Jason's POV
Catherine's family was a lot different than I expected. For one, her mum doesn't look anything like I remember from when I was younger. Not surprising. When I was twelve, I wasn't checking out my classmate's mothers because I was more interested in frogging and football than girls.
But I wasn't twelve anymore, and right now it was a fact that Barbara Moss was hot. I'm not talking "she looks good for an older lady" kind of hot. I'm talking she could have starred in one of those CW shows my sister watches. As a mum, of course, but an insanely hot mum.
I saw where Catherine got her looks.
Her dad seemed like a nice guy and not overly stuck up at all, which was a relief, because the last thing I needed was to be turned out because my parents didn't vote for him in the last election. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and we chatted about football while he grilled up some burgers. Mrs. Moss had walked in while I was packing up my laptop and invited me to stay for dinner. I said yes because truthfully, I wasn't ready to go home yet-being around Catherine made me feel good and-and these days, I'd take some good when I could get it.
When I was with Catherine, I didn't think about the word seizure or picture contorted freaks in my head. We studied the public budget, debated certain merits, and though I'm sure I skipped words or said some things wrong or backward, she didn't point it out or make me feel like a loser.
I'd been doing that a lot more since Thursday, but the doctor told me that it would happen when I was under stress, and if having a seizure isn't something to stress about, I don't know what is.
Speaking of stress, I was getting the feeling that I wasn't the only one who was dealing with it. Something was off with Catherine. She'd gotten really quiet when her mother got home, and a lot of times I'd caught this weird look in her eyes when she was looking at her father like she was halfway too sad. And halfway to anywhere other than happy isn't a great place to be. I should know. I'd been halfway to somewhere else throughout this last year.
"Burgers are ready," Mrs. Moss said as Catherine's dad walked in from outside.
Mrs. Moss insisted that I sit beside Catherine, and once we started eating, her little brother Billy kept the conversation rolling with 101 questions about music, football and cars. The kid had noticed my Dad's car the first time I had picked up Catherine, and like most boys under ten, he had a one-track mind. Now it was cars, but when he got to my age? Yeah. We won't go there.
Billy asked me at least three times if I would take him for a spin, and each time, I told him that the car was in the shop. Technically, it was true. Dad was fixing the carburetor, and I didn't feel the need to share the fact that I had to go six months without another seizure before I'd be able to drive again.
"The salad is great," I said, nodding to Catherine's mother.
She smiled this great big smile, and I sat up a little straighter.
"You're so sweet," she said, reaching for the wine bottle. "Isn't he sweet, Eric?" She poured herself another glass, took a sip, and then settled back in her chair, eyes on me before sliding to Catherine and then back to me.
"The caramelized walnuts and goat cheese are what makes this salad a standout." She giggled and I thought that maybe she'd been into the wine while Mayor Moss had been outside grilling up the burgers. "It's always been one of Eric's Favorites." She took another big sip of wine, "You still like it, don't you, Eric?"
A pause. I glanced around the table.
"My salad?" Mrs. Moss asked, emphasizing the words as if they meant something other than what they really did. That was the thing about adults. Why don't they just say what they mean?
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as Mayor Moss frowned and took a few moments to answer. "Of course I do, Barbara. You're a wonderful cook."
"Yes," she said softly, and for one second, I thought she looked as sad as my mum used to look, back when I first woke up. It was fifty percent unsure and fifty percent afraid. "Yes," she said again. "I should make it more often."
We ate in silence, though when I say that we ate I mean that Billy and I dug in with gusto. Everyone else just kind of picked at their food, and I don't think Catherine ate more than two bites of her burger.
Mayor Moss cleared his throat and looked my way. "So, Jason. I understand that Catherine is helping you out with your economics exam."
I nodded. "Yes, sir. I...ah...I need it to graduate."
"What are your plans after you get your diploma? Catherine here has been accepted to Stanford."
Huh. She hadn't mentioned that to me. I shot her a quick look, but she was staring at her plate as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.
"I plan on heading to New York, sir."
He shook his head. "Please, call me Eric. What's waiting for you in New York?"
"Music," I replied. "There's a liberal arts college I want to go to, but that's not for sure just yet." Which meant I had no idea if I could do college.
His eyes softened a bit. "You've had quite a year. Your parents must be proud of how you're handling things. Working hard, moving on. Chasing your dreams."
I'm not sure proud was the exact word I'd use to describe how my parents felt about my situation. Relieved would be a better choice. Grateful even better.
"They had it worse than me." The words came out before I could stop them, and Mayor Moss gave a knowing smile.
"There's nothing more stressful for a parent than feeling helpless because your child is suffering."
I couldn't be sure, but I thought that Catherine snorted when he said that. A glance to the side told me she was still more interested in picking at her burger than eating it. Maybe I was hearing things.
"Jason." That was Mrs. Moss again. "Am I mistaken in thinking that you enjoy playing the guitar as well as singing?"
"I..."
My brain rolled back to this morning when I'd grabbed my Les Pauls and tried to run a few scales. They sounded like crap. I'd been too distracted and eventually had given up, playing a few chords over and over again until Hailey screamed at me to shut the hell up. She was still mad and blamed me for the fact that mum had grounded her an extra two days for her epic meltdown.
Maybe she didn't deserve it, but then, she'd apparently dropped the f-bomb more than once. My parents are fairly tolerant when it came to most things, but the f-word wasn't one of them. The f-word wasn't allowed. Ever.
"I'm slowly getting my chops back," I eventually replied.
She was filling up her wineglass again, and I caught the way Catherine's bottom lip stretched thin as she stared across the table at her mother.
"Eric used to play the guitar for us, but it's been a long time. Honey, why don't you get out your acoustic and play a song for us after dinner? That would be so nice. Don't you think that would be nice?"
"I haven't played in ages, Barbara."
"No," she answered, rolling out the one word. "No, there are a lot of things you haven't done lately."
Okay. Now she was saying what she meant, and I was wishing she'd kinda kept that one to herself.
"God," Catherine muttered.
"What was that?" her father asked, though his eyes never left her mother.
"Nothing," Catherine replied. "Nothing," she said a little louder before turning to me. "Are you done eating?"
There was still food on my plate, so technically I wasn't, but the look in her eyes said that I was.
"Yeah."
She pushed her hair back. "I'll take you home."
I had no idea what was going on with her family, but there was a weird vibe I hadn't noticed before. Mrs. Moss was reaching for the nearly empty bottle of wine, eyes on her husband, and I could almost hear the f-word falling from her lips. It was like she was daring him to say something.
From my experience, limited as it was, alcohol and weird vibes meant trouble. It was time to go.
I thanked Mr. and Mrs. Moss for dinner, and though they protested strongly and said dinner was going to be delicious, I think they were probably relieved when I left. Or at least, the Mayor was. Catherine's mother was already searching for another bottle of "God's juice," I think she called it.
I scooped up my stuff and followed Catherine out to the car, and we took off towards home.
Except we didn't go to my place. She kept driving, and I kept quiet. It just kind of felt right to sit there and not say anything. Eventually, she pulled into Cook's Creek and killed the engine.
"Do you want to..." Her eyes were shiny, her voice a little wobbly. I nodded.
"Yeah. We can sit by the water if you want."
I followed her to the edge of the pond and sat my butt down beside her. I wasn't sure what was going on, but something had happened back at her place, and I could tell that she was upset.
"Hey, are you alright?" I asked, nudging her with my knee.
She took a few seconds, shook her head, and whispered, "No."
Shit. I wasn't really good at this sort of thing. Most of the girls I'd dated-and not that Catherine and I were dating, so this was just a general snapshot of what I knew-but when those girls got all emotional, it was usually because (A) I hadn't paid enough attention to them (B) they thought I liked someone else,(hell, I couldn't help it if girls just loved sending me inappropriate messages), or (C) I'd just broken up with them.
My arms went around her shoulder, and she half-collapsed, half crawled into my lap, her face buried in my neck.
She was warm and soft and hurting. And suddenly I wanted to be the guy she confided in. The guy she turned to. It was hard to explain, but there was this rush of something that settled in my chest. It was tight and emotional and real. I knew it was real because it kind of hurt.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" I asked carefully.
She shook her head and settled in some more, the entire weight of her body sunk into mine. It was a weird time to think it, but the thought crossed my mind that we sort of fit perfectly together.
"No," she replied. "Can we just stay here for a while?"
Stay here for a while? Everything about this felt good, and I'd stay the whole damn night just to be her guy, the one she needed.
"Whatever you need."
"You must think I'm the most pathetic girl on the planet." She moved and glanced up at me.
I reached for a single, solitary tear that had slid from her eye and lay against her cheek. Carefully I wiped it away and shook my head.
"Nope, that's not even close. I think that as you said, you've got some stuff going on. Stuff that you're having a hard time dealing with, and I get that. I've been there. I guess we all get there sometime. It's just that some of us get there first and some of us stay there a long time. You need someone right now."
Her bottom lip trembled and her eyes slid away. I grabbed her chin so that she could see me. Really see me.
"And I'm glad it's me."
For a few moments, neither of us said anything else, and then she kind of shuddered and melted against me.
"Thank you," she whispered.
I'm not sure how long we sat there, but it was long enough for me to realize that I wanted to know this girl in a way I'd never felt before. This isn't about partying and hooking up. It wasn't about sex either (though I'm not going to lie, I'd be all over that if she was willing).
It was about meeting someone who kind of knocked you on your ass. A girl who wasn't anything like I imagined. A girl who was hiding stuff, and just like me, she was hoping no one would notice.
So maybe we could hide together, or maybe we could fix each other. Personally, I was pretty damn sure that my situation wasn't fixable. In fact, with a seizure, it had gotten worse. But maybe Catherine's situation was different, and as I held her and listened to her sobbing quietly in my arms, I thought that maybe I was the guy. You know, the one who would fix her.
Or at the very least, I thought I was the guy she'd let try.