Call Me, Maybe Read online

  ‘Not really,’ Lauren says, flatly. ‘None of us are even close to all this.’ She looks at Marie and me in turn, like she wants some validation, and we both shake our heads.

  ‘It’s true what they say, when you find the one, you just know,’ Rachel continues, dreamily. Then she looks at me pointedly. ‘Isn’t that right, Cass?’

  Marie and Lauren turn to me and stare, expectantly, waiting for details I am nervous about sharing yet. It could all so easily fizzle out and I don’t want to ever have to explain that.

  ‘You got a new boyfriend?’ Lauren asks.

  ‘No, stop it.’ I say. I’m embarrassed. And it’s not even true, even if I do want it to be.

  ‘Details, please,’ Marie demands.

  ‘You, especially, are going to love this, Maz,’ Rachel giggles. I shake my head again. Skewer a square of potato on to my fork and use it to mop up the tomato sauce it came in.

  ‘It’s really not that big a deal, and it’s sort of complicated anyway. And it’s not even really a thing, so…’

  ‘Oh it so is a big deal,’ Rachel scoffs. ‘She’s met the love of her life, and it’s definitely a thing. Do you remember, Marie? The love of her life!’

  ‘What?’ Lauren says, and I feel for her, because she didn’t know us when we were sixteen, so she won’t have a clue what it means to the rest of us. Rachel ploughs on.

  ‘If I said the name Jesse Franklin to you, what would you think?’

  ‘I’d wonder why you were bringing up the surly one in that boyband you liked once upon a time.’

  Rachel stares at her sister, widens her eyes. Marie looks confused. ‘Wait, what?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Rachel whispers, and I can feel my face flushing.

  ‘Can someone please fill me in?’ Lauren asks. ‘Should I know who this chap is?’

  Rachel carries on.

  ‘Lauren, do you remember that band, Franko? Four of them. Brothers. Famous for five minutes back in ninety-eightish.’

  ‘Not at all,’ she says. ‘I remember Hanson though.’

  Marie is smirking. ‘Don’t feel bad, Lauren. Nobody remembers Franko.’

  ‘Last Friday night Cassie went on a date with Jesse Franklin, who was the bass player in that band. When we were sixteen, she adored him. Worshipped the ground he walked on. I mean, really, she was completely in love.’

  ‘You were, too, Rachel,’ I interrupt. ‘It wasn’t just me. You loved Travis.’

  ‘Yes, but this isn’t about me,’ she says.

  ‘This sounds exciting,’ Lauren giggles.

  ‘Okay, we went out for dinner, and then… I stayed over with him, and he left me a voicemail before he left, and that’s that.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Marie says. ‘I’ve not thought about them in years. How did that happen?’

  ‘He had some gigs here.’ Rachel makes air quotes, which I’m not too sure about.

  ‘Well, he did.’

  ‘Yeah, but all I’m saying is that’s a long way to go for two nights’ work,’ she says, dismissively.

  ‘No,’ Marie says. ‘I mean, how did you get to meet him? You can’t have just randomly bumped into him. I don’t believe in coincidences like that.’

  ‘Alright, a while ago, Rach and I looked them up on the internet.’

  ‘Bit weird, but okay,’ Marie says, and now she’s beginning to irritate me.

  ‘And then Jesse and I just got talking. And we talked quite a lot. As in, almost every day –’

  ‘What did you talk about?’ she interrupts again.

  ‘Normal stuff,’ I say. ‘His job, my job, what we have been up to. Stuff I like, stuff he likes. You know. Regular things that people talk about.’

  ‘I’m confused,’ Lauren interjects. ‘I think you missed some bits out. How did it go from that to you meeting up with him, and then you having sex with him? And more to the point, exactly how did you start talking in the first place?’

  There are no flies on Lauren.

  ‘It’s probably fairly obvious how we ended up sleeping together,’ I say. ‘The same way people do all the time. As for how it all started, erm, I may have added him on Facebook, and he may have accepted that request.’ I say this bit quickly and quietly, because I’ve basically just admitted that I shamelessly stalked him and tried my luck because he is Jesse Franklin. ‘Then, he came to London for a couple of gigs, and asked if I wanted to hang out. So we did, and then… all… that… happened.’ My face is burning and my mouth is drying out. I knock back some more wine. ‘Bit warm in here, no?’ I can feel them all staring at me.

  ‘No,’ Marie says. ‘You’re hot because you’re all red. Also, that is a pretty bizarre story.’

  ‘Well,’ I say. ‘It didn’t seem at all bizarre last Friday night. Seemed pretty bloody marvellous actually.’

  Marie holds up her palms. ‘Consider me hushed,’ she says. ‘It’s all very cute. I’m sure you’ll end up living happily ever after. I’m sure you’ll have herds of bass-playing children and all your dreams will come true. And I’m absolutely convinced Rachel doesn’t wish this was happening to her and that little drummer boy she liked.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I say, and then to shut it down, ‘top-up, anyone?’

  ‘So, has George told you where he’s taking you on honeymoon yet?’ Lauren asks, helping me out by deflecting the attention back to Rachel. I am relieved.

  ‘No! He’s being completely evasive about it all,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Won’t talk about it at all.’

  ‘Let’s hope he’s arranged it,’ Marie says, and Rachel turns pale.

  * * *

  A little bit after eight on Sunday night my phone buzzes into life. I watch as his name flashes up on the screen. Jesse Franklin. Suddenly I’m nervous and excited all at once. I clear my throat and slide my finger across the screen to answer the call.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, and I hope I sound sultry and a little bit sexy. Like Emily Blunt or Thandie Newton.

  ‘Hey.’ My god, he definitely does. That accent. Lucky I’m sitting down. ‘You good?’

  ‘Really am,’ I say, and I can’t hide the smile in my voice. ‘When did you get home and what did you get up to in San Francisco?’

  ‘Yesterday evening,’ he says. ‘I was helping Lainey out, mainly, so I took my niece out a few times. We went to see the sea lions and I took her for a burger and to the park. Kid stuff, you know?’

  Jesus, my ovaries. He’s actually the best. Deeply gorgeous, talented and successful, and good with children. Fertilise me, please?

  ‘Well, that’s just lovely,’ I say.

  ‘Ah, I dunno. She’s a nice kid. Fun to hang out with. She keeps it simple. Plus I felt bad.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I was visiting them for July Fourth when I got the call about Kitten Tricks and I kinda broke her heart a bit by not being there for the fireworks.’

  ‘Sounds like you made up for it, though.’

  ‘It’s nice to talk to you, Cass,’ he says, changing the subject suddenly, and he sounds a little less confident and self-assured than when he was talking about taking his niece to the park. It’s almost as if he’s a little bit nervous to tell me that.

  ‘It’s nice to talk to you, too.’ I feel giddy again, like the first time we hugged in the bar, and the moment I knew we were going to kiss, and when he told me I was beautiful. I want to talk to you all the time, I think. I want you to talk to me about things you did in your days and about the things you did in your past and the things you wish for in the future. I want to be the first and last person you speak to every single day. I want phone calls to be the exception, not the rule. I want to see you again. When can I see you again?

  ‘So, what were your weekend plans?’ he asks.

  ‘Just mooched today. But I had a dress fitting for the wedding yesterday.’

  ‘Uh huh, so are you excited? Do you know much about it?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s going to be in a picturesque little church back near to where we grew up. Then the recep
tion is at this old abbey a few miles away. Pretty standard. Photos. Dinner. Speeches. Dancing. Money behind the bar. Handsy best man. That sort of thing.’

  ‘Pretty standard,’ he laughs. ‘That’s a nice thing to say about your best friend’s wedding.’

  ‘Ah, stop it. I didn’t mean it like that. It’ll be gorgeous. They’re very, very much in love.’

  ‘How do you feel about the handsy best man though?’

  ‘Eh, he’s harmless. Bit gauche. He’ll probably try to cop off with Lauren.’ I don’t want to tell him that he might well try to cop off with me too, and worse still, that the groom thinks it’s a good idea.

  ‘Is she another bridesmaid?’

  ‘Yeah, there are three of us.’

  ‘Awesome. October thirteenth, right?’

  ‘Right. Good memory.’

  ‘Ha. Well. It sort of segues nicely into what I wanted to talk to you about,’ he says, and again, that cautiousness is back. Again, he sounds nervous, and I’m beginning to think he didn’t ring up just for chit-chat.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ I say, and my voice is wobbly.

  ‘Uh huh. So, I know we left it pretty up in the air about… what happens next. You know, with how things were last weekend.’

  ‘We did,’ I agree.

  ‘On account of me having to get back. And I told you that I had some super busy weeks coming up.’

  ‘You did. Is that still true?’

  He laughs. ‘Yeah. But I was thinking on the way back from New York that maybe it doesn’t have to be.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’ I say.

  ‘You like adventures, right?’

  ‘I love adventures. Remember? Machu Picchu, the Grand Canyon. Spray on my face at Niagara, et cetera.’

  ‘Good. I was hoping you’d say that. Check your email,’ he says.

  ‘How did you get my email address?’

  ‘I did some detective work. And by that I mean it’s there for everyone to see on your Facebook profile.’

  I boot up my laptop and sign in.

  ‘There’s nothing there,’ I say, crestfallen. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I only just sent it. Like, whilst we’ve been talking. Maybe refresh?’

  And then, there it is. In my inbox. An email from him, which feels like a sort of dated yet still amazingly cool step up. And before I even click on the message I gasp, because it’s hugely exciting. So exciting in fact, that I can’t quite trust that what I’m seeing is true. I blink a couple of times, try and reset the image in my head, but it’s still there, and there’s silence on the other end of the phone whilst he’s waiting for my response.

  From: Jesse Franklin

  Subject: FWD: Virgin Atlantic e-Ticket Confirmation

  ‘How about California?’ he says.

  God, he’s smooth.

  ‘Is this what I think it is?’ I whisper.

  ‘You’ll come then?’

  ‘You just try and stop me,’ I say, laughing. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Whatever you like,’ he says, and now he’s laughing, too, and this shared joy crackling over invisible airwaves spanning half the planet is delightful. ‘It’s your vacation.’

  I scroll down, hardly daring to believe what I’m seeing, and yet there it is, in black and white. Heathrow to LAX, August twenty-ninth – exactly six weeks away.

  ‘Oh my god,’ I say. ‘How did you…? How is this…? I actually don’t know what to say. This is crazy. In a good way. This is the most brilliant thing ever. This is… God, thank you.’

  ‘So you’re going to be okay getting the time off work?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think it will be an issue. But you have to let me pay you back for this.’

  ‘No way, it’s not a big deal.’

  ‘Err, it’s a return flight to California. It’s definitely a big deal.’

  ‘I’m not taking your money. Really, I’m not. I wanted to do this for you.’

  ‘Amazing. This is amazing. You’re amazing,’ I tell him, without even thinking about it. ‘No one has ever done anything this cool for me.’

  ‘I don’t believe that, but okay,’ he says.

  * * *

  Rachel! I’m going to California!

  WHAT? When?

  August 29th! For 2 weeks!

  Christ! That’s quite a massive deal! How exciting. I bet you’re beside yourself aren’t you?

  I’m nervous and excited and OMG I don’t know what to do with myself.

  I’ll tell you what to do with yourself. Get on the pill.

  I open up my emails again and stare at my travel details for a while and it all feels like some sort of crazy dream. I don’t quite know what planetary alignment has occurred for all of this to happen, for me to end up in a situation where my teenage dreams seem to be coming true, and for Rachel to dole out that sort of advice, as if it would ever be a possibility. But I can’t let myself analyse it too much because if I do, I start feeling so wired that I might never ever sleep again. I have to force myself to go with it because if I give in to the nerves, and the rapidly accelerating pulses of adrenaline, it all begins to feel enormous. I can’t let myself admit that I don't know how I’d ever get over it if it all falls apart.

  Chapter Eighteen

  To: CassieB83

  From: FredTed49

  Cassie, pretty Cassie, where for art thou Cassie?

  I think your drink probably went alright, didn’t it?

  Fred

  * * *

  To: FredTed49

  From: CassieB83

  Hi Fred,

  Yes it did go rather well, thanks. A lady never tells, so we’ll leave it at that.

  But I feel like I should probably tell you that he’s invited me to go and stay with him in America for a couple of weeks, so with that in mind, I probably won’t be trying to meet up with anyone from on here.

  I hope your search is going well.

  Cass

  * * *

  To: CassieB83

  From: FredTed49

  I’m pleased for you, really. Gutted I missed the boat, but pleased for you all the same.

  Maybe I’ll give Tyler’s sister a call…

  Fred

  * * *

  To: FredTed49

  From: CassieB83

  She might be The One, Fred.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jesse

  Travis stops by and we eat burritos in front of a Judd Apatow movie we’ve both seen before, and he talks all the way through it.

  ‘Brandon called on Sunday night,’ he says.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Talked a lot about you, as it goes.’

  ‘Well I did just visit. I don’t know, he was weird.’

  Travis laughs. ‘My dude, he said the same about you. He said you seem happier than you have in a while.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Quite possibly.’

  ‘Said he saw you just before you went to London and when you got back you seemed different.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘Nothing, but now that I’m here, I think he might have a point.’

  I look over at him sitting on the couch and I don’t know why I’m hiding it from him. Travis is the person I’m closest to in the entire world. ‘Alright,’ I say, slowly. ‘I may have met someone in London.’

  ‘Yeah? Right on, man. You fuck her?’

  Straight to the point, as ever.

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘So you didn’t? Missed a trick there.’

  ‘No… that definitely happened. But…’ I trail off.

  ‘But?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I shrug. ‘I just like her. A lot.’

  ‘Does this mystery woman have a name?’

  ‘Her name is Cassie.’

  ‘Where’d you meet her?’

  ‘In a bar,’ I say, and leave it as vague as that. I’m not telling him I met her on the internet, especially after I shut down his idea to do p
retty much exactly that when we went to the bar in Los Alamitos, and I’m definitely never going to tell him she liked Franko. I’m not telling anyone she liked Franko. I’m certain there’d be questions and comments and preconceived ideas and I’m not down for that.

  ‘She hot?’

  ‘Yep. Gorgeous. It’s more than that though, there’s this energy about her. I feel like it sucked me in a bit.’

  He puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘Jesse, that was just her mouth.’

  ‘My god, Travis, what is the matter with you? Eat your burrito.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he laughs. ‘That was too easy.’

  ‘You’re an ass.’

  ‘Do you have a photo?’ he says. I pick my phone up from the table and show him her Facebook.

  ‘Connected on social media already,’ he says and I stifle a laugh because he doesn’t know the half of it. ‘I bet that made for some nice pillow talk. Yeah, good going. I’d give her a solid seven and a half, with a bonus point for being British. Anyway, is it true?’

  ‘Is what true?’

  ‘What they say about British girls.’

  ‘I don’t know what they say about British girls.’

  Travis sips his drink and puts it down on the table. ‘Kind of nasty.’ He smirks again.

  ‘Travis, what the fuck, man? You’ve been spending too much time with Seth. I’m not talking about this with you.’

  ‘Does she sound like she’s from London?’ he asks, mimicking the line in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. It’s funny. We both laugh. Travis coughs up a pinto bean and I nudge his beer towards him.

  ‘Of course she does. That’s where she’s from.’

  ‘I mean, I don’t know if you know this, but that’s pretty far away. I didn’t think long distance was your thing. You gonna chalk it up to a fun weekend and get on with shit? Or are you going to be spending time in England now? The fact you’ve already added her on Facebook would suggest the latter. Anyway, looks like I owe Lainey twenty bucks.’