Always Cas | ✔

CHAPTER EIGHT; part one

     My mouth is cotton dry.

     I glance at Jack, who's still out cold, before getting up and walking towards the door. "I know you're there, I can hear you breathing," Cas says after a moment.

     "I am," I say just as suddenly. "I'm here."

     "Well?" Cas coaxes.

     "Uhm," I say, not stalling just thinking. "Wait — what was the question again?'

     "Why did you — wait, are you drunk?"

     I respond, pointedly, "Not anymore."

     "So you are." Cas makes an annoyed sound.

     "I don't know what you want me to say," I say after a moment. "Since you don't want me to say I'm sorry."

     "I want you to say the truth."

     "The truth?"

     The truth, the truth, the truth.

     "I left because you wouldn't have left if I hadn't have left," I say. Because that is definitely the truth. "So I left. Because you needed to leave. But then I came back. And you had left."

     Cas groans loudly. "Leave it to me. Finally asks the dreaded question and you're fucking drunk. Making absolutely no sense."

     "I'm not drunk," I respond.

     Cas's voice is sharp. "What do you mean I needed to leave?"

     "You weren't supposed to go to State school."

     The line is silent.

     "Cas?"

     "That wasn't for you to decide."

     I go to tell him he's right. I start to say it but the pizzeria owner taps me on the shoulder and says, "He's got to go." He points to Jack, who's sprawled across the table top.

     I nod my head. "Okay, okay, we're leaving." The guy eyes me before turning around and walking away.

     "Cas?" I say. "Cas?"

     But the line's already dead.

     The week leading up to Weston's After Hours opening night is more stress than my body can handle. It actually has a great effect on my sleep. My days start early and end late. I barely have time to spare a thought for Cas, who I don't see or hear from. Vaguely, I remember speaking to him on the phone Saturday night but it's sort of muddled. I don't think I said anything incriminating but I also can't be sure and since Cas is seemingly avoiding me again, I'll just have to wait to find out.

     Tickets for Weston's After Hours went live Monday evening. There were only fifty tickets available and at $100 per seat, a calculation made by Dolores if I "intended to see any kind of profit", I didn't expect to sell nearly half of them.

     I spend the week trying to prepare for the event while simultaneously keeping Private Weston afloat. It's enough work to drain every energy supply in me. Even with Tasha and Rumi clocking over time hours.

     When I finish my Private Weston work on Friday evening, I switch over to prep for Saturday night. The last of my ingredients arrived that morning and, for whatever inane reason, I'd chosen to work with primarily fresh ingredients. Fresh out of the ocean fresh.

     I'm about half-way through cleaning the scallops for the appetizer, a pan-seared scallop over a seaweed salad with a side of couscous and a purple cauliflower puree. De-shelling isn't a long process, but it requires full attention since the scallop shells clamp down when you slid the knife in and you have to be careful not to puncture the part we typically eat.