32. 2018

Texts sent on December 25, 2017 at 9:31am:

Cassie Belford: Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal!

Weston Maguire: Hitting the eggnog a bit too hard there, Cass?

Cassie Belford: Don't be a grinch.

Cassie Belford: It's Christmas morning, I'm entitled to be cheerful.

Weston Maguire: I know, Sky woke me up three hours ago with a series of loud carols. Merry Christmas :)

Cassie Belford: Are you at your mom's today?

Weston Maguire: Yeah, but my dad and Peter are coming over later.

Cassie Belford: Has Sky told your dad yet?

Weston Maguire: She and Peter told him last week. It went pretty well. He gave the 'dad' speech we were expecting and then shook Pete's hand.

Weston Maguire: I think he squeezed a little harder than necessary, but no harm done.

Cassie Belford: That's nice.

Weston Maguire: What about you? Are you and Simon doing Christmas at home?

Cassie Belford: No, we're at a cabin with his family. Well, they call it a cabin, but it's massive. The Christmas tree looks like someone stole it from Rockefeller. It's excessive.

Weston Maguire: Psh, rich people.

Cassie Belford: Very funny. Are you still planning to come for New Year's?

Weston Maguire: Yeah, I'm looking forward to it. You're sure it's okay for all of us to come?

Cassie Belford: Obviously. Simon wouldn't have invited you if it wasn't okay. There's going to be over a hundred people at that party. Mrs. Idzik invited some politicians and other "important" people, but it's mostly friends and family.

Weston Maguire: Awesome. I'll see you then. Gotta go help Sky with the gingerbread house.

Cassie Belford: Of course you do.

. . .

to: cassbelford95@gmail.com

from: westonalmaguire@gmail.com

subject: Happy Anniversary!

sent: January 16, 2018 at 9:08am

Hey Cass,

Okay, so I know you're probably still feeling weird about New Year's, but you're going to have to get over it. Today is a big day. Need a hint?

Are you a participant in the tradition of violent, albeit organized, sport? Are you a capable writer?

It's been a whole fucking year since I responded to the flyer you left on my locker (the first of multiple times you were in that locker room.) Isn't that crazy? I can't tell you how grateful I am for that goddamn flyer. Seriously, imagine how different everything would be if I hadn't seen it.

Back to New Year's, I know you said things were okay, but you've been acting weird since the party.

You don't need to be embarrassed. We were all drinking, and I kissed you back. Honestly, if you hadn't done it, there's a good chance I would have kissed you first. It doesn't have to be a big deal. It was the countdown! You basically have to kiss someone. If you hadn't planted one on me we'd have to deal with a year of bad luck or something.

Speaking of bad luck, the Waxers lost both of their games this week. I'm trying to think of a way to boost their morale. Any ideas? Lena thinks I should bake them cookies, but I feel like that might compromise my authority.

Wes

. . .

January 30, 2018

Dear Diary,

I can't believe I'm a published author.

The party for Stamp of Approval was nice, though it did feel a little unnecessary. There were so many people, and I hardly knew most of them. They all wanted to take photos and ask me what I'm going to do next... it was weird to be the center of attention in that particular way. Still, it was nice to see how proud people were. Especially Mrs. Idzik. She invited a bunch of people from work who all went home with copies of my book that she'd insisted I sign.

"Our Cassie is going to be the next great American Author," she told them. I loved that, Our Cassie.

Lena and Wes came as well. They stood awkwardly to the side while I did my best to mingle, but I caught them bragging about me a few times.

I'm glad things with Wes worked themselves out. I was worried that I'd ruined everything with that kiss.

He'd been so fucking warm and funny on New Year's Eve. It didn't hurt that he looked amazing in his suit. I watched Sarah's cousin eye-fucking him all night, and there was no way in hell I'd let that happen.

The alcohol didn't help either.

He'd looked at me with such unfiltered happiness and laughed. "Hey! We match!"

It was the same thing he'd said to me the evening we went out for dinner. His dark green tie was indeed the same colour as the dress Mrs. Idzik has picked out for me. That color did something wonderful for his eyes.

The kiss surprised us both, but he'd responded eagerly. I pulled him down by his stupid matchy tie (even in heels, he's a foot taller than me) and kissed him as hard as I had that night at the drive-in. I felt his arms encircle me, holding me against him. He groaned when I pulled back. People were cheering, and 2017 was over.

"Holy shit," he muttered.

Holy shit, indeed.

I couldn't sleep after the party. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling until 7:00am. The ceiling in our old apartment had been covered in little popcorn looking bits that I'd always found distracting. I would try to make different pictures out of the lumps and bumps, like constellations, when I couldn't sleep. The Idzik house had exposed beams of dark wood on the ceiling. Lovely, but too fancy for a house. Now our ceiling is smooth and white.

Blank and untouched.

I was so worried that I'd fucked up the friendship he'd so generously offered me, but we've talked a lot recently, and things have been okay.

God, I hope the book does well. For the last year and a half, Stamp of Approval has been everything to me. I don't know how I'll handle it if people hate it.

Cass

. . .

to: cassbelford95@gmail.com

from: westonalmaguire@gmail.com

subject: The Times

sent: February 28, 2018 at 4:58pm

Cassie,

I just read the review in the Times, congratulations! I can't say I'm surprised, but I am so fucking proud of you.

Lena came by our apartment last night with a copy of your book under her arm and a copy of the review.

"I thought you already had a copy," Peter said, barely looking up from the game on tv.

Lena shrugged off her coat. "I do. This one is for my mom. I'm going over there for dinner." She passed me the article without explanation.

"You're not staying?" I frowned. "We never see you anymore."

She huffed. "Well you could always come see me. It's like a 30-minute drive." She sat down on the couch beside Pete and stretched her legs over his lap. He didn't seem to mind, and patted her sock covered feet.

"Want to get dinner next week?" I asked. "We'll come to you."

That seemed to satisfy her. We hung out for a bit, discussing your review and your book. Lena's a big fan.

We're going to go for pizza on Saturday if you want to join us. Lena and Peter want to watch a movie as well, but you can always just come for dinner. As Si if he's free, too.

Wes

. . .

Texts sent March 12, 2018 at 3:19pm:

Cassie Belford: Do you want to go bowling tomorrow?

Weston Maguire: Sure. Is anyone else coming?

Cassie Belford: No, it would just be us. Is that okay?

Weston Maguire: Yeah, of course that's okay. I'll text you tomorrow and we can figure out logistics.

. . .

March 29, 2018

Dear Diary,

I've spent a lot of time with Wes these last couple weeks. First, we went bowling. Then we went for coffee a couple days later. We went to lunch last weekend. And last night we walked around the mall since it was too cold to walk in the park.

If he was caught off guard when I reached for his hand, he didn't show it. My fingers were engulfed by his hands, but it only made me smile. I haven't held his hand in nearly a year. His size and stare once felt imposing. But I've gotten used to it. It's funny how normal it feels to be next to him.

We walked around the mall, chatting about friends and life, our hands still joined. It felt like a promise. Not for forever, but for now.

We were sharing a Cinnabon and sitting side by side at the counter when my resolve finally cracked. He'd been telling me about one of the kids on the team he's gotten attached to, all while shoveling dessert into his mouth. I hadn't grimaced or recoiled when he talked with his mouth full. I'd found it funny, endearing even.

I thought, you know, I'd still kiss him with his mouth full.

That realization made my jaw drop. Uncomfortable with such a thought, and confused by what it meant, I couldn't stop myself.

"Do you ever think about that email?" I asked, the words spilling out of my mouth faster than I could catch them. "The one you sent me last year, in May, from the hospital lobby." I didn't want there to be any room for confusion.

He froze, mid-chew. I couldn't look at him. I shifted my gaze to look at the counter in front of us and kept talking.

"I mean, did the feelings go away, or are you---" but my mouth snapped shut when he finally looked back at me.

His eyes were pleading with me not to go there. His lips, the same ones I kissed almost four months ago were pressed into a thin line.

I could see him begging me not to ask questions to which I couldn't handle the answers. Everything he'd been burying for the last ten months was rising to the surface. The pained look on his face said, 'we've worked so hard to be okay, don't make me fuck it up.'

"Sorry," I whispered.

He coughed and gave me a small smile, and it was like he'd shaken an Etch-a-Sketch, undoing the mess I'd made.

We walked around a while longer after we ate. He was looking for a new audio cable, and I was looking for a way to explain my outburst.

He didn't mention it again until he parked the car in front of my apartment building and pulled the keys out of the ignition.

"It hasn't always been easy with us, you know, with how things have to be. But it works, right?" he asked.

I nodded.

"It's not like it never crosses my mind. I just try not to let myself go there."

"I'm sorry I said anything," I said. I was unsure what else there was to say.

He pushed his hands through his hair. I love it when he does that. "I think we've been good for each other, you know? Platonic works for us."

Everything about his words were resigned. He'd told me what he thought I wanted to hear, and that knowledge didn't sit well with me.

The problem is, I know my feelings toward Weston are not platonic. I've felt things for him since the afternoon he found me in the library. Maybe not love, not at first, but they were important feelings that I fell asleep holding.

I'd known after our first date that I needed to get my shit together before anything romantic could happen between us. I'd been a work in progress (I still am), and he'd been willing to offer a friendship I was grateful to accept.

The space he's given me and the time he puts into being my friend aren't an illusion. I know, with confidence, that Wes and I would be friends and only friends until the day I die if that's what I wanted. We'd do our own things. He'd meet and marry a nice girl who I'd never quite like. Maybe I'd end up with someone else, too. Wes isn't waiting for me to change my mind. But now, something more than friendship between us feels attainable. Real.

Cassie

. . .

to: westonalmaguire@gmail.com

from: cassbelford95@gmail.com

subject: A proposition

sent: April 2, 2018 at 12:32am

Hey Wes,

I decided to wait until after April Fool's Day to send this email, lest you think it was a cruel prank.

I'm not sure if you're familiar with Hemingway, but he's considered one of the greatest writers in all of modern history. Most people agree that his strength as a writer was his ability to be direct. So, that being said, I'm going to get to the point:

I'd like to go on a date with you. A romantic, holding hands, sharing dessert, kissing goodnight, date. Actually, if I'm being honest, I want a lot more than a date.

The last year hasn't been easy. I've been trying to pinpoint the moment I stopped trying to convince myself not to fall in love with you. It's possible I'm already there. Unlike me, you are an easy person to love.

Your heart is big, maybe bigger than your physical form; you make everyone laugh; you love so generously. You're warm, strong, and kind in ways I can't wrap my head around. I'm never going to be able to match you.

But I don't think I need to be like you to be loved by you, right? You once told me that you love me. All of me.

Now, and I'm hoping it isn't too late, I can confidently say that I feel the same way.

I suppose that's a bit presumptuous. But I think you know me well enough to recognize that diffidence has never been my strength. If I am too late, and if you'd prefer we continue to correspond and spend time together as mere friends, I'd certainly be willing to try. I just don't think I have the level of patience you've shown in the last year.

Writing to you, and being in your life, has meant everything to me. I have no idea what the future is going to look like, or if we'll work as more than friends who write too many emails. But I'd like to try if you would be willing to participate.

Lena and I went grabbed coffee a few weeks ago. It was the first time I'd asked her to meet me, rather than the other way around.

"Everything okay, Cassie-bean?" Lena asked. She gave me the nickname and while I have no idea what it means, I like it a lot.

"Uh huh," I said. She ordered an espresso, and I was sipping a latte. "How is everything?"

Lena raised an eyebrow. "You asked me here to catch up? We just saw each other."

"Okay, fine." I dropped any facades. "I've been thinking about asking him out." I didn't need to tell her who 'him' was. You're the only guy I talk about.

"Finally!" Lena said. She threw her arms in their air, the epitome of overreacting. "It's about time. Peter and I were talking about how ridiculous this "friends" thing is getting, like last week." She actually used air quotes.

I wrinkled my nose. I mean, we're not children. "Do you think he'll say yes?"

Lena laughed at me. For a while. "You're going to have to ask him and find out for yourself."

But, I think I'm okay with the uncertainty and possibility of rejection.

Whether you and I end up together, date temporarily, drift apart or end in a fiery breakup, I won't regret it. Any of it.

Whatever we are and however we end up, writing to you mattered to me. I've felt so lucky to watch you figure out what you want from your life and am grateful to have been part of it. You're such a special person, Wes.

I'm a happier and braver person because I knew you. I will always love you for that.

Whatever you say, and however you feel, I hope you know how much I think of you; both how often and to what degree.

Love,

Cassie

. . .

Missed call from Weston Maguire (8)

. . .

Texts sent on April 2, 2018 at 1:27am

Weston Maguire: Hey

Weston Maguire: I'm in your lobby, the doorman won't let me come upstairs.

Cassie Belford: I'll be right down