Fat Chance (23 page)

Alone in the quiet, I pull my cell phone from my desk drawer and kick my flats off under my desk. Sliding the papers to the side and propping my feet where Micah's feet were, I dial my voicemail and listen.

"I miss you Cass. I want to see you ..." the message goes on, and I listen silently, a tear slipping down my cheek. I roll my eyes at my reflection in the window, save the voicemail, ignore the missed call from Renee, and drop my phone back into the desk.

Making a mental note to call her later so that she doesn't worry, I lean my head against the wall. I can only imagine the conversation with her, telling her that I broke up with Drew and trying to explain what happened.

Why do I feel so wrong?

The rest of the day goes by in a blur, and by the time Micah and I clock out, I'm downright ashamed of myself. I've been so distracted all afternoon that Micah finally shut down the paperwork and begged me to tell him what was wrong.

"Just tell me the story," he said, leaning forward to look at me. "Maybe you'll feel better after. Like letting it out, you know? Sometimes, that can help, Cass. And we might as well be pals, since we're going to be working together."

Now that I've told him, I do feel a little better, but mostly, I just feel stupid. I told him I broke up with Drew, and he said that if I'm the one who wanted the break-up, I'm supposed to be happy about it. The shock of his face was almost comical when I informed him that I didn't want the break-up at all, but that I simply felt like the relationship wouldn't work out, and I wanted to get out before things could turn bad.

"Women," he'd sighed. "Y'all make no sense at all."

I tried to be vague about everything as much as possible, since Micah and I work together and we've only known each other a short time. I didn't want him to feel like I didn't want to talk to him, but I also didn't want to just spill all the intimate details either. He was very sympathetic, which only made me feel worse about the whole thing.

"Yeah, one of those stalker types, huh?" he'd asked, when I'd voiced a fear of things turning ugly at some point.

"No, he's actually been really sweet about it," I'd answered sadly. Drew hadn't lived up to my expectations at all; which is great because I'd really been expecting him to turn into a first class jerk.

And that's the trouble. He's no jerk; he's no stalker. He hasn't gotten angry; he hasn't lashed out. He hasn't been rude or ugly at all. He hasn't done anything frightening or hurtful to me in the entire time that I've known him. And he trusted me with his secrets, with his troubles.

What was I thinking?

I feel like I've betrayed him somehow; he wanted me in his life, he wanted me to meet his family. He said he wanted me.

Why can't I believe him?

The thing that makes me really doubt myself on this is that he obviously cares. He isn't getting prideful and lashing out at me. He isn't just letting me walk away though, either; he's calling me, he's missing me and he's trying so hard to get me to talk it out with him. That's why I haven't been answering his calls; I know that if I talk to him, I'll give in. And then, when I lose him anyway, it will break my heart.

At least if I do it this way, early, before I'm too attached, then maybe I can force my way through it.

Driving home, the memory of my last encounter with Rick rises up to taunt me, and I can only imagine what he'll say when he finds out about the break-up. Of course, he'll want to say something. He always does.

I pull up in front of my apartment building, and wearily climb the stairs. Missing Drew all day has been rough, and talking to Micah about it just made everything look worse. It has only been a short time since I've met him, even shorter since I've seen him or spoken to him. Still, I do miss him terribly.

Stepping out of the stairwell, I check my watch and smile with pride. Even with the heavy weight of a sad break-up weighing me down, I made it up the stairs faster than usual this time, and I set a new record.

What the heck?

Walking slowly toward the door to my apartment, my eyes fill up with tears, and I'm completely overwhelmed. On the floor beside the door is a giant crystal vase. Shaped like the cup of a calla lily, blue and pink crystal swirl together in imitation of cotton candy. The thick curving stem is clear green crystal that sparkles even in the meager light of the hallway, flowing down into a simple circular base. Filled with babies’ breath and red-tipped yellow roses, it’s a masterpiece.

Unlocking the door, I fling it open and throw my purse and keys into the chair beside the door. And then, I sink helplessly to my knees, there in the open doorway, to read the card leaning carefully against the vase.

"Cass," I whisper to myself, opening the flap of the envelope and drawing out a beautiful card on thick paper. The picture on the front is a spray of red-tipped yellow roses, and the inside is hand written in Drew's tight, clean handwriting. Reading on, I continue to whisper.

"I can't believe how much I've grown attached to you. In such a short time, you have me so utterly charmed that I can't think straight for missing you, now that you aren't here. Rethink this, please. We're just too good to throw away. Let me persuade you. Drew."

A tear drops onto the card, and I close it, realizing that I'm still in the hallway. Standing, I carefully lift the heavy vase and carry it inside, placing it in the center of my dining table. The roses are lovely under the window, and I'm still staring at them when my cell phone starts shrieking in my purse.

Rushing to grab it, I snatch the phone from the little pocket I usually keep it in, and swipe my fingertip along the screen to answer the call without looking to see who it is.

"Hello?"

"Cass, you haven't answered my calls," Renee says accusingly. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, Ren," I answer, going back to the table and sinking into a chair. "Just working, you know? And kind of, I don't know, just in a funk."

"What's going on?"

"I broke up with Drew." Reaching out, I run a gentle finger over the sparkling base of the lily vase. It's beautiful, even without flowers. It will be a stunning addition to my décor, not to mention, a stunning reminder of how stupid I am to have let Drew slip through my fingers.

"Oh my God," Chelsea says, surprising me.

"Hi, Chels," I snap. "Good thing I don't talk bad about people behind their backs, huh? You might have just gotten an earful."

"Nah," she laughs. "You love me, you can't help yourself. Now what happened with Drew? Do I need a bat, or a shovel?"

I laugh despite my sadness. Chelsea is always the best person for cheering me up, she always know just what to say. "Neither. I broke up with him, remember?"

"Yes, but you didn't say why," Renee says.

"Well, do you want the truth? Or do you want to hear what you guys would rather hear?"

"Well, now that I know there are two versions," Chelsea teases, "I want to hear both!"

"No, this is obviously something hard for Cass; she's been ignoring me all day, Chelsea. Come on," Renee says, her inner lecturer coming out.

"Okay," Chelsea pouts.

Leaning back on my chair, I prop the phone between my shoulder and my ear, listening to my sisters bicker. Hooking a toe under the apron of the chair beside me, I pull it closer and prop my feet on it, crossing my arms. I can't seem to stop staring at the roses.

"Tell us what happened, Cass. What really happened," Renee says softly.

I sigh, and refocus my gaze beyond the roses, beyond the perfect, beautiful vase. Staring out the window, I conjure up the memory of Drew's face, his green eyes, his strength.

"It was Rick," I mutter, miserable.

"I don't get it," Chelsea says, and suddenly I'm angry. I'm angry at Chelsea, I'm angry at Renee, I'm even angry at Janet. They all told me he'd grown, that he'd changed. And in front of them, he has. He's grown more able to put on a happy, charming front, and the three of them have been completely taken by his illusion.

"You know, he really hasn't changed at all," I explain. "He's sweet and funny and charming when you guys are around, or when Janet is there. But when he can get me alone? He's just as vicious and spiteful as he always was."

"Are you serious? Cass, really?" Renee asks. Sitting up straighter, I wait, trying to decide whether she believes me or not.

"Of course she must be, Renee," Chelsea answers for me. "You remember how horrible he was to her."

"You can't possibly think I'm making this up," I say, slightly offended at the possibility.

Are you really so taken with him, Renee?

"It's not that I think that, Cass, you know I don't," Renee says. "I'm sorry I haven't seen it; please tell me what's been going on."

"I saw Rick last week, at the mall," I begin, and then I recount some of the conversations Rick and I have shared recently, giving some of the detail so they can understand what's going on. When the twins don't reply, I go on. "He's been really extra nasty since it came out that I was dating Drew, and Drew had just invited me to a family thing with him a couple days before."

"Aww, that's so sweet," Chelsea squeaks. "What did you say?"

"Well, obviously, it's kind of no, if she dumped him," Renee breaks in dryly.

"I told him I didn't know if I was ready for that," I explain. "And I really was leaning toward going. So I went to the mall, and I did some shopping, and then I saw Rick. And he just, I don't know, guys. He just knew what to say, and it was like standing there and being slapped, but he never raised a hand, you know?"

"Oh, honey," Chelsea says.

"I don't even really know what happened, I just kind of lost it, and I barely made it out of the mall before I broke down. I called him, and I told him I just can't do it, and that I can't see him anymore." I can't stand the roses anymore; it's emotionally painful to keep looking at them, to think of never seeing Drew again. I stand up, shoving my chair back from the table and going to my bedroom to flop on the bed.

"What did he say about all this?" Renee asks. The concern in her voice is so thick that it's almost as if I can feel it, sneaking around my shoulders to cover me, and I feel somewhat better under her support.

"He's not happy about it, but he's definitely not reacting the way I thought he would," I answer.

"Well I can imagine what you thought," Chelsea says. "So tell me what he's doing."

"He's calling, and calling, and leaving voicemails. Not creepy, you know, and not often, but just enough to make me feel like he's not letting go, but he's not trying to push hard either. Does that even make any sense at all?" I ask.

"Of course it does," Chelsea says, muttering around a mouthful of something crunchy.

"Today, I got home, and he's been here," I say, turning my head to gaze through my bedroom door at the flowers.

"Inside?" Renee asks, her voice shrill with alarm.

"Well, no," I assure her. "Outside. He left a vase by the door, with flowers in it, and --"

"What kind?" Chelsea butts in.

"Roses," I laugh, waiting to see what she'll say. Chelsea runs a florist shop; she thinks every flower comes with an unspoken, sub-conscious message.

"Uh huh, and what color?"

"They're yellow, but have kind of reddish-pink tips on the petals." Describing them brings back the memory of their thick scent, and I don't know whether to smile or cry.

"Aww, those mean falling in love, he's saying he loves you!" Chelsea exclaims.