by Anthology
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t watch—”
My words die instantly, and I gulp down what I swear is my heart that has quickly slid its way up and into my throat. I can't move. No matter how much my mind is screaming at me to run, to turn around and take off like I did last night, I can’t. A force greater than I can control, much less understand, is gluing my feet to the ground and my eyes to his.
“No, no, it’s okay. I should have…”
His words trail, his green gaze soft and lingering as my heart slams furiously beneath my ribs. God, this can’t be happening right now.
I finally manage to break off our connection and look over my shoulder, seeing Jenny deep in conversation with Addy, and then glance over to the front door, wondering how fast I can make a break for the exit.
“Miss Porter.”
I close my eyes, the sound of my name rolling from his lips in whispered-confusion causing me to flinch in response. His hands still rest on my arms, and the heat from his palms penetrates the pores on my skin, seeping into my veins and slowly warming my blood. He must sense my unease, though, because he takes a deliberate step back, quickly releasing me from his grasp.
Time stops. At least it feels like it does. We are caught in an intense moment, his mouth open, but no words forming, and my mind running circles as I try to figure out what has kept my feet from moving.
“I’m sorry, I’ll just—” He finally speaks, and this time, his deep voice sends an unexpected, but in no way unwelcome, sensation to roll down my spine. He gestures to a booth along the far wall, a leather jacket resting on its table. “I was just on my way out.”
A frown settles on my brow as I notice his still full coffee mug, and guilt slithers through me as I come to the conclusion he is simply leaving for my benefit. I'm about to open my mouth to tell him that it's not necessary—he doesn't need to leave—but in the time it takes me to turn my head and look back at him, he’s already walking away from me.
I watch as he collects his jacket from the booth, shrugging it onto his shoulders, before reaching into his back pocket of his jeans and retrieving his wallet. He tosses a few bills on the table, leaving his coffee to sit there, untouched. As he strolls toward the door, he waves his hand in Addy’s direction, and within a blink of an eye, he's gone.
Standing still—my heart and my mind racing—I wait for my pulse to steady and the feeling of relief to wash over me.
I wait.
And I wait...
My heart beats faster.
My mind continues to race.
And without any instruction from me, my feet start to move.
WHEN I THINK about my life, I think of the before and the after. My life before was filled with nothing but uncertainty. My thoughts, my dreams, they were all just far away hopes that seemed impossible to achieve. Endless doctor's appointments and countless tests made for restless days. While my friends were off building their futures, I was left to wonder if I’d even have one.
Living that way… it’s not something I’d wish on my worst enemy.
Luckily for me, there was an after. Only, it’s not how I imagined it would be. I live with guilt, a lot of it. The heart that beats within my chest is not my own, but someone else’s who succumbed to a fate that I had once feared. Where my days before were restless, it's now my nights. Laying in the pitch black, hearing the sound of it beating and feeling it pound against my ribs, I’m constantly reminded that my life was saved at the cost of another. And that… that has been a hard pill to swallow.
Zipping up my jacket, I wave goodbye to Addy and step out of the cafe, convincing myself to keep my eyes forward and my feet moving. I can’t look back. I can’t look at her, otherwise I may not make it out of the door.
And I need to leave.
She clearly is in no state to be dealing with any of this.
God, I don't even know that I'm in a state to be dealing with any of this.
After seeing her last night, watching her run away from me and straight out of the banquet hall, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Even as I made my way home, a huge part of me, the part essentially keeping me alive, wanted to go after her. I wanted to find her and not only make sure she was okay, but I wanted to comfort her—to erase the pain that was so evidently clear in her big brown eyes. So, what the hell are the chances that she would show up here today? This shop, of all places...
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I start my journey down the sidewalk, the cool morning air refreshing against my now heated skin. I blow out a breath, my chest unusually tight as I contemplate what to do next. I hadn’t even finished my cup of coffee, but seeing the look on her face, her almost fearful expression, what other choice did I have? Standing there and watching her run away again wasn’t something I was ready to witness for a second time.
“Hey!”
I’m three shops down when I hear her voice, the wind seeming to carry it faster to my ears and my feet reacting, before my brain even has a chance to process the sound.
“Wait!”
Pivoting around, I catch sight of her in the distance. Her chin is pinned to her chest, her gaze on her fingers as they work swiftly, fastening the black buttons on her red peacoat as she weaves around the bodies making their way down the sidewalk. Whatever breath I’ve managed to pull into my lungs completely dissipates as she comes to a stop in front of me, a warm blush coloring her cheeks.
“I—” She begins to talk, stopping momentarily as her gaze flicks away from mine and her tongue traces the path that is her lower lip. She looks about as nervous as I feel. “I'm sorry. You didn't have to leave because of me.”
The soft sound of her voice and the unsure gleam in her eyes, does something to me. My hands ball into tight fists in the pockets of my jacket, and I squint off to the side as I search for an appropriate reply. “Didn't I?” I glance back at her, the fear that painted her face only minutes ago, now replaced with a look that I'm tempted to define as guilt.
Her gaze drops to the ground as she rocks back and forth on her feet, her arms tightly hugging her waist. “Last night… this isn't—”
“It’s okay. You don't need to explain. I get it. Really, I do. And honestly, I wasn't even expecting you to show up.” There is a lengthy moment of silence, and as I wait for her response, I let my gaze roll over her delicate features.
She's beautiful—breathtakingly so.
“Can we…” Biting down on her lip, she lifts her head and meets my eyes. “Can we start over?”
I study her, not entirely convinced that is a wise decision, but in spite of that feeling, I can't deny the fact that there is a part of me that wants this—wants to get to know her. I hold my hand out between us. “Samuel Copeland.”
She takes a hold of my hand and the warmth of hers chases up my arm and across my chest. “Cassidy Porter.”
“It's a pleasure to meet you Cassidy.”
“Please, just Cassi. And likewise.”
“Well, just Cassi,” I glance over her shoulder, my eyes settling back on the shop as my throat thirsts for the cup of coffee I left behind. “Do you mind if I buy you a cup of coffee?”
For the first time since I’ve met her, she cracks a smile, her full pink lips spreading across her face to reveal a set of dimples on her cheeks. “I’d love that, but if it’s okay with you, I’ll buy. It is, after all, my fault you didn’t get to enjoy your first one.”
A small huff of laughter erupts from my mouth. “Okay, then.” I reluctantly pull my hand from hers and swing my arm out, allowing her to lead. “Shall we?”
BY THE TIME we return to the coffee shop, the booth I had been sitting in is taken and every stool at the bar is occupied, leaving us no choice but to sit at one of the small round tables by the front window. After asking me what I prefer to drink, Cassi makes her way over to Addy, placing our drinks order and speaking with a pretty blonde woman sitting at the counter. The woman smiles softly at her, rising to her feet and pulling her into a hug, before leaving. It’s
only a few moments later that she is returning to me with two steaming mugs in her hands.
“So…” She slides onto the black metal chair and sets my drink down in front of me, staring at me nervously as her fingers trace the rim of her own mug. “Do you come here often?”
My throat parched, I take a sip of coffee and nod. “Thank you. And yeah. I sort of live here.” A line creases her forehead, confusion sweeping over her brow, and I chuckle half-heartedly. “Not really. I might as well, though, as often as I’m here.”
“You must know Addy fairly well then?”
“Yeah, you could say that. She’s kind of like the mother I never had.”
Cassi’s lips pull tight, and sensing that she doesn’t know how to respond, I start to elaborate. “My mother passed away when I was eight.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been—”
“Hard,” I say, finishing for her. “Yeah. It was. Although, I imagine it would have been much harder if I was older when it happened. Unfortunately, I don’t really remember a lot about her. Even less so over the years.”
There is a second of silence before she asks her next question, a sympathetic look on her face. “How did she—”
“Eisenmenger syndrome.” I flick my gaze away from her, finding it somewhat difficult to be sharing such personal information with this woman; this stranger. But this is why we’re here, isn’t it? Why I’m sitting before her trying to figure out how to express my gratitude. It all leads back to this. “It’s, um... a rare genetic heart condition. It affects everybody differently, but the onset of serious complications usually occurs in patients while they are in their twenties and thirties. It is generally controlled with medication, but more times than not, a transplant is required.”
“And your mom? She needed a transplant.”
“Yeah. She was on the list. Unfortunately, she passed before a donor became available.”
“That’s so sad. Do you mind if I ask how old she was?”
“Too young, really.” My eyes hidden between squinted lids, I look away again, talking about this was proving much harder than I expected it to. “She was only twenty-nine.”
The gentle catch in Cassi’s throat brings my gaze back to hers, and the sight of a lone tear that has suddenly revealed itself and is cascading down her cheek, causes the muscles in my chest to tighten. A face as beautiful as hers has no right to be painted in sadness, especially sadness for someone she doesn’t even know.
“I’m so sorry, Sam.”
She reaches up to swipe the tear away, and the urge to lean forward and catch it with my fingertips has me pushing back in my seat. I don’t know this woman, so why I continue to feel the need to comfort her as if it’s my job to do so, is something I’m struggling to understand.
“It’s okay.” My voice is low, my throat thick as I push the words from my mouth, completely blown away by this woman and her ability to feel. “It was a long time ago.”
An uncomfortable stillness sweeps into the space between us as the conversation ends exactly where the next one should begin—one that I should be initiating, but have absolutely no idea on how to start. Is it possible to speak, to say everything that needs to be said, without uttering a sound?
Our symphony of silence is shattered as Cassi’s voice grabs me from it. “Do you have the same?” Fear invades her expression. “I mean, is that why you needed his—”
She stops abruptly, her chest releasing a gasp of air as it becomes evidently clear she is struggling to finish her thought. I save her the need, licking my suddenly dry lips and nodding, this time breaking off the hold our eyes seem to have on each other.
Her next breath leaves her on a choked sob, and before I have a chance to say anything—to apologize for her own loss—she is rising from her seat. “I'm sorry.” Another tear races down her cheek, settling at the corner of her trembling lips, and this time, she doesn’t bother to wipe it from her skin. Her voice shakes. “I thought I could do this, but obviously, I can't.” She swirls on her heels, her watery gaze quickly surveying her surroundings as she searches for the nearest escape route.
She's taking off on me.
Again.
“Cassi, wait.” I’m on my feet, my hand reaching out to take hold of her arm and stop her, but I pull it back. My lungs deflate on a sharp exhale as she swings her head around to look at me. “Please… we don’t have to talk about this right now. I just—” There is a desperation in my tone, one that even I'm not used to hearing. “I just don’t want you to go.”
Beating entirely out of control, my heart slams against my ribcage, and I wait for her to react or respond. I should be letting her go, leaving this broken woman to get on with her life, but the heart inside of me is wanting me to keep her here—begging me to help her, to heal her.
Eyes coated in a sheen of glassy tears, she stares at me. The space of time that passes feels like hours, but in reality, is only a few seconds, and I am sure of this because I've been mentally counting them. Waiting for the moment of inevitable disappointment that I know is going to hit me as she turns and walks away. Dragging in a shuddering breath, she moves. She pivots around and sits back down in her seat, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small packet of tissues, and relief loosens my muscles. I watch her as she wipes away the black, inky trails of mascara making paths down her wet cheeks.
“I’m sorry. This is embarrassing, really. I’d like to say I’m not usually this emotional, but—”
“Hey, it’s okay.” I stop her, wanting her to know that I get it. “You don’t need to explain. I’m not the type of person to pass judgement or make assumptions.”
Head bowed, she stares down at the tissue now crumpled up in her hand. “Thank you.”
For a split second, my gaze lingers on her, and then without thought, I find myself leaning across the table and hooking my fingers under her chin, lifting it gently until our eyes meet. “Tell me something about yourself, Cassi.”
“What?” She sniffs back the rest of her tears, a confused look on her face. “I don’t—”
“Tell me something. Your favorite color. Where you work. What it is you like to do in your free time. Anything.”
Her brows knit, and I sit on edge, waiting for her to speak.
“You know what? I’ll go first.” I pull back and tap my fingers against the hard surface of the wooden table, my mind racing through my thoughts as I search for something to tell her. “Do you want to know what I do when I sit in here drinking my coffee?”
“What's that?”
“I people watch.”
Curiosity creases her forehead. “People watch.” It rolls from her mouth sounding more like a question than a statement.
“Yeah. People watch.”
She looks at me funny, her voice now clear with a mixture of apprehension and bewilderment. “That’s kind of creepy, isn’t it?”
“Creepy?” Narrowing my brows, I stare at her, wondering what kind of assumptions she is making about me. “That's a bit harsh, don't you think?”
“Harsh?” She shakes her head, her expression failing to reveal the thoughts forming in her mind. “No. Sitting here, staring at unsuspecting people as they enjoy their coffee or tea or whatever it is they drink, is totally creepy.”
“And what about authors and writers, do they not people watch all the time for inspiration?”
She raises a brow. “Are you a writer or an author?”
“No, but—”
“Well then, my first comment stands. It's creepy.”
“Creepy, huh?” A grin spreads across my face, and I'm sure it does little to convince her I'm not the creeper she has now labeled me to be.
Eyes falling back down on her drink, she lifts her mug and gives it a swirl, before sipping the last of it.
“You haven't asked me why.”
Her soft gaze lifts, connecting with mine. “Why what?”
“Why I do it. Why I people watch.”
“Is there really a justifiabl
e reason?”
I shake my head and laugh. “You're a tough one, aren't you?”
Frowning, she sets her empty mug back down and rests back in her seat, folding her arms over her chest. Her gaze briefly moves to the window and then back to me. “I'd like to think a part of me is.”
“Too many people take life for granted, Cassi. They go about their days, not appreciating the simple air they breathe. They don’t take a moment to stop and realize that everything they are and everything they once hoped to be can disappear within a blink of an eye.” I look around, searching for the perfect candidate to back up my claim. “Take this guy for instance.” I point to a middle-aged man, dressed in a finely-tailored suit, a leather briefcase in hand. His feet are moving quickly as he barks out his order to Addy, all the while glancing down at his watch as if he is pressed for time. “It’s Saturday morning. There is a wedding band on his finger, and I’d bet every dollar in my wallet he has two or three kids at home, wishing their father was home giving them piggy-back rides instead of rushing to get to the office in time.”
Cassi’s face scrunches up as she glances over at the man. She looks back at me, her voice challenging. “That’s not a fair assumption.”
“It’s not?” I sit back in my seat and wave my hand in front of me, enjoying this argumentative side of her. “Please, continue.”
“Who is to say he is not the sole provider of his entire family. His rushing around on this Saturday morning can mean the difference between paying the mortgage payment or losing their home. A home which provides shelter for those two or three kids for whom you speak. Perhaps he’s striving to give his children everything he’s never had. It’s easy to judge from afar, Sam, but how is it fair to make such assumptions when you don’t know what it’s like to be walking in his shoes.” She pauses for a moment, her lips pinching tight and the frown creasing her forehead deepening as disappointment crosses her features. “I thought you said you’re not the type of person to pass judgement or make assumptions.”
