Why—if I belonged the way he said I did—did I still feel alone?
Maybe because the only thing connecting us was our morbid abilities. And a physical attraction. Nothing more. Nothing real. He’d never asked what I was like as a kid or what I did at the holidays or how I celebrated my last birthday. He didn’t know what I hoped to do or be next year or ten years from now. And he hadn’t volunteered any of that about himself either.
After all the stuff that had happened this week, what I really wanted—yearned for—was someone who could tell me it would be okay. That whatever I saw and whatever I decided, I’d be okay. Someone who knew me well enough for that to be believable.
I opened my phone before I chickened out, my hands shaking as I pressed buttons, scrolling through my contacts for the one I needed. The one I’d pulled up a hundred times since leaving Pennsylvania but never mustered the courage to call. It had been easier to fool myself with texts.
I had so many memories of Jack scattered across the years; like happier counterpoints to the mark. I’ve replayed them like favorite songs, sometimes imagining I could feel the scratchiness of his wool sweater against my cheek or smell the smoke from his living room fireplace.
I’d spent almost every Sunday with him and his mom before I left, snuggled against Jack’s chest while the three of us watched a movie or sprawled on the living room floor around a game of Monopoly. I was still living in the apartment where I’d grown up, the one I’d shared with Nan. But it was stripped of personality, most of our things packed, though I hadn’t been sure for what. It felt bland and impersonal, no longer like a home. Not like Jack’s house.
“I’m glad you’re spending so much time with us, Cassie,” Jack’s mom said one Sunday while we worked in the kitchen together. It was mid-October and we were cutting apples from a bag her neighbor had dropped off and tossing them in a pot of simmering water.
“Thanks, Mrs. P.,” I answered, smiling. “I am too.”
“It’s been a tough couple months for you.”
I nodded. Jack’s mom had come to Nan’s funeral, like most of my classmates and their parents. But she’d actually known Nan, having lived so close to us back when Jack and I were kids.
“You seem like you’re in a good place now.”
“I am, mostly,” I said, adding with a smile, “Always, when I’m here.”
She smiled back. “It’s good to see Jack with you. I’d always hoped …” She stopped, a little embarrassed. “What I mean to say is that he seems very happy, too.”
We ate dinner later, sat by the fire, the smell of cinnamon and apples crisp like fall. His mom went to bed around nine.
“Early shift tomorrow,” she said, heading for the stairs and giving us a wave and a wink. “Be good.”
Jack and I lay on the sofa, not talking, totally content. I felt so small—my just-over five-feet beside his just-under six. Upstairs we heard the water run, toilet flush, doors close.
It was so warm and comfortable I must have dozed. The next time I looked at the clock, it was after ten.
“I should go,” I said, sitting up lazily and looking at the dark windowpanes. “Walk me home?”
“No.”
I smiled, still staring at the cold outdoors. “C’mon, sleepyhead, before we’re too tired.” I turned to face him.
Jack shook his head, reached for my hand. “Stay with me.”
“Oh, Jack, I’d love to, but your mom—”
“What about her?” he interrupted. “She loves having you here. She loves you.” He paused, searching my face, then said it. So softly. “I love you.”
Everything stopped. My breath caught, trapped somewhere between my throat and my chest where there was an ache so sudden and sharp. No one had ever said that to me. Except Nan. And I’d never said it to anyone except her. When she was gone, it had hurt so much some days I couldn’t function.
“Jack …” It was all I could squeeze out, the rush of too many feelings, too much knowledge making more impossible.
Jack must have seen it. He leaned over, kissed the top of my head. “It’s okay, Cass,” he said, unconditional as always. “Just stay.”
So I did, balanced between happiness and apprehension, almost wanting not to sleep just so I could feel him beside me all night.
It’s the best day I can remember.
I could picture the phone in his house, ringing now as I stood on the sidewalk outside my apartment on a freezing March night, very far from that day.
“Hello?”
The sound of his voice—his actual voice, not the one that played in my memories, but the real him, right now—paralyzed me. I could barely breathe.
“Hello?”
“Jack?” My own voice sounded totally unnatural.
“Who is …” He stopped. “Cassie?”
“Yeah.” I laughed, trying for casual. “It’s me. How’re you doing?”
He paused. The silence was huge. I could hear my heart pounding, everything in me willing him to say something, anything, that would make this okay. “Why are you calling?”
He sounded utterly perplexed. Like we were strangers. “Um … I …” I’d thought he might be angry or surprised, but not this. So distant it was like I’d imagined the few months we’d had together. And the years and years before. “Just to say hi,” I finished lamely.
“Oh.” Another pause. “Well. Hi.”
My whole body felt weak. I leaned on something, a sign or lamppost. It was like I’d been holding my breath and someone came by and kicked me in the gut. I didn’t even feel the sting of tears, they came so quickly. I wiped them with my free hand, but didn’t know what to do about my nose. I couldn’t sniffle or he’d know I was crying so I just let it run.
All this time I’d been sending these texts and thinking about Jack and refusing to admit how much I hoped—no, believed—that when I was ready, we could pick up where we’d left off. His voice, offhand and unyielding at the same time, told me now how completely wrong I’d been.
I tried to pull it together, at least enough to give him an equally casual “hi” or “see ya,” but I couldn’t. I lowered the phone, watching the screen wink to black when I pressed End.
Chapter 25
In some ways it was easier after I locked Jack away. After the phone call I wished I’d never made. Zander and I were a recognized couple at school. I could stop looking for Jack in every Tom, Dick, and Ryan I saw, put my hopes and memories in a tiny box in some dark recess of myself, and just focus on Zander. My boyfriend.