Hello again, all! Oh my gosh I cannot believe I haven't updated this story in four years. I've finally gotten back into the swing of things after several commenters over the years have patiently requested that I continue writing. Here are some updates from my life: in the four years after I published chapter 3, I have moved from being a graduating high school student to a graduated COLLEGE STUDENT! Wow! I majored in English with an emphasis in creative writing, so hopefully my chapters will be even better than they were before. Even though I've moved from creative fiction to more creative nonfiction writing, I still possess my interest and passion in writing fiction stories. I've also moved on from Sims 2, to Sims 3, to Sims 4. I know the canon has expanded to include more Sims families, so maybe some more fanfics will emerge from these new families? We'll see. For now, please enjoy the long-awaited chapter 4!
Chapter 4
"Cassandra?" the muffled voice seemed to come to Cassandra from a far away place, as she roused herself out of the muggy world that was her despair.
"Cassandra, you've got to stop this moping!" The voice was gravelly and deep, Cassandra recognized it as her father's. "You've been in bed for three days, you're acting like a teenager!"
Cassandra stretched her wiry limbs, feeling the joints crack after being locked in the same fetal position for nearly seventy-two hours, only used when the despairing woman got up out of her bed to retrieve something to eat.
"Cassie?" the little voice of Alexander chimed over Mortimer's, in another attempt to get her to rise. He had been trying to extract Cassandra from her wool-nylon blend cocoon of blankets ever since she had rushed home after the failed wedding, torn off her dress, and dove under the covers like a thirteen year old after her first heartbreak. She had called in sick to work from her cell phone twice, and the sympathetic ears of her boss could only offer his condolences.
"Cassandra, please get out of bed," Mortimer again pleaded. "Your mother would not want to see you in this state."
That was a low blow. Cassandra felt her already stiff limbs tighten. Bella would know what to do in this sort of situation. Of course, Bella had never been left at the altar. She had been able to snatch up any man that came her way. Cassandra could not remember a time in the short years she spent with her mother whether Bella had ever mentioned a lost love or heartbreak.
However, the vision of her mother looking down at her daughter, from wherever she had ended up, shaking her head, was enough to force Cassandra to unravel herself from the tangle of blankets. As if sensing that Cassandra would appreciate being alone to change, Mortimer turned from her bedroom door, leading Alexander towards the staircase.
Cassandra stared at the image of herself reflected on the mirror sitting opposite her bed. Her hair was tangled and mangy, some bobby pins still sticking out from the remains of her wedding up-do. Her usually thin face looked even more haggard, with dark circles under her eyes, both from smudged makeup and lack of sleep. She seemed to have aged quite dramatically in the past three days since Don had rejected her in the chapel. All that will go away once I've washed up, Cassandra scoffed to herself. No one dramatically aged thirty or more years after a failed wedding. Of course it was stressful, but it wasn't like anyone had died.
As she ran a brush through her hair, Cassandra wondered where she had gone wrong. She had always been a wonderful girlfriend and fiancée to Don. She wasn't one of those women who let men walk all over them, but she had allowed Don to have his own life and his own friends. She didn't want to strangle him with their relationship, since the other men at work complained about their so-called "castrating girlfriends," who wouldn't let their boyfriends go out without something close to a prison interrogation about where they were going, who they were with, and what they were to be doing. If any part of the plan was disapproved of, they were stuck watching romantic comedies while their girlfriends cried heartily at the happy ending.
You didn't do anything wrong, said the voice inside Cassandra's head, the one often reassuring her in these types of situations. It often took the form of Bella's voice, low and comforting, the one that soothed a small Cassandra through terrifying storms during the night, the one that sang lullabies to a baby Alexander while a fourteen year old Cassandra listened from her bedroom, the voice who whispered the last "I love you" before sixteen year old Cassandra drifted off to sleep after her first romance gone wrong.
But of course, Cassandra shrugged this voice off. She had done something wrong, she just knew it. This had always happened in her previous relationships. Cassandra would either be too tall, or too skinny, or too nervous for the man she was dating. Her insecurities would annoy him, her body was not "sexy" enough for him, or she towered over him in high heels. None of these men ever took the blame for what went wrong in their relationship, so Cassandra naturally was left to think she had done something against the ever-changing rules of "Dating."
The tangles in her dark hair unknotted quite easily as many more bobby pins fell to the ground. Cassandra stooped over to pick them up, when she heard her cell phone buzzing.
Although it was a terrible thing for him to think, Darren Dreamer was actually secretly thrilled Don had abandoned Cassandra at the altar those few days ago. He had been scheming ever since that fatal word had come out of Don's mouth, and Mortimer had ordered him out of the chapel. Darren remembered the embarrassed father-of-the-bride sending everyone home, including himself and his son Dirk, even though all Darren wanted was to gather Cassandra in his arms and tell her everything would be alright.
She had not shown up for work the day after the wedding, although Darren had expected her not to. She had taken some time off for her honeymoon, but of course, Cassandra's boss had attended the wedding and saw the whole thing. He graciously gave Cassandra a sick leave, and told her to return when things "turned better." Darren knew this meant "by next week," since he had used the same term when Darleen had died, and then chewed Darren out when he hadn't arrived back at work after the allotted company-paid "mourning time." Thankfully, Darren had not been fired, since his boss was the sympathetic type.
Darren pushed such recollections out of his mind; they were not important to the situation at hand. Cassandra had not shown up to work yesterday, either, but since today was Saturday, the microbiology lab where they both worked was closed for the weekend. Cassandra needed to show up on Monday, though, Darren knew. The boss had explicitly told her on the phone yesterday that she was needed by then.
Darren was worried about Cassandra. Of course, he could not leap into a romantic relationship with her right after the terrible situation with Don. It would not be tolerated in Pleasantview, and it would lead to some negative assumptions about Cassandra, which of course Darren did not want. At thirty-six, he was nearly eight years older than Cassandra herself, and remembered fondly when he first met her.
He had met Cassandra four years after his early marriage to Darleen and Dirk's birth, and she usually babysat Dirk while he went off to work at her father's laboratory. Mortimer had taken a liking to Darren and his family, and he was soon promoted and moving up the ranks. When she graduated high school, just months after her mother had disappeared, Cassandra joined the lab team after Mortimer retired, also being promoted easily by the replacement boss, while also working on her degree in microbiology.
Darren pressed his lips together as he stood in front of the refrigerator, staring at its contents. He had been hoping the commission for his painting of the "happy" couple would be large enough to pay for some more groceries, but since the wedding hadn't happened, Darren was once again staring into the mouth of budgeting food. Dirk was growing at least a couple inches every night, and he was always hungry. Darren was already low on new clothes funds.
Darleen, I wish you were here, he thought as he fished out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. Both of their incomes had been enough to get by, but ever since Darleen died, it was getting tougher and tougher to pay the bills. The rough economy had hurt everyone, and the lab was cutting paychecks every week to save money.
Darren pushed the thoughts out of his mind as he heated up a pan on the oven. He still had other paintings he could sell. Dirk had been trying to get a show booked at the local art museum, but so far all the available slots had been taken. I should get a second job, he thought as he placed three strips of bacon on the skillet, hearing them sizzle. As soon as the thought of a second job entered his mind, Darren immediately began to see the complications. He had no time, Dirk couldn't be left alone all the time, and besides, who was hiring? Darren looked at the classifieds every day, searching for venues to display his artwork, and there always seemed to be fewer and fewer listings in the "Jobs" section.
The bacon looked done, and Darren transferred the three strips over to a paper towel to soak up the extra grease. He cracked two eggs over the warm skillet and watched them sop up the layer of bacon grease at the bottom of the pan. He heard movement from Dirk's room, and heard his son open the door and walk through the den into the kitchen.
"Smells good, Dad," Dirk commented as he opened the fridge, peering into its inside the same way Darren had done only a few minutes earlier. "Anything else to eat?"
"Sorry," Darren replied, using his spatula to scramble the two eggs. "There are a couple of eggs left, and a few more strips of bacon, but that's it."
"Well, can you go to the grocery store later—" Dirk started to say, but then stopped as he realized Darren's pay from the wedding portrait was going to pay for the week's groceries, money which now had completely disappeared. Darren pretended like he didn't notice, and shoveled his now cooked eggs onto a plate, along with his bacon. Dirk sat silently at the table, watching his father eat.
"That was a pretty shitty thing to do to Cassandra, wasn't it, Dad?" Dirk said quietly. "Pardon my French."
Darren shook his head, excusing the swear word. "It was, Dirk. She doesn't deserve it. I would never have done that to your mother."
"But you married her when you found out she was pregnant with me, right?"
Darren stopped chewing. It was true that Darleen had gotten pregnant with Dirk quickly after the wedding, but he had never heard anyone make the assumption that he had only married his late wife because he had accidentally impregnated her. "Who told you that?"
"No one," Dirk answered quickly. "I just assumed…."
"Well, it's not the case." Darren snapped, but then saw the hurt on his son's face at his brashness. "Dirk, I married your mother because I loved her. She just became pregnant right after we married, and we decided to keep you because we, at the time, were both stable in our careers, even though we were young. We didn't know what would happen in the future…." He trailed off as he remembered Darleen's unexpected death.
Dirk realized what his father was thinking about, then turned away, running a hand through his short black hair. "I can find another job," he suggested hopefully. "We have a career counselor at Pleasantview High, they're there for people like me, they know a lot of students come from struggling backgrounds…"
Darren stopped his son. "Dirk, I want you to focus on your schoolwork. Another job, plus your tutoring, and all of your classes, I don't want you to be burned out."
Dirk tapped his fingers against the table and frowned. "What about the lab? Can't you just ask for a raise? You've been working there long enough."
Darren sighed, frustrated but sympathizing with his son's point of view. To Dirk at sixteen, like many kids his age, raises were the solution for everything, but he didn't understand the reality.
"The budget for the art department is tight this year," Darren explained. "They've already laid off many designers and artists." Darren was responsible for designing the lab's presentations and graphics, and had also tried his hand at revamping the lab's website, but the work wasn't bringing in the requisite amount of sponsors or interested students from the public school system.
Dirk's worried face stopped Darren from elaborating on the situation. "We'll figure it out," he reassured his son. "We always do."
Don had been calling Dina ever since the ill-fated wedding day. He had even tried approaching her after Mortimer ordered everyone out of the church, after Don said "No," after Cassandra screamed and wailed at the altar, after the guests filed out past the reception tables laden with homemade treats. He'd been waiting outside the church, hidden in some bushes, and tried to attract Dina's attention as she made her way through the throngs of people leaving the church and society reporters clustering around the entrance, like vultures waiting for their next meal.
Dina had noticed him, crouching in the shrubbery like a coward, but she refused to acknowledge his fervent whispers. She was still trying to process what had happened when he called for the first time, as she drove back to her condo with Nina. He was texting her as well: "Please pick up, we need to talk," "Are you there? PLEASE ANSWER," "I know you're mad, but this is serious."
Of course Dina was mad. This wasn't how it was supposed to go! With that one firm "No," Don ruined everything Dina had been working towards: the Goth mansion, the film career, the piles of money. Not to mention poor Cassandra, Dina had thought, surprised that she was able to drum up this much sympathy for a woman she constantly demeaned.
But now it was three days later, and Dina was once again awakened by her phone ringing. She didn't even need to look at the caller ID to see that it was Don again. Her phone also indicated that he had called four times earlier before Dina even woke up. She rolled over in bed to face the nightstand where her phone sat and stretched her arm out toward it. Her finger paused on the screen - swipe right to answer or left to hang up? The ringtone kept playing its merry tune, oblivious to the sudden internal conflict Dina was facing.
It's been three days, Dina thought. Surely this whole thing has blown over.
But it hadn't. The society reporters had been circling the Goths constantly, a few of them breaking off to stalk Dina's condo. "Ms. Caliente!" she heard them yell, "Did you have a part in this? How will this affect your relationship with Mortimer Goth?" The scandal had made all the papers - Dina was even getting calls from the local rag in Strangetown, Strange Times Daily, from a staff reporter who seemed annoyed that he was assigned to Cassandra's embarrassment instead of "real" news. The Veronaville Quarterly had also taken a break from running some of its art and theater pieces in order to cover the story.
The ringtone ceased - the phone now lit up with a new message: "Missed Call from Don Lothario," which was soon replaced by "Don Lothario Calling." Dina sighed and swiped right.
"What do you want?" she hissed into the phone. "Can't you take a hint?"
"Hey, at least I'm persistent," Don replied, a sultry laugh coming through the speaker. "You picked up, didn't you?"
"I can't believe you're making jokes at a time like this." Dina felt her blood pressure rising. Don had thrown away her chance at a better life, and he acted like it was just a bit on a sitcom.
"Just trying to dissolve the tension, babe."
Dina closed her eyes, trying to relax. "This was my one shot, Don. Mortimer hasn't talked to me since the wedding, the reporters are circling…" She paused, before nearly screeching, "I can't believe you did this!"
"Everything will calm down," Don said calmly, and his easy-going demeanor infuriated Dina.
"No it won't!" She exploded. "And just imagine how Cassandra feels! This was her one shot, too."
There was a pause on the end of the line, and Dina knew she had hit a nerve. No matter what he did, she knew Don still had a soft spot for Cassandra.
"Can we meet somewhere?" He asked. "Somewhere private?"
"Privacy isn't an option right now, Don," Dina retorted. "The gossip rag reporters are everywhere. I'm sure they're stalking your condo, too. If they saw either of us together, they'd have a field day."
"Fine," Don said begrudgingly. "But I still need to explain my actions to you."
"To me?" Dina spluttered. "Explain yourself to Cassandra first, then you can come to me."
She wished landlines were still around, so that she could have slammed the receiver down on Don and his convoluted way of thinking. Explain things to her? Pressing firmly on a screen just didn't seem to have the right kind of finality, but Dina pushed the red "end call" button as forcefully as she could.