Authors: Brandi Kennedy
"Hey, Cass," he puffs, coming to a stop next to where I'm sitting. "Mind if I sit with you a minute?"
"Go ahead," I say, gesturing to the ground beside me.
"Okay," he sits next to me, pulling one knee to his chest and draping his arm over his knee, trying to look relaxed. "How are you?"
"I'm good," I say quietly. "Mostly. You?"
"I miss you," he says, plucking blades of grass in an effort to avoid my eyes.
"I miss you too, Drew. But I just feel like the whole breakup thing is inevitable. Relationships end, you know? And I don't want to fall in love with you, and watch you walk away. Or turn on me."
"My parents have known each other all their lives," he retorts. "And they prove that relationships don't have to end. Not if the people in the relationship are willing to work on it, Cassaundra. And I don't know what the hell happened, but I'm willing to hear about it, and I'm willing to work on it. I'm not planning on just letting you slip away from me, because the fact that I miss you means you hold a place, here." Pressing a hand to his chest, he finally looks me in the eye.
"Drew," I whisper, wishing I could believe in him. My thoughts are racing in the chaotic pattern of a tornado, viciously confusing and unpredictable. Images of Rick rise up to taunt me, followed by memories of my sisters offering to back me up, to defend me.
Which dog am I going to feed?
"Why won't you talk to me?" Drew breaks into my thoughts, and I realize I don't have a good answer.
"You terrify me," I say, honestly, watching in shock as he flinches. He looks as if he's been punched, and for a moment, I'm confused.
"You're afraid of me? Is that what this is all about?" he asks, his voice quiet and tortured. "Cass, you're afraid of me?"
"Not the way you think," I answer, reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder. "I'm not afraid of you physically, Drew, please don't think I'd ever see your past as anything against you. We talked about that, and I told the truth of how I felt about it. Drew, what you did to save your partner was heroic. I'm afraid of you, right here," I whisper, placing my hand over my own heart, mimicking his gesture.
"Because of Rick," he says, bitterly, looking away. I can't help it feeling that this is it; this is the part where it gets ugly. I sit, helpless, waiting for him to say something hurtful. This is the moment I wanted to avoid, the moment where his frustration with my insecurity is more than he can stand, the moment I had tried too hard to prevent.
Closing my eyes, I lower my face, tensing for the verbal assault that has now become an immediate certainty.
"Don't you see what you're doing?" he asks me, and the anguish in his voice forces me to look back at him. "You've been expecting all along for me to tell you something awful when I'm angry. You've been expecting all along for me to turn bitter and vile, for me to fill up with hatred. You've been waiting for what we have to turn into something ugly. And then you can walk away and tell yourself that you were right, and that it was unavoidable."
Sitting up straight, I refuse to give him my pride. I refuse to cower.
"What if I have?" I ask. "What if it's something I can't help?"
"Well, then you were absolutely, one hundred percent right, on one thing. I'm going to disappoint you terribly, Cassaundra Keaton," he whispers furiously.
Bracing myself, I wait, my eyes meeting his.
"I'm going to let you down, and I'm going to enjoy every single second of it," he says, leaning in closer, in order to keep our conversation private. "I'm going to disappoint you miserably."
"Is that so?" I ask.
"It's exactly so," he growls, and the anger in his eyes has now reached a level that makes me glad we're in public.
"Even now, you expect something terrible of me; I can see it in your eyes. And I refuse," he spits. "I refuse to live up to what you expect of me. Because. I. Am. Not. Rick."
Gasping, I can only continue to listen to his tirade. Sitting there on the grass with sweat cooling on our bodies and the sun warming our backs, I have nothing to say, no response to what he's telling me.
"I will not turn on you. You want to see what will happen when I'm pissed off? Fine, here's me, pissed off. You think I'm going to turn vicious on you and say horrible things about you, that I'm going to attack you and make you feel low and unworthy?"
I can only nod helplessly, as tears pool in my eyes. He swallows, closing his eyes. Finally, he turns back to me, and he goes on.
"I'm sitting here, Cassaundra, and I'm watching a sweaty girl with tears in her eyes. She has wild hair that's frizzed up in the heat, and she's red in the face with the utter embarrassment of being caught in that condition. And she's beautiful, and she's funny, and she's fascinating. And all I can think is, 'she doesn't think I'm good enough, or strong enough, or man enough.'"
The pure honesty in what he says shocks me into speaking the truth for the first time. "It's not that at all, Drew, it's me, it's that I don't feel good enough. I don't feel that you can stay attracted to me, that you can want me, at least, not for long. God, Drew, look at me." The heartache of letting these words pass my lips is a real physical pain, and the tears I've been struggling to hold back finally flood and fall away, trailing down my cheeks like rivers of misery.
"I am looking at you, can't you see? I'm looking at you, the same as I have from the first day, the same as I did when I fixed your tire. And your rejection is crushing me, Cass, but I'm not going to stay angry, and I'm not going to attack you. I'm going to tell you that I miss you, and that I still want you, and that I wish you had more faith in me. But Cass, I'm not going to beg you to be with me. If you change your mind, and you want to talk, please call me, because I want to talk. I want to work it out, and I want us to try again. But I can't make a relationship succeed alone, Cass, you have to be in it too. Think about it, and come around on this. We can do this, if you'll just trust me."
He rises to his knees beside me, and leans down to kiss my forehead. Then he gets up, and he leaves me there, with my head in my hands, tears leaking between my fingers. When I look up again, he's gone.
"You're really in?" Chelsea asks, her eyes widening in surprise. "Wow, I know this is something you need to do, Cass, but I seriously didn't think you'd go for it."
"Are you sure you want in on it, Chelsea?" Renee asks.
"Uh, yeah!" Chelsea exclaims, with a light slap on Renee's upper arm. "Renee, Cass has been part of our family for so long, and Rick too, and the whole thing just needs to be stopped. He's ruining her life. I'm in, you know I'm in. I just never expected Cassaundra to really go for it."
"Well, I'm going for it," I say with a grin. "I can't take it anymore, I'm just sick of it. And Dr. Caswell was right, I'm feeding the wrong dog. Rick is representative of everything miserable in my life, you know?" They nod, smiling like twin bobble-head dolls, and I can't help laughing.
"Seriously, guys. I've been able to let go of so much, you know? My mom and my grandparents and my father; even before he died, he was dead to me in so many ways. And it was rough for me, growing up with no place that was mine. But you guys created that for me, and I've let Rick spoil so much of it, just because I was afraid to stand up for myself, and I guess there was a part of me that was afraid it would all come out and Janet would be disappointed in me or something."
"She's not," Renee laughs, shaking her head. "I think she's half the reason Rick is so hateful, having to live next door to her and listen to her talk about you all the time. She's so proud of you, Cass, for growing up like you did and still turning out like you have. You're smart and gorgeous, and dedicated, and the only thing Rick really hates is that you've moved on and he apparently hasn't."
"Exactly," Chelsea says, leaning over the coffee table to steal a sip of my wine.
We've just finished dinner, and after making Renee promise not to steal my vase in the middle of the night, we've settled in my living room for the evening. Chelsea has already changed into her pajamas, a pair of silk shorts covered in peppermints with a matching camisole. Fresh from the shower, her wet hair is wrapped in a towel, her face fresh and glowing beneath her terrycloth headdress.
"Have you talked to your therapist about all this?" Renee asks.
"I did actually," I answer, leaning forward to snatch my wine glass up before Chelsea can reach it again. Lifting the bottle from the floor beside my foot, I slide it gently across the table to her, laughing as she widens her eyes in mock excitement.
"He likes the idea, that's when he was telling me the whole wolf thing with the Native American legends. He says I've been trying all this time to fight back, and Rick just keeps coming, so it's time I find some reinforcement. He seems to think you two are perfect for the job, because Rick obviously values you guys, and is more likely to respond in a positive way with you there."
"And if not, I guess we can always count on mom to lay into him," Chelsea mutters.
"Have you talked to Drew since the break-up?" Renee asks, tilting her head as she pulls her honey-colored hair over her shoulder and starts to braid it.
"Only once," I say. "I haven't answered any of his calls or anything, not even when the flowers were here. But the other day I was out running, and he was there."
"Oh, yeah, perfect time to run into a guy you like, right?" Renee laughs. "When you're sweaty and feeling gross. Unless, you know, you've morphed into one of those women who can feel sexy, even when she's covered in salt slime."
"Nope, no dice," I laugh, and then shake my head. "The crazy thing is, I felt fine while I was running. For a while, I could even forget about my weight, you know, because my body loves the work of running. I can't explain it other than to say it feels good to me --"
"Weirdo," Chelsea butts in.
"Anyway," I continue, rolling my eyes at Chelsea, who laughs at me and pours more wine into my glass. "It's like, being healthier, and smaller, and I feel lighter, and --"
"Uh huh, on to the Drew stuff," Chelsea says.
Sighing, I roll my eyes again, and this time, it's Renee who's laughing. "You two are too much," she giggles.
"Okay, so I'm running --"
"We've heard," Chelsea mutters, and I shoot her a look while Renee pretends to slap her with a pillow. She sticks her tongue out, crossing her arms in silent promise to listen quietly.
"I come around the corner, and there he is, and he's running right at me. And he's delicious as always, all muscled and sweaty and fit and, just himself, you know? And I was so happy to see him because I'd missed him, but I just feel like none of it matters right now, not when things are the way they are with Rick."
Catching a look from Renee, I rush to finish. "I know I'm always going to encounter people who have something to say, people who think I'm too big, or I'm not nice enough, or I'm too nice, or I dress wrong, and I don't act the way they want. I get that. And I don't even know why Rick has grown to this monstrous proportion for me, but I just know I can't take it anymore. Something has to give with this, and it's him or me. I can't keep running into him like this and having him act so hateful, whether he's feeling it or not. You know? Like I can't ask everyone to like me, but I have a right to ask for respect."
"Yeah that stunt he pulled in the mall was too much. Isn't he crossing the line into harassment or something?" Chelsea asks.
"Honestly, Chels, I don't know."
"You should ask Drew," she teases, waggling her eyebrows at me. "Did you guys talk at all, when you ran into each other?"
"Yeah, we talked a little," I say, smiling.
"And how was that?" Renee asks.
"He wants me to get back with him, and try again. He was so angry, you guys, angry because he feels like I'm turning my back on him, like I'm blaming him for Rick or something."