Page 33

CHAPTER 32

HOLDUP—WAIT

CASS

I feel lighter after seeing Wilder, and Cricket does too—she’s back to her chitterchattery self through the short ride home. It isn’t long before Patty and Paul come to pick her up, which annoys me…more often than not, they show up when they want to, disrupting any plans we have. And when we bring it up, they smile and blow us off and say they forgot to call.

It would be fine, if they tried. But besides being impolite, it smacks of disrespect, as if they don’t owe us any explanation. Wilder doesn’t want to start shit with them, and he has a good point—it’s very clearly unintentional, just parents of a certain generation being themselves. So I keep my opinions to myself. Soon it won’t matter anyway. For now, we have to keep them happy for fear they decide to fight us for custody. I don’t think they would at this point, but why risk it?

So we smile back and wave goodbye and grumble about it when they leave.

Today, the Wilsons and I have a brief conversation about everything with Avery and make plans for meeting at the muster tomorrow. By four thirty, she’s gone, and I’m alone. At first, it’s not so bad—I work on getting caught up on grading, but after the emotional expense of arguing with Avery’s mom and fielding Cricket’s admissions, I’m fried.

When Jessa texts me, it’s decided—she’s coming over. And when Shelby texts after that, she’s coming over too. By the time I scrounge a charcuterie together, they’re walking in the side door and pouring drinks, and we end up sprawled across the living room.

Hours later, we’ve barely moved.

Shelby is sitting sideways in the armchair, her long legs hanging off one arm. I have no idea how she’s comfortable like that, but she’s relaxed and happy and laughing, so somehow she managed it. She looks like a supermodel—I’m not even exaggerating. If she had ever given a shit about such things, she could have gotten an agent and ended up on Paris runways. At nearly six feet tall, she’s lean and fit with legs that don’t quit. So beautifully tanned by hours in the sun that sometimes I force her to take her socks off just to make me feel a little better about myself. The sock tan is fierce . She has the cutest little nose and light hair, but her eyes are almost exactly the same shade of amber as Wilder’s, a shock of whiskey gold against her tan, lightly freckled nose and cheeks.

How every straight man in the county isn’t beating her door down is beyond me. Not that she has time to date—she teaches English and coaches Varsity softball, assistant coaches the rec league, and somehow finds time to dispatch part time. That is, outside of April and May when she’s busy with the softball season.

Currently, we’re laughing at teaching stories, the last of which was about a suspicious vibration in a student’s purse that thankfully ended up being a phone. If she hadn’t said, Please, God, let that be a phone , the kids might not have died laughing, and she might not have just died .

“Shakespeare is always funny, though,” she continues. “We read aloud in class a lot, and there are always laughs during the first scene in Romeo and Juliet when Capulet says, ‘Give me my long sword, ho!’” She raises her hand in the air like she’s holding a sword. “In Hamlet once, someone read a line from Ophelia, ‘To speak of horrors—he comes before me.’ And one of the boys was like, ‘Damn, that’s messed up.’”

“Protect that boy,” I say on a laugh.

“Oh, or when Claudius says, ‘Oh, yet defend me, friends; I am but hurt!’ but they always say it butthurt .”

I shake my head. “I don’t know how you do it all. I only have one job and I can’t keep up with my grading and lesson plans. Meanwhile, you’re working all the jobs.”

She laughs, undoing her ponytail and shaking out her hair. “Yeah, and I’m never home, I barely sleep, and I’m pretty sure I have what I’m pretty sure is the beginning of an ulcer. You’ll get the hang of it. Seriously, the first year is the hardest. Once you have it all set, it gets easier. I mean, think about it—you have no resources, so you have to scrounge everything you teach up from scratch. You’ll build up a bank, though, so planning will get easier every year. Statistically, most teachers quit in their first couple of years because it’s fucking tough . Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

I sigh. “Maybe I should ask Cheryl if she has any resources I can use. Or is that like…frowned upon?”

“Definitely ask her. I’m sure in elementary it’ll be a little friendlier but…well, don’t be surprised if she doesn’t want to help. I don’t know why everyone’s so territorial. It’s crazy to me that new teachers are thrown to the wolves without anything but their degrees and some state guidelines to follow. Look, your goal for this year is easy—survive. That’s it. That’s all you have to do.”

I snort. “Tall order, Shelbs. It’s possible I’ll die by homework avalanche before Christmas break.”

She turns, her legs gracefully swinging in front of her. “We can help with grading. Wilder can too.”

“Really? He doesn’t need like…training or anything?”

She laughs. “It’s first grade, Cass. He can manage. Where is it? We can work on it together.”

I make a face. “Why do you look excited about it?”

“Because I’m sick to death of reading high schoolers’ terrible AI English papers. The thought of going over first grade spelling sounds like a vacation.”

“I’m too beat tonight. Please, don’t bother with it.”

“Is it in here?” she asks over my school bag. “I really don’t mind.” Ignoring my protests and slapping my hand when I try to stop her, she pulls a stack of papers and a couple of red markers from the pocket of my bag. She splits it and hands half to Jessa, who looks at her glass of wine, sighs, and sets it down to take the homework instead.

“Well, now I feel bad.” I stick out my hand for my share.

“Nope, we’ll do this and it’ll at least put a dent in it. Conserve your strength so you can attack it this weekend. Wilder will be off to help. Put that man to work.” She makes a whip crack sound as she sits.

“He already does so much.”

Shelby gives me a look. “He’s off two full days for every one he works. Trust me, he has time.”

“I know, but he’s also figuring out how to be a dad and dealing with custody and everything.”

It’s Jessa’s turn to make a face at me, and I’m pinned to the couch by both of their gazes.

“And you have nothing to figure out or deal with?” she asks.

“I mean, I do, but it feels trivial by comparison.”

“You are currently pretend married to your ex and navigating motherhood ,” Jessa points out.

“On top of your first year of teaching,” Shelby adds. “I’m with Jess. None of that is trivial. What exactly is Wilder doing?”

I swirl my wine around its glass, trying not to frown. “He takes Cricket to all her appointments when he’s off work. And practices and therapy. He does the laundry, too. Plus, he’s just so good with her—if she needs anything, he’s there for her. For both of us, really. It’s weird how easy it is for him.”

Shelby doesn’t seem to agree. “He’s always been a doer. When he sees a need, he fills it, and will happily suffer so someone he loves doesn’t have to. It’s what makes him such a good leader too—everyone knows they can count on him. He always comes through. So it doesn’t surprise me at all that it at least looks easy for him. Having a kid is practically catnip. And with Cricket being so Cricket ? He never stood a chance.”

“He’s wrapped around her little finger,” Jessa says. “All of us are, really.”

“I’ve got it bad ,” I admit. “Today, without even thinking about it, I thought of her as mine. I mean, I know she isn’t. Not really. But I love her so, so much.” Sadness seeps into me at the thought that she might never be mine.

“Legally, she’s about to be yours,” Shelby points out.

“Well, a lot of the fake things happening around here are legal,” I answer. “That doesn’t make them real.”

Jessa and Shelby share a look and bust out laughing.

Offended, I fold my arms. “What’s so funny?”

“Wait,” Shelby starts, swiping her hand in the air. “Are you two seriously still pretending like you’re not down bad?”

“No, really—wait,” Jessa jumps in. “When ever was Wilder pretending?”

They cackle. I mad dog them.

“I haven’t been pretending about how I feel,” I argue. “I have been very upfront about the obscene things I’d like to do to Wilder.”

Shelby makes gagging noises. Jessa just giggles.

“Fifteen years, and it never gets easier,” Shelby says, her face sour.

Jessa has not forgotten her point. “Have you really not been sleeping together? When that granny stopped you from sucking faces at the game the other day, I was absolutely convinced. It was obscene, really, the way you were wrapped around his waist with his hands on your ass.”

“You’re one to talk! Once Remy did it to you when you were supposed to be pretending, except you had on a dress. And no. We really haven’t.”

“Oh, come on,” Shelby says. “Admit it. We have seen y’all together—you’re not fooling anybody. There is no way you’re not already banging”—she makes a horking noise—“Blech, why does it taste bad?”

“Hang on,” Jessa says. “Let’s say you haven’t?—”

“We haven’t!”

“—you’re quite obviously madly in love with him.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” I take a sip of my wine with my nose in the air.

“Really?” Jessa is watching me intently. “Do you really not have feelings for him?”

“None. Not even a stitch.”

“Cassidy.”

“Jessamine.”

“You have been living with and publicly married to him for near a month. We have all seen you together. Will you really lie to me and tell me you feel nothing for him?”

My face falls. I set my glass on the coffee table so I don’t have to look at her.

Her eyes widen. “Wait—do you not know you’re in love with him?”

I cave, groaning as I bury my face in my hands. “I don’t know,” I finally admit into my palms.

“Yeah, you do,” Shelby says helpfully and takes a drink of her wine.

“I can’t be! It’s bad. It’s terrible.” I can’t face them.

“Why is that bad, darling?” Jessa says on a laugh in her British accent that makes everything sound classic and expensive. “I rather think it’s a good thing. Isn’t it?”

My hands leave my face in order to slap my thighs. “No! And I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. The other day, we were talking about Cricket’s birthday, and he went off with ideas about centerpieces for it. Centerpieces , Jess. How am I supposed to survive when he’s out here throwing centerpieces around? I swear to God, if he busts out some burlap ribbon or even mentions baby’s breath, I’m just gonna hand him my panties and give up. Let the river take me.”

Jessa makes the mistake of taking a sip of her drink in the middle of my rant and nearly spits it out, coming up coughing when she swallows.

“It’s not funny,” I note, but I’m trying not to laugh as I hand her a glass of water.

“Yes it is,” Shelby says, and Jessa nods, still clearing her throat.

“Why on earth should you be holding out still?” she asks.

“What do you mean ? You agreed I’m not ready!”

Jessa folds her arms, tilting her shoulders. “And when did I say that?”

“Like a thousand times!”

“Name one.”

A frown weighs my face down. “Well…I…you said that…I mean, when I told you about the whole thing, you said?—”

“I asked you what you needed from me, and you said support.”

I blink, my brain clicking through memories. “But you helped me come up with icks.”

“Because you needed a plan and I was being supportive. You said you weren’t ready, and I wanted to help you. Never once have I said it’s a bad idea.”

“No.” I’m shaking my head as I realize she might be right. “No way.”

“If you’d asked me for my opinion, I’d have told you things you didn’t want to hear.”

“Like what?” I challenge.

She straightens, her blue eyes blazing with victory as she ticks each point off on her fingers. “You’re in love with Wilder. He’s in love with you. You have been ready to move on since the bonfire at least . And most of all—you never really, truly loved Davis.”

My jaw is unhinged and my eyes are testing the elasticity of my eyelids. “I’m sorry, what?”

“That’s right,” she proclaims like Sherlock Fucking Holmes solving the mystery of Cass’s burning love. “First, the moment Wilder caught you naked in front of that bonfire. It was so obvious how you felt, you could have seen it from space.”

“But we weren’t even anything then!”

“Exactly!” she declares. “I honestly thought he took you upstairs to claim you for all the pheromones you were flinging about the place. Second, I have spent weeks watching the two of you traipse around town pretending, and I have never seen two people so perfectly obsessed with each other in my life. Even just the sight of you together sets some wrong in the universe right.”

“She’s right,” Shelby adds, watching intently, save the smirk on her lips. All she’s missing is a bucket of popcorn. “Always have been like that.”

“Third, and most importantly,” Jess continues. “You’re over Davis. Mostly because you never loved him in the first place.”

I gape at her. “A few months ago I was in a church, minutes away from marrying him.”

“Yes, well, he was a despicable cunt, wasn’t he? Love isn’t possession, Cass. It’s not control or safety or contentment, either. He did not truly love you, and you didn’t love him either. How could you? I could tell you a million ways I’ve seen you adore Wilder these last several weeks, far more than in ten years with Davis.”

“I was pretending!”

“Ha! That is a lie , Cassidy Winfield,” Jessa says.

I reel from the truth of it. “But I…I’m not ready. Am I?”

Jessa sighs and sets her glass down so she can take my hand. “Darling, I’m going to hold your hand while I say this. Yes, Davis hurt you. Yes, he humiliated you. But tell me—were you devastated because you loved Davis so very much? Because you miss him? Long for him?”

I scramble around in the jumble of my feelings. Surely I do. There must be a piece of me that misses him, even just a little.

If there is, I can’t find it.

I see on her face that she knows.

“My darling, not too long ago I thought I was in love with someone else. But I wasn’t in love with Henry—I was in love with the idea of him. It wasn’t until I found Remy that I could see it. Because until him, I hadn’t been truly loved. Think about Davis. About your best times. About every good little moment and the big ones too.”

My chest buzzes with warmth as she continues.

“Now, think about Wilder. About the kisses and the laughter and all the little moments you’ve shared with him here at home. Imagine him with Cricket. Think of the way he looks at you, because we have all witnessed it, and no soul on earth could withstand that much love in one glance. Now how do you feel?”

Tears well in my eyes, partly from the pain of my heart exploding into fireworks.

Knowingly, she smiles.

“Were it different, if you loved Davis desperately, I’d agree. It would be too soon. But I don’t believe you did. And so, it’s my opinion that you’ve mourned long enough. If that’s what’s stopping you, I grant you permission to move on.”

I can’t say anything because I’m blubbering, so she pulls me into her arms. All this time I’ve been in a glass cage, and now that it’s been shattered by the knowledge, I’m free and fluttering and flying away, having shed what held me back.

It’s a good long moment before I’m composed enough to sit back. Shelby is at my elbow with a wobbly smile, her eyes all glittery too. And Jessa just looks lovely, content, her cheeks flushed with happiness.

A laugh slips out of me, and in the end I give her a look. “I cannot fucking believe you knew this whole time and didn’t tell me.”

And for a while, we laugh, and I cry, and I’m honest with myself for the first time in a decade. Ever since I said I do.

All I have left to do is tell him.