Learning to Love Again 2 Read online

  “Nope, I’m just ready to get my leg back.” Cassie was confident; she was ready. She was headed back to work in a week, and she wanted to do so without the cast. She would be more effective and efficient without the anchor weight on her leg, of this she was certain.

  Michelle was a stocky woman in her early 50s with salt and pepper hair and a gentle look about her. She laughed under her breath—a habit she didn’t even know she had—as she pulled up a rolling chair to the exam table where Cassie lay patiently waiting, Rachel standing at her side flipping mindlessly through screens on her phone. She’d taken the afternoon off from her dental practice to be with Cassie; she wanted to be there when the cast was finally removed.

  “Alright Miss Cassie, let’s do this, shall we? This may feel a little weird, but don’t worry, it’s fast. I’m just going to use this tool to cut both sides of the cast and then we’ll pop it off, okay?” Michelle had removed thousands of casts; she could do the job in her sleep if she needed to.

  As she began zipping the rotary tool the length of the cast, she could feel Cassie’s body tensing up. It was a normal reaction to the vibration of the tool against a person’s skin, so she kept going, switching sides of the cast as she successfully made her first cut. When she reached the top of the second cut, she persuaded the cast ever-so-gently and popped it off, revealing a very pale, very shriveled lower leg.

  “It looks good, honey,” Michelle said confidently, noticing the look of shock appearing across Cassie’s face, two significant scars exposing themselves to the light of day for the first time. “Those scars will diminish in time, especially if you put some scar gel on them every day for a couple of months.”

  It was too late for reassuring.

  The sight of her pale leg and the stitches where the bones had been set during surgery was apparently too much. Cassie felt the room getting uncomfortably warm, her stomach turning into knots of nausea, and then the lights went out—at least the light in her head did.

  She fainted, but she was already laying down, so at least she didn’t do any damage.

  When she came to, Rachel was holding her hand and whispering in her ear, encouraging her to wake up. She had a wet washcloth on her head and a Sphygmomanometer attached to her arm, the cuff constricting to take her blood pressure.

  “What happened?” Cassie asked, confused.

  “You’re okay, you just passed out,” Rachel offered, gently squeezing Cassie’s hand. “Do you remember?”

  “I remember it was really hot all of a sudden.”

  “You’re going to be okay, honey, but we just need you to relax. Your blood pressure is really low, but you’re fine,” Michelle directed as she handed Cassie a glass of juice. “Drink this, okay?”

  “How embarrassing . . .”

  “Babe, it’s fine, you’re fine,” Rachel reassured, patting Cassie’s shoulder, “you’re just a little queasy.”

  Just then, Dr. Radner showed back up, gave Cassie’s leg a quick inspection, deemed her worthy to walk as soon as her blood pressure normalized, and sent her out into the world with instructions to start physical therapy the following week. As it turned out, being worthy to walk was one thing; actually being able to walk another altogether.

  When Michelle determined she was stable, when the worry of any further passing out had passed, she slid herself off the stainless exam table, the paper cover crinkling as she shifted. She put her weight on her good leg, and then tried to lift the leg that had been lame for a month, expecting it to respond as it always had. It was tiny in comparison to the other side, but felt impossibly heavy. How was she going to walk? It wasn’t happening.

  “Here,” Michelle offered, handing Cassie her crutches, “you’re probably going to need these for a little while. Don’t worry, honey, it’ll come back to you. You just need time.”

  THREE

  “Hey,” Cassie said nonchalantly when Jess answered her phone on the first ring. “How are you?”

  “I’m good, I guess,” Jessica replied, hesitation evident in her tone. She wanted to talk, but she didn’t know where they stood. The last time she’d talked to her best friend, it was under strange circumstances, after she’d kissed her at Rachel’s house. She’d scurried out of there so fast, embarrassment filling her to the very brim, she didn’t even know where to start to patch up their fractured relationship.

  “Hey, we’re good, right?” Cassie pressed, determined to break through, determined to fix things. One ill-advised kiss shouldn’t ruin years of friendship.

  “Yeah, we’re good . . . how are you? How was Christmas?”

  “I’m good . . . it was good. Hey, what are you doing tonight?” Cassie skipped over the pleasantries and got straight to the point. “Want to have dinner? Alejandro’s? We have lots to talk about—how about doing it over weak coffee?”

  The truth was, Cassie didn’t want to have this conversation on the phone. She wanted to tell Jess about Rachel, wanted to share the excitement of getting engaged, and it was in-person conversation material. She’d kept it in for almost a week at this point. Deep down, she knew she was nervous. She wanted to tell Jess the news, but she didn’t want to hurt her friend with her own happiness.

  “I . . . uh, I have a date tonight, but how about coffee this afternoon?”

  “You do? That’s great! What’s his name?” Silence filled the air with the weight of untold secrets. Cassie thought perhaps the call had been dropped. “Jess? Still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. His name, well . . . he’s a she. Her name’s Lana.”

  “Holy crap, are you serious?!”

  “I’m so serious.” Jessica said, sinking into her couch, the cushions letting out a gentle hiss as she did. She really needed a new couch. This drab grey IKEA special she’d had since college was just about worn out.

  “This definitely calls for coffee. I want to hear all about it. Meet you at two o’clock?”

  “Yeah, it’s a date. Black Dog?”

  “That’s great, I’ll see you there.” Cassie said as she hung up the phone, and then muttered to herself, “Wow, I really wasn’t expecting that.” She was certain Jess was straight; there was no question in her mind. But, she was curious to hear more about this upcoming date with the mysterious Lana. Maybe Jess needed to experiment. Maybe she needed the attention. Maybe, just maybe, she was bisexual? Who knew, but all of a sudden her news seemed less earth-shattering.

  # # #

  Cassie was already sitting in a lounge chair in the back corner of Black Dog Coffee when Jess got there, her atrophied left leg hidden by denim, the only outward indication of her injury the crutches leaned against the wall behind her. The coffee shop was buzzing with activity, its comfy couches and chairs full of hipsters writing the great American novel, FaceTiming with their long distance friends, or simply staring at their phone screens and swipe, swipe, swiping their way through mindless distractions. Black Dog was new in town but developed a following fast. Its coffee was better than the national chains and its dog-friendly policy didn’t hurt either.

  “Hey, you,” Jess offered with a smile, “no cast!”

  “Nope, I’m officially on the road to recovery,” Cassie said, putting her phone down on an end table and pushing herself up out of the chair with an audible hmpf so she could give her friend a hug. “You ought to see this thing, it looks like I have a chicken leg it’s so pale and shriveled.”

  “Well, if anyone can come back from it, you can,” Jessica offered sincerely, dropping her bag in the chair next to her friend. “Hey, let me get a coffee first, okay?”

  As Jess walked away to order her drink, Cassie couldn’t help but think about how their relationship had gotten them here. They’d had coffee so many times over the years. She’d always thought people come into your life at the right time for a reason; they serve a purpose, provide a lesson. Sometimes they’re a catalyst for change. Sometimes they let you see things in yourself you couldn’t or didn’t before. Sometimes they stick around after their initial
purpose has passed; sometimes they don’t. Adult friendships are so different from childhood friendships, Cassie realized. Childhood friends are brought together by circumstances almost solely centered around location. Adult friendships are more complex and not dictated by a two block radius around one’s house. People come and go, driven by the rhythm of their own dreams and passions, on their own accord and choice.

  As she watched Jess interact with the cashier, she sighed aloud. Cassie hoped Jess would stay in her life; hoped they’d continue to be friends as her reality evolved and she built a life with Rachel, but she didn’t know if that would happen. They’d been there for each other through so many things—as single people in their 20s—but now, things were changing. They were getting older, more mature. Their interests were shifting, their goals evolving. They were still united by their professions and could probably talk endlessly about the law, but her life would change when she got married. Cassie knew marriages can cause changes in friend groups. It’s not intentional, at least not usually. It just happens.

  “Okay!” Jess said with a smile as she placed her mug on a barn board coffee table and slid into the leather club chair that awaited her, purse landing on the floor with a quick flick of the wrist. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “Yeah,” Cass agreed, taking a draw from her mocha, “it does. It’s been so long you’ve decided to start dating women, huh? What happened?”

  “Hmm . . . where to start?” This was going to be a touchy subject, and Jess knew it. She’d met Lana the same day she’d tried to kiss Cassie not even a week prior. She’d been so distraught by her actions that she’d gone to Lady Bird Lake—her thinking spot—and just stared at downtown Austin for hours, watching the sky change with fiery abandon as the sun set against the skyline. That skyline had changed so much in the time since she was in college, a physical reflection of how time never stands still, life is fluid, progress is inevitable. When she couldn’t take it anymore, when her thoughts just wouldn’t move on from the repeat cycle they’d locked on—why she’d kissed Cassie—she’d asked her friend Steve from work to go for a drink with her. She met Lana at the bar that very night. “That day, the day I . . . when we last saw each other, I went out for a drink with Steve.”

  “Oh, Steve, how’s he doing? You haven’t mentioned him in forever,” Cassie interjected as she folded a napkin into squares, her hands showing her nervousness about what was to come in this story. Her nervous hands always gave her away.

  “Oh, he’s fine. He’s dating a bartender at this gay bar on 6th, so we went there for a couple drinks. I was telling him . . . crap Cass, we can’t avoid this topic . . . I was telling him how I stupidly tried to kiss you. I’d had that weird dream, I was confused. I made a mistake, I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are, it’s okay, really. We don’t have to dwell on it, it’s in the past. Go on.” Cassie would brush it off, not make a big deal about it. The fact that Jess was already moving on was good, no need to dredge up any more awkwardness.

  “Okay, so we were just chatting, and there was a band setting up for a set, and I noticed the bass player.”

  “So far, this story sounds very normal. You saw a band, you saw a bass player, nothing new there, friend! When did you meet Lana?” Cassie thought this story sounded almost like every story about how Jess met Mr. Right Now, right down to the bass player. Sometimes it was a drummer, sometimes a singer, but it was often a bass player, which she’d always found funny since the bass player is typically the least stable member in any band. And, Jess’s dating history proved that theory—she had been through just about every bassist in Austin, it seemed.

  “That’s the thing. Lana is the bass player. I noticed her tuning her guitar. I just couldn’t seem to look away. Steve called me on it—he noticed, apparently I’m not that subtle. Anyway, later that night before they started their set, she was tapping on my shoulder. And when she did, God, I felt this spark of electricity throughout my whole body. I’d never felt that before.”

  “You’ve never had chemistry with someone, huh?”

  “I thought I had, but I’ve definitely never felt that. Anyway, she was just going around talking to people about their set, getting input, but I couldn’t let it go. It was so weird. I was just so transfixed by her, so I did something crazy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I asked if she’d like to go out some time and asked for her number. And then, the craziest thing is, I actually called her.”

  “Wow, this is . . . just wow.” Cassie ran a hand through her dark blonde hair, long overdue for a haircut. She’d neglected it since the accident, minor life maintenance items taking a backseat to trying to manage life in a cast.

  “I know. So, anyway, I called her, and she asked me to come see her band play tonight at The Back Door and for a drink after.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Yeah, really nervous,” Jess said as she poured a packet of raw sugar into her mug, turning a plastic stir stick to mix it in. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “What do you mean? Of course you know what you’re doing. You love live music, so that part’s easy. You’re a lawyer, you’re a good conversationalist, you know about a lot of different things. It’s just a date! Go have fun and just talk to her. You can do that, right?”

  “I guess so. It’s just, I don’t know what happens next. What if she asks me back to her place? What if I don’t like it? What if . . .”

  “Okay, take a breath,” Cassie interjected before Jess spun herself into a frenzy. “She didn’t ask you to go to bed with her, right? She asked you to a show and a drink. You can do that. First things first. Besides, there must be something there or you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I just don’t know what I don’t know,” Jess said, casting her eyes to the coffee table, unable to look at her friend. She had so many questions, but didn’t feel completely comfortable asking them considering the circumstances.

  Just then a little boy with ginger hair in loose ringlets toddled to their feet, his mother two steps behind him, apologizing profusely. He had broken loose of her grasp and made a beeline for Jess’s purse, his little hands poised to dig in. To an outside observer, he could be Jessica’s son—the hair was a dead ringer.

  “Sorry,” the young mother said as she scooped her son up and walked away, her outfit screaming that she was on her way to yoga class, but she probably wasn’t. She was probably just one of those people who wore yoga pants as a wardrobe staple, and she could pull it off; it worked.

  Cassie caught herself staring just a beat too long, not at the mother, though she would’ve taken in those yoga pants in the past, before Rachel. Instead, her eyes were on the boy, her mind wandering to the potential of family someday. She zoned out briefly, but came back into the conversation to hear the last bit of Jess’s statement, something about not knowing what she didn’t know. “What do you want to know? You can ask me, you know.”

  “I know, and I kinda asked you about it a while back at Alejandro’s,” Jessica admitted, her eyes trained on the cup of coffee and the barn board table that supported it. She had asked this question before, and she felt the need to ask it again, for some strange reason.

  “Wait, are we back on the ‘what goes where’ conversation?”

  “I guess so. I mean I know what happens with two women, but I don’t really know in all practicality . . . ”

  “I could tell you, but that would probably be weird and uncomfortable, right?”

  Jess nodded in agreement. Already, this conversation was weird and uncomfortable.

  “Okay,” Cassie continued. “Here’s what you need to do. You can read some lesbian erotica, but if you have a date tonight, you don’t have a lot of time. I doubt you’re going to bed with this woman so soon, but if you’re concerned about it, get on Netflix and watch some episodes of The L Word. Just fast forward if you need to, but you can learn a lot in a short amount of time wit
h that show. It’ll get you the basics.”

  “Alright, that’s a good idea, thanks. I like her for some reason. I don’t want to mess it up.”

  “That makes sense, if you like her. But, you’re not going to mess it up, trust me. Women are so much more understanding than men, so much more patient, so much . . . better.” Cassie encouraged as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She really needed to get that haircut. She still didn’t think Jess was gay, but she certainly wasn’t going to dissuade a little experimentation. “If you do go to bed with her, just be honest. Tell her. You might be surprised. You might have the best experience you’ve ever had.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “You’re going to have to trust me on this one, okay? Think about it. Most men have a very ‘get in and get out’ mentality. Women are different. They want affection, they want foreplay, they want to bond. At least most do. They know how things work. I don’t know your bass player, so I can’t say, but I’m just telling you from my experience.”

  “I trust you,” Jessica said, confidence building, a smile appearing on her face again, those emerald eyes twinkling from the overhead lights. “So, that’s enough about me, what about you? How was your holiday? How was it getting the cast off?”

  As Cassie started to speak, she reconsidered. She had fully intended to tell her friend everything: about her new blog, fainting on the exam table when her cast was cut off, and most importantly, getting engaged. But now, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go there. Jess was having a potentially life-changing experience, and she wanted to talk more about it.

  “Wait, tell me a little more about Lana. What’s her band’s name? What’s she like?”

  “The band’s name is The Crickets. I have no idea why; I guess I’ll find out. I don’t know that much about her. She’s tall and thin, kinda wild brown hair—you know the type, a little spiky like she doesn’t spend much time on it, but she really does?”

  “That sounds about right,” Cassie agreed. So far, Jess was describing a female version of the type of man she always sought. “Tattoos?”