You and Everything After (24 page)

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.

“Yeah, 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.”

“Thanks, and sounds good,” I say. “Call you later.” I end the call and hold my phone to my chest, lying flat on my back, eyes closed again. They just need rest. I’ll just rest until six, until I need to go to the airport.

Ty is coming to visit, flying here from Arizona since it’s such a short flight. My parents are letting him stay in our guest room. I asked, expecting a battle, but my dad surprised me, saying it wouldn’t be a problem at all. My mom didn’t protest. I might be in the
Twilight Zone.
I don’t care. I’ll stay here in fantasyland if it stays like this.

I put the cold compress back over my face, pushing down on my eyes. I don’t know if this works, or even helps, but I read it on one of the MS blogs. I’ll try anything. Rest…yes. I just need rest.

“Cass, your phone alarm has been going off, for like, forty minutes!”

Why is Paige in my room? I must have slept harder than I thought, longer—deeper. Everything hurts. The cold compress on my head feels lukewarm, not at all relaxing. I slide the gel pack from my face, my arms tired, tingling from being folded over my head for so long.

“I need to pick Ty up. He’s coming in at seven. I need to get ready,” I say, rubbing the tiredness from my eyes.

“It’s six-thirty. You’re going to be late,” Paige says, turning my phone alarm off and tossing it on my bed next to me.

“Shit!” I stand quickly, the blood rushing from my head. Woozy. I’m woozy. I sit at the edge of my mattress and focus on my flip-flops—where they sit on the floor. They’re…cloudy. Everything’s cloudy.

“No, no, no, no, no!” I squeeze them shut. Deep
breath
. When I open, everything will look fine. Everything’s fine. I’m fine.

Fuzzy. Everything I look at through my right eye is fuzzy. That’s okay. It’s better. I think it’s getting better. Clearing up.

“Cass,” Paige says, her voice cautious. She knows. My sister knows. “Cass, are you having a flare-up?”

“I’m fine,” I say, standing quickly and moving to my closet. I miss my target, my steps suddenly off-balance, and my right rib crashes into the corner of my dresser. “Damn it!”

“Cass, you’re not fine. And you’re not driving. I’m getting Mom,” she says, moving to my door.

“No, I’m fine. Paige, look at me,” I beg. She stops short of the door and turns to face me. I close my right eye and she looks normal. I close my left eye and she looks like she’s standing in the rain.

I’m not fine. My lip quivers. I’m not fine, and now I’m starting to cry.

“Goddamn it! I hate my body!” I scream, stroking my arm along the top of my dresser, knocking over some pictures and knickknacks.

“I’m getting Mom,” Paige says, her hand around my arm. “I. Have. To.”

I look at her, in her eyes. She doesn’t want to do this to betray me. She has to. I know she does. I have to see my doctor. This isn’t normal. I’ve been through this before. I nod, a slight movement, but enough that Paige gets the answer she needs.

“I’ll tell Mom, and then I’ll go pick up Ty,” she says, and I move to the floor. Being lower, it helps. I have my bearings, and I crawl back to bed and lie down. And I cry. I hate crying. I hate my body.

None of this is fair.

Ty

I know the second I see Paige that something isn’t right.

“She’s having a flare-up,” Paige explains as we wait for the elevator to come to take us to our level in the garage. “She’s probably been having it for a while. Did she tell you?”

Her tone is accusatory, and my gut instinct is to say something back to her in the exact same tone. But I don’t. Because no—Cass hasn’t said anything to me. If she’s been feeling things, she’s been keeping it to herself. And it hurts a little that she didn’t tell me. I shake my head
no
and move into the elevator as it opens.

“Mom is getting her in with her neurologist. Hopefully tomorrow.”

I nod again.

“She’s been pushing herself,” Paige says.

That one was directed to me. She’s making this my fault. That’s not happening.

“She’s also been stressed,” I say back, keeping my eyes forward. That one was for her.

“I brought Cass’s car. She has more room,” Paige says, pulling the passenger door open for me, and then stepping back. She’s not sure what to do, and that’s okay. I understand. I pull myself into the passenger side and then reach over to collapse the chair for her.

“You’ll need to get it in the trunk. It’s not as heavy as it looks,” I say, and she nods. She struggles with it a little, but she doesn’t say anything. I watch her in the rearview mirror as she pushes and grunts until my chair is in the trunk, and then she closes the heavy top.

Cass’s car is hot. It’s something I would drive. And I bet she wanted to be the one to show it to me. I only let myself look at the interior, and not awe over it for long, so that way she can take me out in it again when she’s ready. I bet she drives it fast.

Paige drives it like a grandmother. It takes her four attempts to back out of her spot, and she rides the break all the way down the turn-ramp for the garage. I keep my mouth shut, though. I could easily make her more nervous, pick on her—like I would if Nate were driving. But I don’t feel like joking around with Paige. Our last conversation consisted of her telling me I didn’t deserve her sister. Now I felt like saying the same thing to her.

“They can’t make her quit,” I say after a few long minutes of silence. Turns out I’m not very good at keeping quiet.

“Hmmmm?” Paige says, looking over her shoulder to switch lanes on the highway. She drives this car like a boat. It’s a little funny. And scary.

“Soccer. Your parents can’t make her quit,” I say, keeping my eyes on her, putting a little pressure on her so she gets my point.

“That’s not up to me,” she says finally, still not glancing in my direction.

“It’s not up to them either,” I say back, turning my attention to the passenger window for the rest of the drive. My first trip to California, and it’s too dark to see the beach. Just one more thing I’ll save for Cass.

The driveway is dark when we pull in, and no one comes out to help. “Cass is probably inside. She’s a little wobbly on her legs. Or at least, she was this afternoon,” Paige says, popping the trunk and moving to the back of the car. I hate that I have to depend on her right now.

She manages to work my chair out and unfold it so she can push it next to me. “I’ve got it from here,” I say, pulling myself in and grabbing my bag from the floor of the passenger side.

I push the door closed and follow Paige up the driveway through the garage to a back door. There’s a little bit of a lip, but I manage to make it over and into the house.

“We’re here!” Paige yells, dropping her purse on top of the washing machine in the laundry room.

I follow her through the kitchen to a large living room with a gigantic television and fireplace. Cass sits up quickly and looks at me over the back of the sofa. As painful as the ride here was with her sister, seeing her eyes light up like that made it all worthwhile.

“Hey,” she says, her voice raw, like she’s been sleeping. Good, I hope she’s been sleeping.

“Not cool,” I say, pushing closer until I’m next to her at the sofa arm. “Faking a flare-up for attention.”

I’m kidding, and Cass knows I’m only joking. Her Mom, however, does not.

“Tyson, Cass is not well,” she says in the most serious voice I am pretty sure I’ve ever heard.

“Mom, he knows. He’s joking,” Cass says over her shoulder, turning back to me to roll her eyes and shake her head. She leans forward and places a hand on either side of my face. “God I’m glad you’re here,” she says, kissing me and holding her lips to mine like she needs them to breathe. I think she just might.

“Well, that’s not a very funny joke,” Cass’s mom says, standing up from her chair, looking for an excuse to leave the room. She doesn’t like me, but I don’t want that to be my fault, so I move to meet her before she can leave the room.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I say, Southern drawl doing it’s thing. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Humor—sometimes it takes the edge off, that’s all. Thank you for having me as a guest in your home.”

I hold my hand out, hoping she’ll take it. She finally does, though her grip is weak and timid. Nothing at all
like
her daughters’—either of them. “Let me show you to your room,” she says, leading me down a hall to the back of the house. I look over my shoulder to Cass, and she’s laughing quietly at me, but she gives me a wink.

“I hope you don’t mind, the only other guests we have are usually my parents, so the room is a little…Victorian,” she says, reaching for a pillow on the bed and straightening the ruffled case that’s covering it. This room puts the pink Barbie room to shame.

“It’s fine. And again, thank you,” I say, her mom turning to look at me with a pause. She breathes in, ready to say something—before pushing her lips into a tight smile, and nodding as she turns to leave. Cass comes in a few seconds later.

“Your mom is not a big fan,” I smile. I don’t think her dad is a very big fan either, based on our phone conversation, but I don’t tell her that.

“She’s just not used to a boy being here. It’s weird for her. I was sort of surprised she said
yes
, but my dad made this face at her. I think he’s sort of on your side,” she says, her smile bigger. There’s a part of me that thinks her dad may have lured me here to murder me. But I keep that to myself too.

“So, how long?” I ask, unzipping my bag and pulling out my few toiletries. I don’t look at her while I do this, because I don’t want her to see the hurt on my face. She senses it anyway.

“A few weeks…nothing big until a few days ago, though. I’m sorry…” she says, and I look up with a soft smile.

“Sorry for what?” I shrug. I don’t want her apologizing. I’ll get over being hurt. This isn’t about me. It isn’t about Paige or her parents. It’s about her, and people need to let it just be about her.

“That I didn’t tell you,” she says.

I shrug again and go back to putting my things on the night table. I pull my watch off and hold it in my hand, running my thumb over the
always
, soaking in it’s meaning. “I get it. You were scared. And talking about things like weaknesses makes them real,” I say, handing my watch to her.

She takes it and looks at it closely. “Something like that…yeah,” she says, her fatigue showing through. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.

She hands the watch back, but I shake my head
no.
Her brow furrows.

“You keep it,” I say. She looks back down, rolling the metal band through her fingers until she gets to the
always.
“This…isn’t meant for me.”

“It’s meant for whoever needs it,” I say quickly, holding my hand around hers, clasping the watch in her fingers tightly. She looks up at me, unsure. “It’s mine to give. And you need it.”

Her hands stay in mine for a few more seconds, and I relax my hold slowly, until I’m sure she’s going to keep the watch. She puts it around her wrist, clipping the clasp. It’s about five rungs too big for her thin arm, and it makes her laugh.

“You can push it up to your bicep, wear it like an iPod,” I joke, and she chuckles back.

“Yeah, that won’t look weird,” she says, twisting the silver around her arm a few times, her breath held, until she looks back at me. “Thanks, Ty.”

“It’s nothin’,” I shrug back. That was a lie—it’s everything. I never thought I would be able to live without that watch. Now, I don’t think I can live without Cass’s smile. I’ll do whatever it takes to get that back, make it permanent.

“You hungry?” she asks.

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

She stops me at the doorway as I follow her out. “Yeah, uhm, maybe turn the Ty down, just a notch, until my mom warms up to you?”

“What? Your mom hates bears? Damn, what kind of household is against Leo
and
grizzlies? I don’t know, Cass, I’m starting to think y’all have some prejudices that I just can’t look past,” I say, wincing like I’m serious. I drop the act fast though when I can tell she’s not in the mood. “Got it, tone down the bear shit. Done,” I salute her.

I watch her carefully for the rest of the night. Her mom hovers, bringing her a plate to eat on the sofa. I join her there, deciding to stay near her instead of at the table with her mom and Paige. Even if laser beams of disdain didn’t come from their eyes, I’d still sit with Cass. I can’t be close enough to her. I missed her. And she’s faltering. She needs me now.