WANT (completed)

ch.19 | Journal

CASSANDRA'S POV

I step off of the elevator, walking down the hall towards the the office. As soon as I see the older, petite lady waiting for me, I smile and give her a small hug. She's wearing a skirt and blazer, some sensible flats, and has round glasses perched further down on her nose than what would seem comfortable. The brightest part of her is her striking orange-red hair, which completely contrasts the rest of her appearance.

"Thank you for meeting me, Cassandra," she greets me, as she pulls out a set of keys from her blazer pocket, beginning to unlock the door in front of us. The door to an office. My mother's old office at Rhodes' Enterprises.

"Please, Barbara. I should be the one thanking you," I respond, truly grateful that she reached out to me. She gives me a faint smile, turning the knob of the door and opening it. I follow her into the room, watching as she scurries over to the light and turns it on.

"Wow, I can't believe it. It looks...the same." I mumble, taking in the room. Nothing's been touched, and although there's some dust, I don't seem to mind considering it's exactly as I remember it.

"I figured that one day you would come to work here. Even if you didn't, I wanted to make sure...you had a piece of her. She was such a wonderful woman," the red head says as she steps behind me, placing her hand on my shoulder and giving it a small squeeze.

"You have no idea what this means to me. Thank you, Barbara," I sigh, smiling as I give her another hug. I'm so surprised that my father never came down here and went through all these things, but I'm so glad he didn't.

Barbara hands me the key, placing them in my hand and closing my fingers over it. "It's the only copy. It's yours," she whispers, giving me a small wink and stepping out of the room. I thank her once more, watching as she disappears and then closing the door.

I take a deep breath, looking around the room again. It's a huge room and perfectly organized, just like how my mom liked it. There are photographs lining the walls, large seating for when she had guests or clients, and of course, a coffee bar. The numerous drawers that line the wall are probably filled. I have no clue where to start.

The view is nice too. Although we aren't on one of the highest floors, we are overlooking Central Park, and I can't help but feel tears brimming my eyes as I walk over to her desk, peaking out the window. I can still remember spending time with her at the park, having picnics, going on bike rides, and in the winter, ice skating.

Much like the tons of people who are ice skating now. Central Park in the winter, although most New Yorkers may disagree, was the best. It was covered in snow, icy, and quiet. I loved it. I still do. There's still a bit of flurries falling, which makes the view all the much better.

I take a seat at her desk, running my fingers across the photographs that are placed on top of it. Pictures of all of us together, me and my brother, my parents. Pictures from when we were happy, before she got sick.

I don't know how long I've been in here, but the sun set a long time ago. I'm sure everyone has already left, but I still had so many things I wanted to go through. I don't think that there's enough time in the world for me to go through all of this stuff, let alone decide what to get rid of and what to keep.

Part of me wishes that I could just have a little old desk or cubicle elsewhere, so I wouldn't have to be going through all of these things right now and make decisions that I don't want to. But I know that this is the first step in doing what's right, because I'm going to need the office, and although I wish I could keep all of it as is, I would never be able to get anything done if I did.