by Ginger Scott
“You know, Nate was sort of really put in a crappy position,” I say, rolling on my side to look at my friend. Her parents asked him to keep a secret, and he didn’t want to. She has to forgive him. She will, once she reads his letter. “He’s been a wreck.”
As much as Rowe wants to stay in this somber place, her lips can’t help but twitch into the faintest smile when I let her know how Nate has been feeling—feeling…about her. And I know the second she reacts to what I say that they’re going to be fine.
We’re all going to be fine.
The hours of solitude spent studying earned me a perfect score on my sign language exam. I don’t even need to see the grade to know. I had to hold a conversation with my instructor for five minutes, and I anticipated every question she would ask when I studied. My hands were perfect today, my signs perfect. She smiled at me when our time was up. She never smiles, so I know I did well.
I gave Rowe the letter just as Nate instructed, as soon as she was done with her finals. I was risking being late to the airport for my own flight home, but my task was too important. I wouldn’t mess this up.
When I got off the plane, I turned my phone on and saw I had two messages, one from Ty, and one from Rowe. I knew the letter worked. I called Rowe quickly and promised her I would help pull off whatever she needed to do to reciprocate his letter. I also apologized again for reading her business. But I’m not really sorry. It was beautiful. Rowe was planning on finding Nate when he traveled to Arizona for the first seasonal baseball tournament. She said something about singing to him, which sounds scary as hell to me, but Rowe…she can actually kind of sing. I want to be there with her for it, to support my friend through whatever crazy stunt she has planned. I’m also a sucker for big romantic gestures, just not when they put the spotlight on me.
My smile flips when I see Paige parked at the curb to pick me up. My mom had said she would do it, and I honestly expected my dad to be the one waiting for me. Paige was the last person I wanted to see, even though I admit to myself that I miss her. At least she’s not in my Charger.
She pulls the lever to pop her trunk, and I put my things in the back. Paige drives a Mazda. It’s pink. I swear it’s the only pink car Mazda ever made.
“Thanks for picking me up,” I say, slamming the door closed a little harder than I mean to. I really want to be nice, or at least pleasant. But being near her, it just brings everything back to the surface. I’m fighting so hard not to be mad, to remain rational.
“Sure,” she says, signaling and pulling out into traffic. Some guy honks at her, and she looks rattled from it, nervous. That’s not like her. Paige doesn’t get pushed around. “I asked Mom if I could get you instead. I wanted to. I hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” I say, still not really sure if it is, but I feel like that’s what needs to be said right now. I think I’ve kicked her enough, and she’s still down. And today I don’t feel good about it.
She turns the radio up when we hit the highway, and we listen to the hits station for the next hour, not talking, only soaking in the familiar sounds of home. This is normal for us, riding together in silence. But it used to not feel so uncomfortable. We usually sing along with the chorus, for the few songs that we both actually agree on. There’s so many things unspoken floating between us now—I can feel them.
When we get to the house and pull in the driveway, I leave the car and move to the back to grab my things. Paige stays in the driver’s seat, her hands low on the steering wheel while she watches me through the rearview mirror.
I close the trunk and shrug at her to come inside, to get out of the car, to move, or say something. But she just sits there, staring at me. My bags are heavy, but I hold them to my sides, my duffel slung over my shoulder, while I drag everything to the car door next to her, her window now rolled down. She’s turned the ignition off, but she’s still staying in the car. It’s weird. And it’s irritating me.
“Paige, just come inside. Seriously…I’m tired. It’s late. I’m hungry. I’m not in the mood for your drama right now,” I say. She shuts her eyes and shakes her head, her lips curling like they want to laugh, but no sound comes out.
“I am so jealous of you. I actually used to fantasize about what it would be like to hate you,” Paige says. She won’t look at me, keeping her focus on the place where her skirt skims the tops of her knees. She runs her hands down the material, straightening it, pulling the fabric lower. Demure—she’s being demure…now.
“Wow,” I say, not really sure what else to add. I let my bags fall to the ground next to me, my muscles almost seizing from the build up of lactic acid. I have a feeling Paige and I might be out here in this driveway for a while.
“It used to be the attention, the way everyone worried about you. They don’t worry about me. I know, I know…it’s stupid and petty. And I don’t feel like that now, but I used to,” she continues. I’m still stuck on that word hate, wondering if I’ve ever wished that about her. I think I might have, as recent as yesterday. And it makes me a little ashamed, because my sister is at least big enough to admit it. To my face.
“You said am…am jealous. What in the world could you possibly have to be jealous about now?” I ask.
She breathes in deeply, and closes her eyes, shaking her head slowly, before looking up at me with so much honesty that it drives her words right into my chest, making my heart hurt for her. “You know exactly who you are,” she says.
“Paige, that’s ridiculous. So do you. You’re the most confident person I know,” I say.
“I’m a faker,” she says. “I fake to fit in, for everybody. I play up the pretty because that seems easy, so I go with it. I joined a sorority, because that’s what I thought a girl like me should do. I’m dating a guy who only halfway pays attention to me, who makes me feel small and insignificant—a guy who my sister would probably punch in the face if he tried to be her boyfriend. But he fits a checkbox. You know who you are. I have no idea.”
There’s a long silence while my sister sits in the car, keys in her lap, and a dress on her body that’s fit for a night out at the club. I’ve gotten so used to seeing my sister wear this part, and she’s good at it. I never thought in a million years that she didn’t want it.
“I don’t know, Paige. I just don’t rule anything out as an option. That’s all. You…you sort of rule things out, without even trying,” I say.
She laughs lightly at my suggestion, turning her attention to our parents’ house straight ahead. “You have no idea how true that is, Cass. No idea,” she says, biting at her lip and squinting her focus to the nothing in front of her before pulling her purse from the center console and finally stepping out of the car near me. She looks down at her feet, then at the heavy bags surrounding mine before she meets my eyes.
“I’m really sorry about Chandra,” she says, pausing short, her breath held, her tongue held, her mind deciding if she has more to say. “I never thought she would use what I told her to hurt you, but…”
“But…” I almost finish it for her, my heart absolutely ripping in half because I know what she’s going to say.
“But there was a small part of me…that sort of wanted her to,” she says, her lips open, more words needed. But there’s nothing more to say. I can see the regret in her eyes, but she respects me enough not to lie, not to throw fake apologies on top of her confession.
I let her walk away. I wait for the door to close completely behind her. My sister is gone. Somewhere on our path together, our roads split, and I lost her.
Ty
“You come up with your big move yet?” Nate asks, flopping down on the sofa next to me. He’s making that annoying sipping noise, puckering his lips to try to suck up the spillover around the top of his Orange Crush can.
“No, someone had to go and write their girlfriend the Nicholas Sparks of all love letters, so now the expectations are out there at, like…well, let’s just say they’re unrealistic expectations now! And dude, c
an you stop licking the top of your soda can? You look like a junior higher learning how to French kiss!” I might be a little irritable.
Nate chuckles while he takes a full drink from his soda, and I secretly wish for him to inhale some of it, make it come out his nose. But no, he goes back to the sipping.
“Why don’t you just write her a letter then, since it works so well,” he says, his legs crossed, all relaxed and shit on the coffee table.
“Don’t get too comfortable there, Casanova. You still haven’t heard from Rowe yet. You don’t know that your letter worked.” He deflates a little when I say this, and I’m hitting below the belt. I know his letter worked. And I know when we head to Arizona for his tournament tomorrow she’s going to be there to surprise him. Of course his letter worked. Hell, he even picked up my girlfriend with his apparently poetic, Shakespearean prose. Nate’s letter is all Cass has talked about.
“Your brother’s letter, oh my god, Ty. Beautiful…Nate’s letter was so amazing…OMG, I can’t quit thinking about Nate’s letter….”
Yes. There have been OMGs. I hate OMGs. Cass is not an OMG girl, and OMG, Nate’s letter has turned her into one!
As much as I want to give him crap for it, I can’t. It was a damn good letter. So good that I’ve gone to jewelry stores—actual jewelry stores, where women in suits have to pull things out of cases for me to look at—just to find the right…something! I keep putting the jewelry back, though, because no matter what’s inside, when you give a chick a small velvet box like that, it gets weird. Even if it’s not a ring—and it’s totally not going to be a ring—there’s the small moment, that brief second where she thinks “what if” and you think, “oh shit, she thinks it’s a ring.”
I’m done looking in jewelry stores.
I’ve been trying to tell Cass I love her now for days. It was easier to say it to her dad. When I get with her, when we talk on the phone, there’s just this block, like my brain falls apart.
“Dude, I know you want to make this special, or whatever, but I gotta tell ya, you’re way overthinking it,” Nate says.
“Easy for you to say. You’re practically a damned Disney fairytale,” I say, moving back to my chair to head to my room.
“Don’t call me Disney until I get the girl,” he yells as I move farther down the hall. “If that letter doesn’t get a response soon, I’ll be more like one of those depressing gangster movies you like where everybody dies.”
“No, you’ll be like Leo in Titanic,” I yell back over my shoulder. “Martyr. You’ll be a total martyr.”
“Your obsession with DiCaprio is not healthy!” he yells, sending one of Mom’s throw pillows down the hall behind me with a fling. It falls short, which makes me smirk. He missed.
“Don’t dis Leo. And pick that up, Mom doesn’t like it when you throw her things around,” I say, waiting for three, two…
“Nathan! I don’t throw your things on the floor,” my mom says, stepping out of the laundry room to pick the small pillow up and put it back in its place. The child in me still loves getting my brother in trouble, even when it’s meaningless.
I move to my bed and work my jeans off so I can pull on my sweatpants. It’s barely eight at night in California, but Cass likes it when I call her before bed. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, sharp nerve pains in my back and neck. I’ve spent the last two days helping Kelly box up things to put in the garage. She and Jared officially separated, but he came over for Christmas. Kelly wants to work things out, but I’m not sure Jared’s capable of that. I don’t trust him. I don’t like him. But I’ve been keeping my opinion to myself, because right now is not the time Kel needs to hear it.
Once I hit CALL on my phone, I let my eyes close for a few seconds. Tonight, I just can’t seem to keep them open.
“Hey, you’re early,” she answers. I flip my lamp off and tug the heavy comforter up to my chest.
“Yeah, I know. I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can sit up much longer,” I say through a yawn.
“Uhhh, that’s what I get for dating an old man,” she jokes.
“Hey, don’t tell me you don’t appreciate the blue-plate specials,” I say. “You love a good buffet.”
“Yeah, the senior discounts are pretty swag,” she says. “And you can still get it up, so…I’ll stick around for a while longer.”
“You know I’m not rich, so there’s no money in this for you when I die,” I say.
“Damn. Forget it. I’m out,” she says, waiting a few seconds before she lets her laugh breakthrough. I love her. I love her. I love her.
“How are things…with Paige?” Some nights we talk about Paige a lot. Others, I can tell talking about her sister is off the table. Cass can’t seem to decide if she’s sad about her sister or angry with her.
“We actually went to the mall today. We had gift cards, from Christmas,” she says.
“Well that’s progress, right? Shopping—that’s the girl equivalent for football, breaks down all barriers, the ultimate common denominator, right?” I ask.
“Hmmmm, I think I’d rather have football, but I get your logic,” she says. “Yeah, I guess things were a little better. We talked in the car. A little.”
“It’s just going to take time,” I say.
“Says the man who has never gone a day without talking to his brother,” she says back quickly.
“I know. I’m lucky. They don’t make all siblings like Nate. But don’t you dare tell that little turd I said that,” I say, tilting my neck up to see if the hallway is still quiet. It is.
Cass giggles. “Turd is a funny word,” she says. There’s a long silence after this. Palpable. It’s not uncomfortable, but just the opposite. There’s nothing grand about this moment, nothing remarkable at all. It’s one of hundreds of phone conversations Cass and I are going to have, have had.
But something. Just. Feels. Right.
“You know I’m in love with you, right?” I put it out there. I haven’t said it. But I know she knows. And I know she loves me back. The words—they’re just like a period on the end of our very long, run-on sentence.
“I know,” she says, almost a whisper. I can’t see her, but I know she’s smiling. And blushing. And beautiful.
“Good,” I smile. I’m not as sleepy as I was a few minutes ago. Instead, now I feel warm and happy and ready to stay awake all night.
“I sorta kinda love you too,” she says, her voice meek and embarrassed. It’s sweet.
“Well don’t go crazy there and get too committed with those words. Best to hedge your bets,” I tease. I know she’s just nervous. Her laugh is muffled, probably by her pillow. “So, since I love you more, and I clearly said it first, I think that means I’m the winner, right?”
“You are sooooo not the winner,” she says, stronger now. My little ninja princess.
“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure if we called up to the booth they would rule in my favor,” I say.
“Nooooo,” she protests—always so competitive. “They would see through your sneak attack. The playing field was definitely not even. I think you’d get disqualified.”
“Only one way to know,” I say, covering the phone with my hand. “Nate! Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan—” He hates it when I use his full name, so he makes his way down the hall to my room fast, pushes open the door completely, and flips on the light.
“What?” He’s so pissed off. This will be funny.
“Cass and I need you to settle something for us,” I say, and his eyebrows rise, barely interested, so very annoyed. “I clearly said I love you first. But Cass thinks because I didn’t give her a fair warning that mine doesn’t count and she wins the I love you game.”
Nate is staring at me, doing that blinking thing he does when he’s not sure what to say; then he takes a deep breath. “This is stupid,” he finally lets out, and turns his back to walk away. “Cass is right; she wins.”
“I think the judge is biased!” I yell.
“Ye
ah, well…the judge thinks you’re an asshole for making him get up with fifteen seconds left in the game,” he hollers.
“I win! I win, I win, I win!” Cass squeals on the phone.
“I’m filing an appeal,” I say, smiling and loving her. Loving that I said it. Loving how easy it was. Loving that everything about this was so very us—that there is an us, and it’s simple to define.
Chapter 27
Cass
“I can’t believe you actually sang in front of, how many people?” I ask Rowe, who has been talking a million miles per second for the last ten minutes, still feeling the adrenaline from her surprise visit to Nate at his tournament game.
I knew the second she read Nate’s letter she would have to chase him. Ty hooked her up with one of the public-relations reps for the tournament venue, and got her in to sing the national anthem. He said she was coming in from McConnell, and had sung a few times at the school, “Always a crowd favorite,” he told them. I’m pretty sure the only people who have ever heard Rowe sing before are Ty, Nate and me. She’s not bad, but I’m guessing the crowd probably wasn’t blown away either. My boyfriend can sell anything.
“A few thousand. Oh my god, Cass. It was so crazy! My hands were shaking, and I swear I thought I was going to drop the microphone when I got to the part about the bombs bursting in air,” she’s still talking fast. It’s cute. And she sounds so happy.
“I wish I could have been there,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut, and wishing when I open them again that everything looks right, straight—not blurred. It’s my right eye. It’s been like this for more than twenty-four hours now. It’s been like this for two days. And I probably shouldn’t ignore it. But I’m going to. It’s going to go away. This is going to go away.
“I know, me too,” Rowe says. “Hey, it’s getting hard to hear with the crowd, so I’ll call you later. Ty wanted me to let you know that he’s leaving right after the game, and he’ll call you from the airport.”
