The Melancholy of Cassandra-Marie

(2)

 I sit on the floral-patterned couch in my living room, relatively bored. Golf is on TV, but I don't really care — I'm just waiting for Louis to get here. My stomach growls. I ignore it. The announcer starts screaming when one of the players does a trick-shot, and that's when I hear my doorbell ring. I can't believe Louis still rings the doorbell. Everyone else I know (other than Louis's sister) just texts when they're outside the house. I guess that's what happens when you're raised by two classy, old-fashioned folks. I pick up the remote and turn off the TV before getting up to answer the door.

I turn the handle and let Louis in. He just smiles at me like he already knows what's going on. Maybe the results of the trials were posted early, but he still wants me to have the satisfaction of announcing it.

"Come sit." I smile. "Do you want something to drink, or anything to eat?"

"In few minutes, thank you. You said you had something to tell me, so that's first. You have my full, undivided attention."

I smile and sit down on the couch next to him. He looks at me with anticipation of what I have to say. While I make the quick decision on how to make the announcement, I take note that Louis looks exceptionally young today. His cheeks look as tight around his facial muscles as they could be. His brows look freshly plucked, and eyes bright and invested in the present.

"Well..." I mumble. A big, cheesy smile manifests itself on his lips.We both bust up, giggling like children a little bit.

"I made it."

"Really? Oh my god!" He starts laughing with joy.

"Yeah, I passed the trials. I'm competing in the Olympics."

He just pulls me in and hugs me really tight. My face presses up against the shoulder of his letterman jacket. It's cool and leathery, and smells like something abstract, beyond expensive cologne and pencil shavings — like a good home, anticipation for the future, or maybe legacy. Louis' hugs are wonderful. His arms are really lanky, but his hands are tough and strong because he paints all the time. His hugs, while being tight, never suffocate or make the receiver of the endearing hug feel uncomfortable. I am so lucky to have someone like Louis in my life. He's so down to Earth, and such a blessing to be around. He's a supportive, positive friend, too. My best friend. I couldn't have asked for anyone more perfect. Caring, courtly, and... hilarious. Anyone would be lucky to have him, and even though I still have trouble admitting it to myself, I wish a little more each day that it could be me.

I know Louis thinks highly of me, but I don't know if it's in that sense. And honestly, I'm kind of scared to say anything. I know Louis loves me, but if he loved me like that, I'm afraid it'd ruin the years and years of friendship we have. I'm afraid, and I just really don't know what to do about it. Louis is the sweetest guy in the world, and sometimes I feel like he's one of the few people that actually cares about me. It's such a delicate balance we have right now, and I'd never forgive myself if I ruined that. I just don't ever want to lose him — I lose him if I don't say what's on my mind, but I lose him if things don't work out between us. God, what do I do?

He just pats my back while we're still tangled up in the hug. I don't want to let him go.

"Congratulations." he says compassionately. "Really. You worked so hard for this."

"Thank you so much." I just rest my head on his shoulder, still hugging. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a look of longing on his face. Louis sighs and doesn't move.