When the door shut behind Annabelle, Cassidy felt her shoulders drop and realized she had tensed up as well. She leaned toward Darlene and lowered her voice to a whisper. “She scares me.”
Darlene didn’t reply or look up, but Cassidy could see the hint of a smile had formed on her lips.
That afternoon Cassidy took a nap, spent a couple of hours answering a backlog of e-mails before making dinner, then finally curled up on the couch to watch a movie. At just after eight o’clock, her phone chimed with a text message from Brandon, the first she’d received all day.
Want to adopt two boys? I’m exhausted.
She paused the movie and replied:
What’s the going rate for that sort of work? I could use some spending money.
LOL. They’re finally asleep. Thank God.
I assume you’re not talking about your feet.
I love when you make me laugh. Did you have a good day?
I did. I bought your Christmas present, actually.
You got me a gift? You are too nice.
Now you can’t ditch me until after Christmas, promise?
I can’t believe you already got me a gift. I’m flattered.
Do you promise?
Yes. ☺
I’m excited for the holidays. I’ll have finished my book by then! Maybe we can celebrate in style.
I would like that. I could use some fun.
Maybe we could go bowling. I have my own shoes.
Please tell me you’re joking.
I’m joking. Maybe we could go ice skating? There’s a rink in Belmont that I’ve taken my nieces to a few times. It’s sort of cheesy, but they play fun holiday music.
That does sound fun. Could we hold hands while we skate? Would be a good excuse to touch you while also keeping me from falling on my out-of-shape ass.
I’d be honored to keep you from falling on your out-of-shape ass. How is your mom doing?
About the same. I don’t really want to talk about it.
Oh, sorry.
Don’t be sorry. I’m just tired of talking about it. Hey, I’ve got to run now, the boys woke up and are going at it. Have a good night.
OK, good night.
She stared at the phone for a few moments before gently setting it on the coffee table. Had she said something wrong?
Chapter Nineteen
“I’M SURE IT’S nothing.” Harper peered at her nose as he opened the cab door. “It doesn’t even look like anything.”
Cassidy climbed inside and took a seat. It was a couple of days later, and they were on their way to the dermatologist’s office. “I hope you’re right. Thanks for taking the morning off to come with me, by the way. I feel like a baby for not wanting to go by myself, but for some reason I just don’t want to.”
He climbed in behind her. “That’s what friends are for, right? You’ve certainly been a good one to me lately.”
She put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “I’m not sure where this neediness is coming from. Usually I’m more independent than this.”
“It’s OK to need people, Cassidy.”
“I know,” she said with a sigh. Before calling Harper last night, she’d spent the day expecting to hear from Brandon at some point, even if only to say he was thinking of her. But her phone had remained silent, and as her anxiety about her appointment grew, she’d felt an urge to talk to someone. She’d called Patti, and then Danielle, but neither had picked up, so she’d confided in Harper, who then offered to come with her. She knew Brandon was extremely busy with his own problems, but she wished that just once he had time to pay attention to her when she needed a little support.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting so long. It’s been a hectic morning. Thanks for being patient.” The doctor shut the door of the examination room and held out a hand. “I’m Dr. Zimmerman.”
Cassidy shook his hand, then nodded toward Harper. “Cassidy Lane. This is my friend, Harper Gold.”
“I’m the neighbor,” Harper said. “Just here for moral support.”
“Nothing wrong with a little moral support.” Dr. Zimmerman smiled curtly as he glanced down at her chart. “I understand you’ve got a little something on your nose.”
Cassidy cleared her throat and felt her hand move involuntarily to touch the area in question. “Yes. I think it’s been there for about three months. For a while I thought it was just a scrape that had turned into a scab, but then recently I realized it should have healed by now.” As she said the words out loud, the reality of why she was there hit her, and she felt her blood turn cold at what might happen. Her anxiety must have shown in her face, because Harper reached for her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back, grateful to have him there.
“Let’s have a look, shall we?” Dr. Zimmerman set the folder down on a counter and picked up a magnifying glass, then walked over to Cassidy. Leaning in close, he switched on a bright light attached to the instrument. He peered at her nose briefly, then turned off the light and set down the magnifying glass.
He smiled. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
Cassidy felt her whole body loosen. “There isn’t?”
He shook his head. “I believe what you have there is a wart.”
Harper laughed, and Cassidy hit him playfully on the arm. Then she looked back at Dr. Zimmerman. “A wart?”
He nodded. “Most likely it’s a wart, but if it’s something else, it hasn’t yet turned into anything to worry about, so we’ll freeze it off and that should do it.”
“You mean right now?”
“Yep.” He opened a cabinet and picked up a large aerosol can, then held it up to her face. “Close your eyes. This might sting a little bit.”
She shut her eyes tight. He sprayed for literally one second and then it was over.
“All done,” he said.
Cassidy opened her eyes. “That’s it?”
He smiled. “That’s it. It will crust up and may look a little unsightly for a few days, but then it will fall off. The wart, not your nose.”
Cassidy exhaled. “I’m so relieved. Thank you, Dr. Zimmerman.”
“You’re very welcome. I like it when the news is good.”
“I can’t believe I took the morning off of work for a wart.”
Cassidy narrowed her eyes at him. “Hey now, don’t make fun of me. I thought maybe I was dying.”
“It’s well within my rights to make fun of you for a wart. Dying. Please.”
She laughed and stirred sugar into her latte. “OK, you can have this one. You have no idea how relieved I am.”
“As you should be. Melanoma is no joke. You dodged a bullet in there.”
“No kidding. I feel really lucky.” She sipped her latte, then pointed outside the Starbucks window. “Want to wander for a bit before you head to the office? We could walk toward Broadway.”
He nodded, and together they slowly made their way west. They strolled for half a block in silence before Cassidy spoke. He’d been there when she needed him, and she wanted to repay the favor, or at least try. “So what’s the latest with Vanessa? Do you want to talk about it?”
He shrugged. “The same. She’s still pregnant. The question now is, where is she going to live?”
Cassidy looked over at him “Are you thinking of having her move in with you?”
“I’m thinking about it. I haven’t made any decisions, but I’m thinking about it.”
“Where does she live now?”
“Hell’s Kitchen. But she has two roommates in a walk-up. Not doable for raising a baby.”
“Where do her parents live?”
“Texas.”
“Yikes. And she doesn’t want to go back there?”
“No, she’s set on staying here.”
Cassidy closed her eyes. “Oh, Harper.
I’m so sorry about all of this.”
He tossed his empty coffee cup into a trash bin. “It could be worse. She’s a nice person, and we get along pretty well.”
“You think she’s a nice person?”
He nodded. “I do. She’s a bit shallow, but she has a good heart. I mean, the whole situation is far from ideal, but I could do a lot worse for the mother of my child.”
They were hardly the words of a proud father-to-be, but he was clearly trying to do the right thing, whatever that was, and Cassidy’s heart ached for him. She knew how much he’d wanted to fall in love, get married, and have a family—in that order. Her thoughts turned to Danielle: independent, confident Danielle, who didn’t share Harper’s dream of a white picket fence but had been tied in knots for having given in to temptation, however briefly. Then there was her own relationship with Brandon, which was admittedly unconventional but recently seemed to have careened far from the idyllic. She lightly touched the bandage on her nose and wondered when she’d hear from him.
However different, she and her friends had all embarked on journeys that had been sparked by the irresistible pull of physical attraction. She wanted to believe the roads they were traveling would lead to a future of love, or fulfillment, or whatever happiness represented to each of them. But she knew better. She knew there was no guarantee any of them would end up with the life—or the person—they really wanted.
She took a sip of her latte and frowned at the uncertainties of life.
This must be why people like my books.
By bedtime that evening, Cassidy had had enough of waiting. After nearly two days of not hearing from Brandon, she gave up and texted him:
Hi, I don’t have skin cancer, in case you were curious.
He wrote back a couple minutes later.
That is great news.
She was glad he’d replied so quickly, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he would have asked about her nose had she not brought it up first. And now she would never know.
She shut off her phone. For the time being, she figured it was best to say nothing more. Rationally, she knew how stressed he was, but she couldn’t help but feel disappointed that he hadn’t been there for her when she needed him.
She also felt guilty for being disappointed.
Despite her conflicting emotions, as she turned off the light and climbed into bed, all she could think about was what it would feel like to be falling asleep in his arms.
Chapter Twenty
FROM THEN ON things were different.
Brandon kept reaching out, but less and less with each passing day. Where he had once sent Cassidy a message first thing in the morning, he began waiting later and later to get in touch, as well as longer to reply. The tone of their conversations was also shifting. He grew more reserved, so she followed his lead and shared less. They continued to text regularly and exchange information, but the intimacy was slowly disappearing, the witty banter gradually replaced by a bland neutrality more suited for a coworker than a romantic interest. She tried several times to inject a jolt of playfulness into their conversations, but he rarely reciprocated, and if he did, it didn’t last longer than a message or two. In striking contrast to the sexual innuendo that once leaped off the screen, she now found herself searching for any hint of suggestion or flirtation in everything he wrote her.
She rarely found it.
Long day today. I’m exhausted. Need to get a good night’s sleep tonight.
Me too, have been working hard on the book, not getting as many naps in as I should.
I think I’m coming down with the flu.
Sorry to hear that. Wish I could be there to take care of you.
I hate being sick.
Drink hot tea with lemon.
Henry has the flu. That means we’re all going to get it.
Feel better. Listen, we’re clearly both tired, so I think I’m going to hit the sack now.
OK, good night.
He was also grumbling more and more about his hectic life—in addition to managing the care of his mother and sons, he was working crazy hours and looking for a new school for Jack—and inquiring less about hers.
Hi there, how’s your day going?
Not great. Too much work, too little time. Never seems to stop.
Are you feeling any better?
Unfortunately, no, but I have too much going on at the office right now to take a sick day.
Sorry to hear that. When I’m not feeling well, I can’t get any writing done. My brain basically shuts down and tells me to climb into bed. You know how I am about sleeping.
I wish I could climb into bed right now.
I wish I could cheer you up. I’ll be home in a few weeks, so at least that’s some good news.
That is good news. I hope I won’t have as much on my plate then, but it’s doubtful.
Soon he was down to sending a single message after she’d already gone to sleep, and a couple of days went by when she didn’t hear from him at all. By the first Monday in December, after not hearing from him all weekend, she was on the verge of tears.
What had happened?
Long gone were the spirited flirtations, playful teasing about her daily naps, or any mention of a visit to New York.
She’d once felt they were growing closer with each conversation, but now it was as if they were moving in opposite directions.
Fast.
Early one evening she was at her desk, working on her novel, when she heard the unmistakable chime of a new text message.
I feel bad that I haven’t been in touch much lately. I’m not being a good friend.
She caught her breath.
He was finally doing it.
She began nibbling on her fingernail. She knew what was coming but tried to stop it by pretending everything was OK.
It’s OK, I know you’ve had a rough few weeks. How is your mom doing?
The back-and-forth ensued:
Not great. I’m not sleeping very much. Very stressed.
I’m sorry. I wish I could help.
You’ve been very supportive.
It’s because I care about you.
I wish I could give you what you need from me.
You’re doing your best. I’m just glad you want me in your life at all right now.
She felt sick with desperation as she continued to pretend she didn’t mind, hating herself for not having the strength to agree he’d let her down.
To tell him she deserved better.
To let him go.
She held the phone in her hand and waited. She already knew what his next text would say, but she wondered which words he would use to say it.
The phone chimed about a minute later. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked at the screen.
I just feel like I’m being pulled in too many directions. Maybe it’s best if we just stay friends until things settle down for me.
She stared at the message.
There it was.
The other shoe.
Clattering against the hardwood floor.
Cassidy squeezed the phone, trying to process what had just happened. She’d been expecting it for days, even weeks, but she still couldn’t believe it was real. Thousands of text messages had come down to…this?
She tried to remember when he’d dropped the first shoe. Was it their first date, when he didn’t kiss her until she asked him to do so? She’d been more or less teetering between bliss and eggshells ever since. Or maybe it was the morning they’d met for coffee to talk about his mother. There was no denying how different he’d been then. Then there was the time he hadn’t asked how her keynote address had gone…long before he hadn’t asked about her doctor’s appointment. Both instances had hurt her feelings, which in turn ha
d made her feel guilty. Given what had happened to his mother, it wasn’t fair to expect much in the way of emotional support from him, if any at all.
Had it been over even before it began?
She paced around her apartment, not sure how to respond, humiliated that this was happening via text message. No matter how busy he was, didn’t he realize how insensitive it was to end a romance this way? How callous it was? Didn’t he care about her feelings at all? What had happened to the gracious and polite man she’d fallen for? He’d once joked about how they were texting like teenagers, but they weren’t teenagers. They were adults.
She threw her phone on the couch.
He should have called her.
She was furious but didn’t know if she had a right to be, which made her more furious.
Is this what the world has come to?
Ending a relationship via text message is acceptable behavior?
She put her hands on her head, wanting to pull her hair out.
The man is thirty-eight years old!
He has children!
He owns a law practice!
After pacing around her living room for several minutes, she picked up her phone and typed a brief reply:
Got it.
Her phone chimed immediately, and the back-and-forth resumed:
Are you mad?
No.
I just can’t handle being more than friends right now. I hope you understand.
I understand, but I have plenty of friends.
What are you saying?
I’m saying I have enough friends.
That’s not fair.
Cassidy Lane Page 20
