31. SUMMER '17

May 30, 2017

Dear Diary,

Jesus. It's been ages since I wrote anything so lame. I haven't kept a diary since high school. I don't even remember how it works. Do I talk about the weather? My feelings? The cute boy in third period Spanish?

This feels ridiculous.

My trauma counsellor was the one who suggested that I keep a diary. She's a plump Filipina lady, who lets me call her Charlene instead of Dr. Remedios. She said that keeping a journal (although let's not shit ourselves---it's a diary) would be an excellent way to keep track of my progress and help me express myself.

Charlene's wide face lit up when I told her I was a writer during our first session, and I couldn't help but appreciate her trying to personalize my care. She seems good at her job, so we'll see how it goes.

Life has been quiet.

Mike demanded I take a break from my book to focus on myself. He said that he couldn't bear to see my bruised face over our video chats, and he wanted me to devote myself to getting well. His team sent me a large bouquet of pink peonies. I loved them.

Julie understood, but I think she was a little bit annoyed with me. Not that she'd ever tell me as much.

My days are spent reading, chatting with Simon and his family, attending therapy, doing therapy homework, writing to Wes, and a lot of Netflix. I've watched every available season of Grey's Anatomy.

We've been staying at Simon's parents' house since he was discharged. It's beautiful, but it feels far too fancy to be home. It's a temporary situation, but I've been looking forward to finding somewhere else, a place more my speed.

But then Simon surprised me last night.

"Cass, I bought a condo." He said this so passively, as if he was telling me about a pair of jeans he'd purchased, as opposed to real estate.

"Okay," I said. I thought he might be making a joke that I didn't understand.

"It's a three-bedroom, open concept, no exposed brick. It's not far from here, but closer to Kingston." He handed me some photos. "I think you should move in with me. At least until the wedding."

He and Sarah set their date---June, next year.

"I don't know. You two should probably have your own space. You're engaged, and I'd rather not be living as a third wheel." I really wanted to say yes, but I've been trying to be less self-centred.

"Sarah isn't going to live with me, not officially, until we're married. You know how her parents are. Plus, she lives only a few blocks from work."

I hesitated, still unsure.

"You're really going to make me convince you?" He tsked. "Do you want me to get down on one knee and tell you that I'd like for you to live with me? I'll do it, you stubborn goat."

Simon looks much better now than he did a few weeks ago, but he's still very frail. The idea of him kneeling made me frown. "No, no. Don't do that," I said quickly. "I'd like that, too." I tried to play it cool, but I was over the moon.

"Good," he grinned. We left it at that.

I texted photos of our new home to Wes as soon as Simon let me see them. Wes was excited for me, but a little irked; his new apartment is a real hole.

He and Peter moved in last week. It's old and it needs a lot of work, but they like the neighbourhood.

Wes and I have been emailing, texting, and occasionally calling since Simon and I got out of the hospital. It's been pretty wonderful to keep talking, especially since my company is so limited these days. We write a few times a week, usually about the things going on in our lives or stories we haven't shared before.

He and Peter started retail jobs after school wrapped up. Wes is at a Nike outlet, and Peter works at an electronic store in the same plaza. It's adorable; they carpool and eat lunch together on the curb between their respective stores.

I was so worried everything would change after we left Bader, but so far, it's not too different for any of us.

Cassie

. . .

to: cassbelford95@gmail.com

from: westonalmaguire@gmail.com

subject: Lena's trip

sent: June 15, 2017 at 2:16pm

Hey Cass,

I'm glad Simon's doing better. The last time I saw him he was in such rough shape, but it sounds like physio has been really good for him.

Lena left for Thailand this morning, so she stayed over last night to make sure we'd drive her to the airport.

It was fun, at first. Lena brought over burgers and made about 30 different desserts. She said she's going to miss plain old burgers and fries while she's away.

"You're the one who decided to go to Thailand for four months," Peter said. His mouth was full of half chewed fries. "You're gonna miss Wes's games in September."

It was the opening I'd been waiting for.

"Actually, after a lot of thought, I've decided that I'm not going to do it. Rookie camp, I mean. The coach understood."

Lena was surprised, but Peter lost his mind. I shit you not, he actually choked.

"How could you not play?" he sputtered.

"I gave it a lot of thought, and you know what you said about playing for the kid I used to be?" I asked and Peter nodded, still shocked. "Well, I'm not that kid anymore. It wasn't an easy call to make, but I just know that it's not what I really want." I'd rehearsed the speech plenty of times. "But I have this other offer."

Peter frowned. "You're going to get signed without rookie camp?"

"What?" I asked. "No, no, this has nothing to do with the NHL. It actually happened while I was at work last week. Do you remember Coach Bateman?" I waited for Peter to nod, which he did reluctantly. "He came by the store and he mentioned an opening for the AAA Waxers. He wants me to coach them."

For a long time, nobody spoke.

"You're giving up a shot at the NHL to coach a team we played on ten years ago?" Peter asked this slowly, as if the words were in a different language.

"Bateman said I can start in a couple of weeks when the kids are done with school and summer training starts," I told them. "Look, I know it might not make sense---"

Peter laughed loudly, cutting me off.

Lena excused herself to go to sleep, and I spent an hour trying to make Peter understand. I told him that I'd rather work with kids, build up my resume and revisit teaching. I told him that I didn't want a career in hockey... but he wasn't having it.

"Come on, man," I said. "We both know I'm not cut out for the pros."

"But you are, that's the fucking thing, Wes! You're good enough to make it. You might not be Hall or Toews, but you're good enough to make it your career." I thought he might cry.

"Even if it's something I'm good at, it isn't what I want," I said. I kept my voice gentle, but firm, like you'd suggested. "I know it's not a choice you understand, but I hope you can respect it."

He left it at that. But, he also hasn't really talked to me since. I felt terrible for ruining Lena's last night at home.

I think he'll come around, though. Pete loved playing AAA. He'll be at every one of their games. He'll probably even make signs and t-shirts.

Let me know how tomorrow goes. It sounds like Charlene is starting to get the hang of talking to you.

Take care,

Wes

. . .

July 9, 2017

Dear Diary,

So, I'm writing to you from my (well, Simon's) new place. I can't feel any of the muscles in my legs. Moving is hard.

It's a good thing Wes and Peter came to help, because Simon and I were useless. Maybe not completely useless. Simon paid for the truck and the guys who moved in the big furniture.

It was nice seeing them both again, but it was especially good to see Wes.

We hadn't seen each other since the morning Simon had been discharged from the hospital---a few days after I'd received his rather heartfelt email. But it's almost as if the romantic part of our history never happened; not in a bad way, but in a very comfortable, no-worries-it's-all-good, way.

He made jokes and goofed around with Pete and Simon. He even helped me make lunch for everyone.

Towards the end of the day, one of the movers asked for my number, and Wes teased me. All in good fun. Not even a whiff of jealousy.

I told the mover, thanks but no thanks, and spent the rest of the afternoon watching Wes carry heavy boxes. He's got really nice arms.

Cassie

. . .

Texts sent August 18, 2017 at 8:55pm:

Weston Maguire: I need you to ask Simon how to go about removing my eyeballs.

Cassie Belford: That isn't a very nice thing to say. Simon still has his eyes, they just don't do very much.

Cassie Belford: What happened?

Weston Maguire: Peter and Skylar. Bed. Door was unlocked.

Cassie Belford: Dear Lord.

Weston Maguire: I didn't actually see anything. But I got the gist.

Weston Maguire: And now I'd like to be hit by a car, please.

Cassie Belford: You didn't knock?

Weston Maguire: Peter never knocks on my door!

Cassie Belford: I think you should consider updating that policy given the fact that he's dating your sister.

Weston Maguire: You think?

Cassie Belford: What did they do?

Weston Maguire: Screamed. Stopped. Very, very awkward.

Cassie Belford: Go take a walk, maybe get some ice cream.

Weston Maguire: Ice cream won't fix this.

Cassie Belford: It couldn't hurt. It might help to get far away from the situation.

Weston Maguire: You're probably right.

Cassie Belford: I'm always right.

Cassie Belford: You should sit on a park bench and stare at the ducks paddling around the lake. You can question your entire existence a la Holden Caulfield.

Weston Maguire: You lost me there. Anyway. I'm going to go scream into a pillow.

. . .

to: westonalmaguire@gmail.com

from: cassbelford95@gmail.com

subject: Wedding bs

sent: August 30, 2017 at 8:09pm

Wes,

Simon and I have decided that my title for the wedding will be The Best Friend. We toyed with the idea of The Best Lady or The Best Woman, but it seems like that title should belong to Sarah. It is her wedding, after all. I refuse to be called a man, best or otherwise, so The Best Friend is the most fitting role, I think.

Contrary to your suggestion, I'm not going to wear a suit. Simon says I can wear whatever I want, so long as it isn't white.

The Best Friend doesn't get to go wedding dress shopping (I'm still bitter about that), but instead needs to ensure that Simon pays the vendors and doesn't wear an ascot. It's much less intense than being Maid of Honour. That role is being played by Sarah's annoying cousin, Jess.

She cried for an hour the day they signed the venue's contract. She was very against an outdoor reception.

It feels so weird to not be getting ready for school. I keep seeing sales for pens and printers, and it's making me a little emotional. I've been so busy getting back on track with the book and helping with wedding plans that I lost track of the date. I'd normally be reviewing my class schedule and looking for new notebooks.

How was last night?

Cass

. . .

to: cassbelford95@gmail.com

from: westonalmaguire@gmail.com

subject: Re: Wedding bs

sent: August 31, 2017 at 9:48pm

Hey Cass,

Well that sucks. I was hoping to see photos of you and Hank in matching tuxes.

Last night was good! The team is still a bit rough, but there's a lot of talent. Especially with the new kid, Jamar.

We did three hours of drills yesterday, and he blew my fucking mind. He's a good player. Fast and smart... and his reflexes are unbelievable. I swear, he could have kicked ass on my team last year. The biggest thing working against him is his attitude. He's having a hard time getting along with some of the other guys, which makes the team dynamics a challenge. Peter has met with him to go through practice drills a couple of times, and that seems to be helping. I'm hoping he just needs some extra attention.

It's definitely weird to not be going back to school right now, but I can't say I'm emotional about it. The games will be picking up soon, and I'm excited to see how they do in the league.

Things are feeling more copacetic. I know I went back and forth a bit about my decision, but I'm a lot happier coaching the Waxers than I would have been pursuing a career as an athlete.

I'll give you a call sometime this weekend, but I'm completely wiped right now. It's not even 10:00pm. How sad is that? I'm basically 80.

Goodnight,

Wes

. . .

Texts sent October 31, 2017 at 11:38pm:

Weston Maguire: Happy Halloween!

Cassie Belford: The most bizarre holiday of them all.

Cassie Belford: Trick or treat?

Weston Maguire: Treat. Definitely treat.

Cassie Belford: I'm at a costume party.

Weston Maguire: Seriously? What'd you dress up as?

Cassie Belford: ...a cat.

Weston Maguire: Oh, come on. I expected more from you. Maybe a cute pun, or a literary character whose name I don't know.

Weston Maguire: I thought you were going to pass out candy tonight?

Cassie Belford: We left a bowl and a 'Take One!' sign

Weston Maguire: You know those never work, right? Peter and I robbed many a Take One Bowl in our day.

Cassie Belford: I'm trying this new thing where I attempt to believe the best in people. Why else would I attend a costume party?

Weston Maguire: What's the crowd like?

Cassie Belford: There are a lot of scantily clad superheroes. I just saw Iron Man making out with Captain America.

Weston Maguire: I'm not surprised. They radiate sexual tension.

Weston Maguire: Are you feeling okay?

Cassie Belford: Yeah, I think so. There's a big crowd near the kitchen when we got here. That was a little overwhelming. But I'm feeling fine now.

Weston Maguire: Where's Simon?

Cassie Belford: With some friends from work. His co-worker is hosting.

Weston Maguire: Is it the guy you told me about last week? The one who keeps messaging you on Instagram?

Cassie Belford: No, not him. That guy is in his thirties. This one graduated from Bader a couple of years ago. His apartment is twice the size of mine.

Cassie Belford: Ugh, fucking Instagram. I know it's for book promo, but good lord, it's exhausting. I think I might need to start writing under a pseudonym.

Weston Maguire: Don't write under another name. Just wear a mask when you're out in public. They'll probably be on sale tomorrow with mask season being over.

Weston Maguire: Want me to call or something? I can come pick you up if you want.

Cassie Belford: No, that's okay. I'm going to try to engage with these engineers and their friends. I'll call you tomorrow?

Weston Maguire: Sure. Be prepared for plenty of pussy (cat) jokes.

. . .

November 20, 2017

Dear Diary,

Charlene has recommended cutting our sessions down to once every two weeks. I'm not really sure how to feel about it, since it seems like she only just switched me to a weekly appointment. I know it isn't the case, but it feels like she's trying to get rid of me.

I told her as much, and she shook her head vehemently.

"Cassie, how would you say you've been doing recently?"

I shrugged.

"In comparison to how you were when we first started seeing each other, how have you been feeling?" she persisted.

"Lighter, I guess. Less anxious," I admitted. "But I'm still not better."

"What does "better" mean, though? You haven't had a panic attack in months, the medication is going well, you're developing new relationships. Aren't you going for coffee with Lisa tomorrow?"

"Lena," I corrected.

Wes's best friend came back from Thailand and started work at a marketing start-up nearby. She'd asked me if I wanted to go to trivia with her last week, and I'd agreed---the theme was American Literature and we won by 30 points. Trivia led to texting, and now we're going for coffee tomorrow.

I liked the idea of having a friend like Lena. She's funny, and she reminds me of Wes.

Speaking of Wes, I haven't seen or called him in almost two weeks. We've texted a bit, but he always seems to be busy. He's trying to renovate his and Peter's apartment using YouTube tutorials and the advice of Home Depot employees. Lena says it looks like a big mess, but I don't know, I think he'll pull it off.

I accepted Charlene's rationale, and agreed that twice a month would work for me. I have been feeling better lately, and the medication I started taking seems to be helping with my general mood. But I get worried that it'll all come crashing down. It seems unlikely that good things stay good.

Cassie.