Page 33 of Roman and the Hopeless Romantic
Cassie
Saturdays weren’t for therapy.
Yet, Cassie found herself sitting in Mary’s car outside the small building. She’d called Annie and asked if she could come in to chat. Annie being the saint that she was, agreed to meet her on a Saturday.
Cassie wrung her hands together, not knowing why she’d even come.
Mary waited patiently. “Are you okay, Cassie?”
Cassie shook her head. No. She wasn’t okay. She’d made so much progress the night before talking to Roman and even enjoying herself. But she’d woken up with the same anxiety cutting off any sound coming from her lips.
“Thanks for bringing me.” She stepped out of the car.
“I brought a book, so I’ll wait right here.”
Cassie nodded and entered the building. The receptionist wasn’t sitting behind the tall desk, but that wasn’t surprising. People had lives and the weekends usually meant living them.
For anyone except her.
She knocked on the door to Annie’s office, and it swung open, revealing a smiling therapist.
Cassie choked back a sob brought on by relief at seeing the one person she could say anything to.
Annie rounded her desk and pulled Cassie into a hug. “What happened?” She led Cassie to a couch, and they both sat.
Cassie sucked in a breath. “I spoke.”
Annie raised an eyebrow. “I need more than that.”
“Last night, I spent the entire storm talking to Roman.”
A smile spread across her face. “Cassie, that’s wonderful. Do you realize what a big step that is?”
Cassie shook her head. “Not when I went back to freak-Cassie this morning.”
“Okay, first, you know how I feel about the names you call yourself. You have anxiety related to PTSD.” She dipped her head to meet Cassie’s gaze. “You are not a freak.”
“Roman probably thinks I am.”
“Roman is the boy who used to be your friend, correct?”
Cassie nodded.
“I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit. From what you’ve been telling me since the day I met you, your lack of communication with him has been a source of frustration for you.”
“So much.” She sank back into the couch.
“Okay, we’re going to try something.”
“That sounds ominous.”
She smiled, her eyes holding some kind of scheme. “Cassie, from what I know of you, you were quite the spitfire before the tragic events two years ago.”
“Troublemaker. Not spitfire. That makes you sound ancient.”
Annie’s eyes crinkled in the corners. “Your mother’s death changed you on the surface, but the core of who we are cannot be altered. Your heart is still the same.”
“You want me to break into lanais and make my dad pull his hair out again?” One corner of her mouth ticked up.
