"Caught Up in You" Chapter 1
Hello Stranger
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Part 1: The Long and Winding Road
The long and winding road, that leads, to your door
Will never disappear, I've seen that road before
It always leads me here, lead me to your door
The wild and windy night, that the rain, washed away
Has left a pool of tears, crying for the day
Why leave me standing here, let me know the way
-The Beatles
Chapter 1: Hello Stranger
“You don’t have to go to it.”
Cassie stared at her husband with a horrified look on her face, a look she seemed to be giving him a lot lately. She was staring at a wedding invitation haphazardly stuck up to their fridge. It was almost lost amongst the several other wedding invites, save-the-dates, and now baby announcements that littered the fridges of 30-somethings, but she couldn’t forget about this particular invitation if she tried.
“I have to go.”
“You said it yourself that you’ve barely talked to him in ten years.”
“Yeah, but he was in my band. And at our wedding. It’d be rude if we didn’t go. Besides I already RSVP’d. I just can’t ghost him like that.”
“Okay, I just don’t want you to stress about it.” Scott left the room, as Cassie muttered to herself, “Too late for that.”
The minute the invitation arrived, Cassie could feel her anxiety start to bubble inside her. Cassie was no stranger to anxiety. It swept into her life the minute college ended, and there were times that it became such a driving force that everything else just seemed to disappear, giving her tunnel vision. This was one of those times. It wasn’t that she lacked excitement or happiness for Mark’s impending nuptials, (he was one of her oldest friends, after all), but she knew everything—or more like everyone— the wedding would stir up. Mainly, her old bandmates. It had been nearly a decade since the four of them had been in the same room. And if she was being honest, the last time they had all been together was a disaster. It was hard to believe that at one point “Pretty Whiskey” had been her refuge; the place she found her voice, her identity. And now just thinking about that time, she felt her lunch begin to churn in her stomach. Or maybe she shouldn’t have eaten a prosciutto grilled cheese with a side of fries. She had to constantly remind herself that she wasn’t in her twenties anymore. Thirty-one came with a new set of issues: back pain, acid reflux, and that constant anxiety. Cassie could barely recognize her own life.
From an early age, Cassie had been described as bubbly. Her diminutive size and big brown eyes only aided in that very appropriate description. Being a former cheerleader also helped. Although she was pretty, most people were apt to call her cute, a word that now made Cassie cringe. She wanted to be seen as more than cute. Cute people weren’t taken seriously. Beautiful, elegant, strong people were. Those were all the words Cassie aspired to be, but somehow always fell short. And now even her bubbly personality was beginning to fizzle away. Her excitement and optimism were gone, replaced with a jaded outlook that she swore would never happen to her.
She could recall the conversation she had with her mother earlier, “You sound so negative,” her mother’s slightly-whiny, could be a WASP, but was actually a JAP voice tinned through the phone. “And what do you have to be negative about?” That was the problem, Cassie thought.
While her twenties had been filled with visions of fame and fortune, her thirties were proving to be kind of a let down. Like most, she felt her twenties were a breeding-ground for potential — a chance to make it big, be on the cover of Rolling Stone, go on sold-out tours. Anything was possible. But, with each passing year the dream of being a wunderkind songwriter died, only to be replaced with the gnawing desire and need to simply “make it.” And lately her growing fear that songwriting may never pan out began to eat at her soul. Maybe all she was destined for was a desk job and a few scraps of unfinished songs. Maybe this was all life had in store for her. A simple existence without the fame and fortune she had dreamed of. Anytime she read about the “next big thing”, or worse, when the “next big thing” would come traipsing into her office, she’d be filled with a sense of failure and envy. She felt in statis, like she was stuck on this level in a video game and she desperately wanted to advance to the next one. Only the “big bad monster” she had to defeat at the end of each level was actually herself, and her lack of opportunity. And how do you battle something that’s not tangible? You don’t. You simply let it eat away at you until the sense of dread becomes so great that a simple invitation can send you over the edge.
The one bright spot in her life was her devoted husband, Scott. He was handsome, hard working, and kind… all the traits of a perfect husband. Their romance seemed straight out of a fairytale— or at the very least a romantic comedy penned by Nancy Meyers. Most people who met Scott and Cassie couldn’t get over how different they were. He was rarely rattled, quiet, and calm; she freaked out over the slightest inconvenience. After meeting at a mutual friend’s party, they moved in together a month later, got engaged a year after that, and had a perfect wedding that Cassie meticulously planned while working the front desk at a recording studio. Sure, she could’ve spent that time focused on writing music, but she had just been passed over for a promotion and she convinced herself that she needed some time to get her head back in the game. But, that was nearly two years ago, and her head still felt very much “not in the game.”
Maybe that was the reason she had been pushing so hard for a baby recently. She never thought she’d be the type to want to head straight to babysville while they were still in the Newlywed stage. Her views on babies and children were complicated, and they had always taken a backseat to her own career ambitions. Scott had been lackluster at first, but he was hardly excited about anything. And that was okay, Cassie had enough enthusiasm for both of them. He had a legitimate reason to be cautious. Their lifestyle wasn’t particularly suited for a child. Scott made decent money, but was often traveling for work. And she… well, she was still working as a glorified receptionist. If it weren’t for Obamacare, she still wouldn’t have health insurance, which was problematic because she may as well have a punch card to the ER. Nine visits, get the tenth one free. But, Cassie had been adamant about starting their baby journey, making the argument that there’s never an ideal time to have children, and she didn’t know when her career would take off. She couldn’t bring herself to admit that the better question was now if her career would ever take off.
For as long as she could remember, Cassie had been writing songs. When other kids dreamed of being astronauts and firefighters, an eight-year-old Cassie dreamed of being the next Carole King or Joni Mitchell. She was a decent guitar player, but she thrived when it came to crafting a tune and finding the perfect lyrics to match. And when she started writing songs for Pretty Whiskey, she thought she finally found her calling. Pretty Whiskey was never a mega-success, but they were well-known around their campus town and developed a small following. And for Cassie, those were still some of the best years of her life. It felt like only yesterday that she was sitting next to Mark in her Freshman-year photography class. He was a bit of a nerd (and still is), but he was so warm, that Cassie immediately felt at ease. Feeling at ease was rare back in those days, so she clung to him like a warm blanket. Even now, she can recall Gabe feeling slightly jealous when she told him Mark asked her to hangout that weekend. Despite the fact Gabe had never defined their relationship— if you could even call it a relationship at that point— he had a strange possessiveness over her, one that only grew along with their band’s success. Mark was just the tip of the iceberg, however. It wasn’t until Ethan joined the fray that Gabe’s little green monster really came out to play. It was amusing to Cassie that even though her and Gabe had grown up together and had more bouts of “will they or won’t they” than Ross and Rachel, her and Ethan were instant simpatico. Off the bat, they were cranking out tunes and finishing each other’s sentences. If only Gabe knew that he had nothing to worry about. Back then, she would’ve never predicted that her and Ethan would still be the best of friends, and she wouldn’t have heard from Gabe in nearly ten years. But, life often works out in ways that you can never predict.
Her friendship with Ethan was another bright spot in Cassie’s life. They were the ones who stayed close after college, moving to L.A. together to try and make it as a songwriting team. And even though they still occasionally wrote some stuff together, Ethan quickly quickly surmised he’d have a better shot of making it in the music business if he worked behind the scenes as a sound engineer. Since he was already a prodigy when it came to music and had been taking engineering classes on the side during college, he easily found a job at a decent studio. Cassie couldn’t believe he would “sell out” that quickly, but a few years later, she followed suit and he helped her get the receptionist job at the same studio. Sure, it wasn’t the most glamorous job, but she got to be adjacent to what she really wanted to do, and the best part was, she got to see Ethan every day. When they first started working at Simply Sound, they’d convinced themselves that being in the vicinity of big producers and artists would inspire them and maybe even provide them with some access to their own music goals. Cassie had a naive idea that if she was friendly enough, people would be willing to read one of her songs and might even offer to produce it. However, in the four years she’d worked at the recording studio, that idea never came to pass. Not even close.
Cassie pinned the invitation back to her fridge, not quite believing that the wedding was now less than a week away. When the invite first arrived, she immediately called Ethan. The two of them laughed about the overly dramatic photos that Mark and Katherine had chosen to display on the invite. Also, who had pictures on their invitation? Cassie mused. They were even more shocked when Mark asked Ethan to be his best man. It wasn’t like the two weren’t close— they were college roommates, but they hadn’t lived in the same city for nearly ten years. Not to mention that most of Ethan and Cassie’s friendship was based on making fun of Mark. As of yesterday, Ethan still hadn’t written a word of his best man toast. Which reminded Cassie, she needed to call Ethan and remind him when Mark told Gabe he thought Treatise was pronounced treat-see. That’d get a laugh from the crowd.
Damnit, why was her mind drifting to Gabe yet again? She hadn’t thought about him in years and since that invitation arrived he was all she could think about. He wasn’t exactly easy to avoid. His face was often on the cover of US Weekly and for whatever reason she also followed him on Twitter (and if she was being honest occasionally browsed his instagram and his wife’s instagram, but she refused to follow either). He “favorited” one of her tweets, and she spent the afternoon analyzing what the hell that meant. She knew better than to bring it up to Ethan, and her husband wouldn’t offer any insight, other than “who cares.” And why did she care anymore? Sure, he represented a life she could’ve had, and a secret she buried long ago, but in terms of actual feelings, there was nothing left between them. She had made sure of that. And still, when she thought about whether he would be at the wedding or not, she felt her palms get clammy in anticipation.
“Cass?” Scott’s voice called from the bedroom. “Did you still want to have sex before you go to work?” Cassie immediately snapped back to reality. She forgot she was ovulating. She forgot she left her handsome husband naked in their bedroom. She forgot she wanted to have a child and finally settle into her life. That could only mean one thing: this wedding was going to be a disaster.
