You and Everything After (23 page)

I wasn’t expecting applause. Though, the slow-clap does pass through my mind and briefly amuses me. I’m pretty impressed with my own speech, and even if Cass’s father isn’t, I feel pretty good about everything I said. I’d say it all to Cass and mean every word. The silence lasts for a few long seconds, and eventually, I hear him swallow—perhaps his pride.

“If you could tell her that I called,” he says.

“I can do that, sir. You have a good night now,” I say, one more little cherry on top.

I put the phone down and grab the remote from Cass’s desk, flipping the television to
Sports Center,
and I wait for her to feel strong enough to come in and join me. By the end of the show, she’s here.

“Your father called,” I say. She rolls her eyes and crawls into her bed, patting the space next to her. I don’t elaborate, because I don’t want to freak her out. It’s not a lie. It’s omitting, a little. A lot. But I think this calls for an exception.

Chapter 26

Cass

Rowe’s coming back.

Paige left early.

The
Cotterman issue
is now a
non-issue
.

I have to admit, the positives are starting to add up. I was even almost looking forward to the holidays. Mom has been calling me every day. It was annoying at first, because I knew it was all about making her feel better. But I find I’m starting to actually look forward to her calls. We still talk about nothing. She doesn’t ask about Ty. I don’t talk about Ty. She doesn’t ask about practice. I don’t talk about practice. And maybe that’s okay—maybe I get to live my life separate from her knowing about it, and we get to meet in the middle, in the land of make-believe where I’m interested in the bead and textile expo.

She does try to ask me questions about Paige. She doesn’t like it when we’re fighting. And I don’t like feeling this way about my sister. But I’m having a hard time getting over this one. It’s always a matter of trust between her and me, and that bridge has just been burned so many times, I don’t know if I can rebuild it any more.
  

I have one more final. Ty left for home with his brother yesterday, and Nate gave me a letter to give to Rowe. He told me not to read it—which was probably not wise. I don’t think I would have if he hadn’t made it so off limits. I steamed it open in the shower room, but you can totally tell I butchered the envelope. I think I’ll just admit it to Rowe. She won’t care.

The words in his letter…they were everything I want Ty to say to me in so many ways. Those boys are special. And I hope he and Rowe can figure things out.

I’ve been waiting at the window for an hour for the cab to drop Rowe off. I used to wait for my grandparents to show up on the holidays like this, my chair pulled right up to the windowsill and my face pressed on the glass. The thought makes me smile, so I breathe frost onto the window glass and draw a heart with Ty’s name in the middle. I feel silly and childish after, so I pull my sleeve over my wrist and erase it.

When the cab pulls up and Rowe steps out with her small bag, I slide my chair back from the window and step up on my bed and start jumping. I’ve missed her, more than I thought. And seeing her face when she walks into the room almost makes me cry.

“Yayyyyyyyy!” I actually scream when she comes in, like a child waiting for the fair to come to town.

“Uh…yeah. Yay,” she says, looking at me like I’m a weirdo. Okay, maybe I’m a little overexcited. I’ve been alone for a full day, and the halls are empty, and it was getting to me. I’ve studied for my sign language final so much that I now feel qualified to teach the course.

Once Rowe gets settled in, we go to the dining hall, which is also empty, like a scene from
The Stand.
I fill my plate, I’ve been carb loading, probably from all of the running and workouts I’ve been doing. I tend to stress-eat, and finals, along with everything else, have been stressful.

“So, I’m officially on the team,” I tell Rowe, and she smiles, happy for me, but still not quite herself. She’s mourning her old boyfriend, and I think she’s also mourning her relationship with Nate. I hope she gives him a chance.

“I guess that means you’ll be pretty busy this spring?” she asks.

“Not any more than I have been. Instead of workouts, we’ll have games. Soccer isn’t like baseball and football. Women’s sports, we sort of get the shaft,” I say. I want to ask her if she’ll be here next semester, but I’m afraid to open that door, so I just take her interest in my schedule as a sign that she will be.

She turns her attention to my overstuffed tray of food, picking on my lack of healthy choices, and when she jokes with me I can see glimpses of
my
Rowe. It almost feels like that first week of school again. The campus is empty, and Rowe and I nervously make our way back to our room, spending the rest of the night watching TV.

It’s nice not sleeping alone. Last night—without Ty, without
anyone—
was hard. I don’t think I ever fully fell asleep. The dorm hallways are full of strange noises at night, the creaking of the heating pipes, the echo in the hallway when someone shuts a door from far away. Even the sounds from the outside creep into the inside when nobody is around. I started to focus on the chirping crickets and the occasional car driving by.

We’re watching one of those reality shows on MTV; I’m not even sure which one. There’s a lot of yelling and relationship drama. It’s funny how that’s not how it looks like in real life, yet this is supposed to be
reality.
I turn my head to Rowe and imagine her standing on a table, drunk, and telling Nate off like the girl on the TV is right now, and it makes me laugh to myself.

No. Not reality at all.

“Have you talked to him yet?” I ask her, and she just shakes her head
no.
What I want to do is pull out Nate’s letter, show it to her, fawn over it, and watch her heart melt just like I know it’s going to. But I can’t, not until tomorrow. I promised Nate I wouldn’t give it to her until her finals were done.

Nate poured his heart out in his words to her. I cheated and read some of it to Ty over the phone. He made fun of Nate, called him a lovesick puppy, but I think it’s only because he was uncomfortable hearing his brother’s honesty. I get it. Guys don’t do chick flicks, and Nate’s letter—it’s one big-ass chick flick. I wish I made a copy of it I love it so much.

“I don’t know what to say. Everything is all…I don’t know…messy?” Rowe says.

I understand messy. I’ve been in what Ty would call one
messy fussy fuss
for weeks. But my mess…it’s kind of over. And I’m starting to appreciate the fact that my dad put an end to it, even if I don’t like the
way
he put an end to it.

“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, can 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.