenty-nine days ago,” I said.

  “That’s when my anymore started, too,” she replied quietly.

  We sat there in silence for a moment. The words hung between us, waiting for better words.

  “Do you wish we’d never been to Turning Pines?” I asked.

  I heard Cassie shift, sigh. “My life would be a hell of a lot less complicated if I’d never been there. If I’d never done what sent me there and everything I did after…” Her words stopped, like a break she pushed down on her tongue. “Never mind,” she said.

  With Cassie it was always never mind, but at least we were past fucking never mind.

  “I’m glad I met you there,” I said.

  “I thought you were mad at me,” she said.

  “I am, but that doesn’t mean I regret you.”

  “I’m tired of being ma
d,” she said.

  “Does that mean you’re apologizing?”

  “Fuck no.” She laughed.

  “So if we’re not apologizing to each other, what are we doing?” I asked. I could feel the stillness of her body, it was evident she was fighting against reaching out for me; just like I was fighting against reaching out for her.

  “I guess we’ll have to figure it out.”

  “Good thing we have two more days,” I said sarcastically. Better to say that, than to rip my heart out of my chest and show it to her like a baby bunny shaking in my palm.

  I listened to her breathe; she didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. We both knew it might not be long enough.

  “Tell me about more your band,” she said, clearly wanting to change the subject.

  “I’m on drums, Drew’s on guitar, our buddies Scott and Brandon are on bass and keyboard. Cover songs because of the whole wedding thing.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yeah, I mean, it’s okay. The part I like best is letting the little kids play with my drums during breaks.” I smiled. “They really love smashing the shit out of them.”

  “Maybe you should work with kids, instead of playing in a wedding band,” she said.

  “You’re giving me career advice?”

  “I figured out some stuff since I last saw you,” she replied.

  I paused, waiting for her to tell me the words underneath those.

  “I signed up for school, community college,” she said. “Laura probably told you I’ve been working at the VA, but she doesn’t know about that part.”

  “Why are you hiding it?”

  “Why do I hide anything, Ben?”

  I sat up, the bed squeaking below me. “Well, I think it’s great. I’m proud of you.”

  “That,” she said pointing at me, “that is why.” Even in the dark I could see her cheeks turning pink.

  I felt mine match hers. I picked up the pillow, squeezed it, willing my hands to stay on their side of the bed. I shook my head. “You’re seriously one of a kind, Cassie.”

  “Don’t you fucking forget it,” she said, laughing.

  Even in our three months apart, I never had. Even now, I never could.

  “What’s your brother say about it?”

  “He’s in Afghanistan,” she answered. “I haven’t told him yet.”

  “Sorry.” I hesitated. “I didn’t know.”

  “You mean Laura didn’t tell you?” she asked bitterly, breathing out.

  “You must be worried about him.” I watched her profile, the sharp edges of her face that always made her seem so strong.

  “It’s like almost too much to worry about,” she admitted, “if that makes sense. It’s easier to try and stay numb.”

  “Does that mean you’ve been drinking as much lately as I have?” I asked, leaning up on my elbow, breathing in her scent—cigarette smoke and something severe like metal.

  Had she been using my tactic, too? It did help me stay numb, but coming out of the fog of it, like I was now, just being here with her in this bed, made the feeling almost too strong to bear.

  “No fucking way. My mom’s a drunk. I will never be like her.” She said it quickly.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” I asked, my breath tight.

  “It’s not like it’s something I announce to people,” she said. “‘Hi, my name is Cassie and my mom’s an alcoholic.’”

  “Are you saying I’m an alcoholic? Because I’m not,” I responded swiftly. I wasn’t. I hadn’t even had one drink from the mini-bar—they were still stacked next to each other like glass chess pieces—but if I were home right now, I would probably have been sleeping off the open bar at the Shickler wedding. So maybe I really was. But weren’t all guys my age? I didn’t drink any more than my brother did.

  “Okay.” She laughed. “And I’m not a bitch.”

  “You haven’t even seen me drunk,” I said, shaking my head, still trying to deny it. I hated and loved the way she got right into the deepest parts of me, like her words were knives.

  “I don’t have to. The way you’re talking about it. The way you were sucking down beers in the bar like you were underwater and they were your snorkel,” she said. “I saw everything I needed to see.”

  “Sometimes you have to do whatever you can to survive,” I said, more protectively than I intended.

  “Hey,” she said, “I’m not judging you. I have absolutely no right to. I’m just saying I know someone who likes to drink when I see it.”

  “I’m not about to admit I’m a drunk,” I said, but there were so many other things I wished I could say to her. Why are we talking about this? Maybe because she sensed I needed to.

  Maybe because I did need to.

  “Okay then, admit something else,” she said, reading right through me, like she always did.

  “Hello, my name is Ben and I’m a bitchaholic,” I said.

  “Addicted to bitches?” She smiled in the darkness, her teeth white in the moonlight coming through the window.

  “No,” I whispered, “just one.” I paused. “My brother.”

  “Fuck off.” She laughed, pushing me lightly.

  Even with a touch that innocent, I couldn’t keep my heart from speeding.

  “What, you want him for yourself?” I asked.

  “If you’re offering to host him and me in a cage-match, I’m in,” she said.

  “We should probably save that until after the funeral.”

  “Fuck,” Cassie said, “I kind of forgot about that.”

  “Don’t worry, this weekend will be over before you know it,” I said.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  I knew exactly how she felt.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cassie

  I think we must have looked like Danny and Sandy on the beach at the beginning of the movie Grease.

  Yes, even a hard ass like me has seen it.

  I always thought of myself as a Rizzo, but with Ben on the sand in California that summer, I became Sandy.

  Two perfect lovers, to anyone watching us from the outside. We had that same happy, light gossamer filter over everything around us—the same sound of the waves, the same easy giggle from just one of us touching the other.

  I could see us back then, Ben and me on the beach. I was sitting on a towel against my packed duffel bag while he foraged the shore for clams, scallops, or crabs we could cook in the bonfire we’d built. We were on a beach that allowed camping, which was why we could have a bonfire out in the open. Why we were now staying there after we couldn’t afford the motel anymore.

  Ben’s towel sat next to mine with his own packed bag waiting to be used as a pillow that night, too—the his and hers monogram of the wanderer.

  I watched Ben move along the shore, his figure highlighted by the setting sun. His body becoming a silhouette the farther he walked down the waterline.

  We didn’t have the tents we’d had at Turning Pines, or the utensils, or any of the camping gear. We had each other, our duffel bags, the clothes we wore, and twenty dollars—enough to believe the delusion we could live like this forever.

  Enough to believe that sunsets and towels and food caught fresh from the ocean and each other were all we would ever need.

  Like Danny and Sandy, mixed with Lost, minus the polar bears.

  “I caught a crab,” Ben said, joining me back at the fire. He’d used one of his T-shirts to hook it. He held it up in front of him like a white cotton fishnet.

  The fire was warm, the color in the sunset-sky sparkling on the sand and in his brown eyes.

  “Great,” I said. I was agreeable to a lot back then: eating a God-knows-where-it-came-from crab, sleeping under the stars on the beach with a duffel bag for a pillow, cleaning ourselves in park bathrooms, only having twenty dollars to our names.

  All of it was fine, because I was with Ben and he was with me.

  Ben held it up higher, looking at the big pink crab through his wet
T-shirt. “I’ve never cooked crab before,” he admitted.

  “Me neither.” I’d barely ever eaten it before. My parents had been more the Hamburger Helper types.

  “What do we do?” he asked. His pants were rolled up and he was barefoot. He hadn’t shaved since we’d left the motel, and heavy stubble peppered his chin.

  Because I was willing and in the moment, I only thought about what his question meant when we were talking about crab-cooking, but there was definitely a larger uncertainty looming.

  What were we going to do?

  Stay there on the beach forever, life or no life? There was no way we could have, and looking back, I understood I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t blame myself for it anymore, either.

  Ben sat down on the sand next to me and opened his T-shirt. The crab started to crawl toward me, its spidery legs click-clacking.

  “The fucking crab’s escaping,” I squealed.

  Ben laughed, letting it get closer, but before it reached me, he guided it back onto the shirt with his hand as delicately as if it were a baby bird. “Don’t worry. I’m bigger than he is.”

  “You think it’s a he?” I asked.

  “I’ve never sexed a crab before.” He smiled, holding it up and looking at the bottom of its shiny shell.

  “I’m sure whatever it is, it will be delicious.”

  He looked at it quizzically, then stared at the growing bonfire.

  “I don’t think you can screw up a dish when all you have is fire.” I shrugged.

  “I guess,” he said, turning his eyes to me so the flames flickered in them. “It’s not like I can add too much salt,” he considered.

  “It’s fine, Ben,” I said, touching his leg.

  He nodded, but I could tell it wasn’t. Not to him. He wanted to offer more. He wanted to give me a crab dinner at a fancy restaurant with all the fixins, but this was what he could do right now.

  A lot of our time in California was what we could do right now.

  “I think we should kill it before we cook it,” he said, his head cocked sideways in thought. “It seems cruel to just let it burn.”