to: cassandra.belford@baderu.com
from: weston.maguire@baderu.com
subject: I'm an idiot
sent: February 18, 2017 at 9:03am
Dear Cassie,
I don't know if it would help to hear that I'm sorry. I'm going to say it anyway though, because I'm so so fucking sorry. I'd like to say I'm an idiot, but that's not really a good reason, is it?
I read your email at 5:00am when I was still groggy and my eyes were only half-open. But after I'd read a few lines, I was wide awake.
Without any consideration for my roommates or neighbours, I let out a loud string of 'fucks', 'shits' and 'ah, fucking shits.' I was pissed at myself.
Peter came stumbling into my room, half asleep with ridiculous bed head. We both got our hair cut two weeks ago, but his grows back like mad. Usually, his mom cuts our hair, but we couldn't wait to go home. Lena told us we looked like ragamuffins.
"What's up, are you okay?" He actually sounded really concerned. It's normally me who's always worried about him, so it was a shift in dynamics.
Pete's a good friend.
I was already out of bed before he came into my room, I'd been planning on going to the gym. I sat down my desk chair, spinning around and letting myself get dizzy as a low-key punishment.
"I fucked up, I'm such an ass. Holy shit I'm such an ass."
Peter shrugged, not denying it. He got in my unmade bed, his head propped up by pillows. He has a habit of making himself at home.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"I'm a fucking disaster," I said, not ready to explain everything you and I are doing. We haven't talked about my new job very much.
"Is this about the girl you took to the fundraiser?"
"I didn't take her, we just went together."
Yes, I did find a date to the Valentine's Day thing. Her name is Mel, and she had asked me two days before. She felt weird letting me pay for her ticket, so we went as friends. It was fun.
Mel is on the dance team, so she taught me how to move "like a person rather than the inflatable balloon thing they have outside car dealerships."
She wore a red dress that matched her lipstick (another girl pointed that out, I didn't notice on my own). I asked her if she wanted to go out for real sometime, and she said yes. I miss dating and having a girlfriend. It's nice to feel needed... and girls are so soft. I'm not desperate or anything, but Mel seems pretty great, and I'm excited to see her again tomorrow.
It has to go better than my date with Amanda. I've only had one date that went worse.
It wasn't because of the girl, though. It was my fault.
It was when I was still going out with Rachel. We weren't very serious yet, but she really wanted to go to one of those art studios where you paint mugs.
I knew it was a bad idea. I was quite literally a bull in a china shop. The whole place had wall-to-wall shelving that held white ceramic mugs, flatware, figurines, vases, and whatever else that you could pick to paint.
I chose a bowl and Rachel picked something less functional. She was a smart girl, one of the most brilliant people I know. But what she planned to do with a small statue of a fairy, I have no idea.
Anyway, I sat down, already bored, to paint my bowl. We talked while we painted, and she kept telling me how glad she was that we were doing this.
I was awkward with the paintbrush and my bowl looked like shit, but I figured since Rachel was so excited I'd pretend I was excited to eat cereal from the damn bowl.
There was one little girl there with her mom. The mug she was painting looked about as good as my own piece. The kid whined about being bored and wanting to go to the pet store next door.
It was weird, you know, relating more to a five year old than the girl I was dating.
The studio kept the paint near the cash register, so if you needed more you had to walk across the room. About halfway through the evening, I get up to get more blue. It was fairly crowded, and this one lady pushed her chair back while I was behind her. I moved back quickly to avoid collision, but in doing so knocked into the table with the little girl. The table jostled, and her mug fell into two pieces on the floor of the store.
"Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" I shouted.
Shouting was not the best idea. Swearing was just stupid.
The kid's mom was nice, and she told me not to worry, but her voice was drowned out by the endless wail coming out of her child's mouth.
I was frantically trying to shove the bowl I made into the little girl's hands, telling her she could have mine, but her wailing continued.
I couldn't even look at Rachel.
I felt like I was going to pass out, from both the blood rushing to my head and the kid's endless crying. I offered to pay for it. I asked if I could take her daughter to the pet store while she finished painting. I'm pretty sure I even offered the kid a five-dollar bill from my back pocket. I also apologized about eighty times.
"Please, don't worry. Go back to your girlfriend." That lady was nicer than my mom.
The kid cried for the rest of the hour we stayed, and everyone else who was painting kept staring, not at her, but at me. Some of them looked sorry, like they knew it was an accident, but some people looked angry. Most of them looked angry.
Rachel told me that it was their mistake to have left the mug so close to the end of the table, which was sweet of her, but also bullshit.
"Art just isn't my thing I guess," was all I said.
I ended up giving her the bowl as a graduation gift.
Right now, I'm sitting on Lena's couch. After Peter came into my room this morning, he fell asleep in my bed. I went to the gym, and he was still there when I got back home. So now we're hanging out and watching a movie about the end of the world. Nobody seems to be paying any attention, though. Lena is complaining about clothes that look like they have pockets and could have easily been made with pockets, but are in fact, pocket-less.
I'm writing to you.
Peter is staring at the screen, but I don't think he's really watching the movie. I'm a little bit worried about him, if I'm being honest.
Later,
Wes
. . .
Texts Sent February 18, at 12:00pm:
Simon Idzik: Sarah just told me that you're going out with Lucas King tonight. Why am I only hearing about this now?
Cassie Belford: It seemed like the best way to go about it.
Simon Idzik: Don't do this.
Simon Idzik: He calls me Simon Wonder. He explained that it's a play on Stevie Wonder. He EXPLAINED that to me. So, he said it, and then decided it was worth elaborating.
Simon Idzik: You know, Sarah will understand if you cancel.
Cassie Belford: I realize that. But if I don't go, what does that say about me? I refuse to be scared of him.
Simon Idzik: It's not about being scared.
Cassie Belford: What else could it be about? I knew what I was signing up for when I told Sarah I'd go on the date. It'll be pointless, but ultimately uneventful.
Simon Idzik: Cass.
Simon Idzik: I've met this guy.
Simon Idzik: He isn't a very compassionate person.
Simon Idzik: We don't know what he might try to pull or how you're going to react.
Cassie Belford: I understand that this might not make sense to you...
Cassie Belford: But if I don't go, it feels like he wins.
. . .
to: weston.maguire@baderu.com
from: cassandra.belford@baderu.com
subject: Re:I'm an idiot
sent: February 18, 2017 at 11:18pm
Weston,
You are absolved. For both your assumptions and the destruction of that child's painted pottery. It was good to know that you were pissed at yourself, too. We're okay, you and I. Please know that this is a One Time Only Get Out of Jail Free Card. If it should happen again, you'll find that I'm much less forgiving.
It's interesting that you wrote to me about your worst date because I believe that I've just had mine. I don't date very often, and unlike you, I'd prefer things to stay that way.
I went as a favour to Sarah, Simon's girlfriend. A guy in her work-group, Lucas, had apparently been badgering her for my number since September. Sarah explained that their current project is a big part of her grade and she needs Lucas to pull his weight. She said that I'd be doing her a huge favour, and since she's been so accommodating about the fact that her boyfriend is my only friend, I decided I could spare the evening.
If only I knew what I was agreeing to put myself through.
Even his name, Lucas King is dripping with entitlement. He could be Lucas Carpenter or Lucas Smith. But no, he's the overlord, the ruler. The Elvis wannabe. But, I said I would go. So I went.
It was doomed from the start. Lucas showed up 20 minutes late. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt, which was either ironed or new, because it was pressed. He also wore dark jeans, held up by a braided belt. It was wide, it was shiny, and it was a lot. I wasn't sure if I should laugh or leave.
"Hey Cassie," Lucas said, he stood next to my chair as if I was expected to stand up and hug him.
I offered my hand for him to shake. His palm was clammy.
"Hi." My plan was to say as little as possible. It's a strategy I've found to be very effective when it comes to interacting with people I have no interest in knowing. I figured we could both walk away from this with our dignities intact, and his working relationship with Sarah fully restored.
"You look amazing."
"Thank you." I smiled tightly.
"I can't believe you agreed to go out with me. Sarah said you don't date much."
I shrugged.
"Did you have a hard time getting here?" he asked.
"No, it was fine. Short walk."
"Yeah me too," he said, reaching for his glass.
I couldn't help but ask, "so, then why are you late?"
"I couldn't figure out what to wear." He grinned, as if I should find that charming.
And you decided on that belt?
But I promised to play nice, so I nodded as if that made sense.
He asked me a few questions, many of which required single word answers, and he answered questions that I hadn't asked him.
The strangest part of the whole night was his face; he kept winking at me. When our food came, he finally gave me a break and let me eat in peace. Lucas was talking about a television show he likes or hates (I didn't care which) when he reached across the table and took a french fry off my plate. Yes, I ordered fries.
"What the fuck?" I asked, temporarily forgetting myself.
He laughed like I'd made a joke. "C'mon, girls never eat all their food." He winked. His seventh wink since he'd sat down.
"That," I said, staring at the fry in his fingers, "is an attitude that contributes to body shaming and disordered eating."
He put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I don't want to ruin our evening."
He really thought it was going well. Perhaps I could forgive the tardiness, poor table manners, one-sided conversation, etc. but I could never excuse stupidity.
A few minutes passed in silence.
"Cass?" I'd never given him permission to shorten my name.
"Mhm?" I was mid-chew.
"I've liked you for a long time."
I couldn't help the laugh that followed. It wasn't even a cute girly laugh. No, my laugh was loud and mocking. He looked so serious. His eyes were so wide, his body language so forward and vulnerable.
He ignored my laughter, just as he'd ignored everything else. "My friends are so jealous. Dan asked you out last year and you said no." Eight winks total.
Daniel. He sat beside me in an American Lit class in third year. He didn't talk to me at first, but he occasionally made jokes during class. I liked Daniel. He was nice and he always smelled good, but when he asked if I wanted to grab lunch and go over a book we read for class, I'd told him I was busy.
He still sat beside me and made jokes after that, but he never asked to see me outside of class again. That was fine, though. Daniel was nice. I could respect him.
I declined the offer for dessert, hoping we could get the cheque faster. I ended up counting the lit candles around the restaurant while Lucas ate his crème brulee.
"So, tell me about yourself." It was the first time he'd asked me something that would require a real response.
"What do you want to know?" I asked. I really wanted to go home.
"What are you into?" And that made nine winks total. In an hour. You weren't there, but there was something implied in the way he said it. He wasn't asking about my interests or how I spent my time. He was looking for something personal, something sexy. A kink. Hopefully one that matched his own brand.
I was no longer concerned about repercussions for Sarah.
"Do you really want to know?" I smiled, putting on a show.
He nodded emphatically. It was disgusting how he perked up.
I leaned toward him, the stupid look on his face egging me on. I dropped my voice down to a whisper and did my best to make him feel as nauseous as he'd made me all night, words I'd never repeat in civilized company.
Squirm, you fucking snake.
He leaned back immediately. For the first time all night, he'd really heard me. "Cassie... that's fucked up."
I relished the look of shock and confusion on his face.
Thrilled by the shift in power, I continued to play and let out a dramatic gasp. "Oh, Lucas. Haven't you heard? All pretty girls are fucked up." I threw him a wink for good measure.
And that, Weston, is a truly bad date.
Cassie
. . .
to: cassandra.belford@baderu.com
from: weston.maguire@baderu.com
subject: Re:I'm an idiot
sent: February 19, 2017 at 12:02am
Hey Cassie,
Wow. I'm about to go to sleep but I wanted to write back first. To be totally honest, I don't know if I should be scared, or turned on.
I'm sorry you had such a shit date. I know Lucas King. He was in my freshman politics tutorial, and he caused at least three arguments. Pete said that Lucas belongs with the maggots, whatever that means.
I'll write you a proper email tomorrow.
Hopefully I can come up with something to cheer you up.
Later,
Wes
This was one of my favorite chapters to write! If you're feeling generous, vote and comment. I LOVE love.