CHAPTER FOUR

When Spencer awoke the next morning, her body ached as though she had participated in a triathlon. It stemmed, most certainly, from all of the events from the night before, combined with a restless sleep. The clock read 11:07 A.M., and she found herself surprised at how long she had slept in.

She paused a moment to consider her surroundings. It was her first morning in her new bedroom. She smiled softly and scooted further under the comforter, being sure to enjoy this important occasion.

She allowed her eyes to drift shut once more, trying to digest what had happened the previous evening with a clearer mind. She felt somewhat foolish for how she had reacted to seeing Toby; he must have thought she had lost her mind. After all, it had been such a great deal of time...and 'A' had been non-existent for months...And what if that was the last time she would ever see Toby? The last impression she ever made, and it was one of straight-jacket calibre.

She certainly hoped it wouldn't be the last time...She truthfully missed him more than words could say.

Just as she felt she may be drifting off once more, her favorite smell had begun to waft into the bedroom.

Hanna was making coffee.

Suddenly wide awake, she leapt from her bed, re-making it in record time, and sprinted into the hallway.

Sure enough, there Hanna sat with one of her text books, the sound of brewing coffee floating in from the kitchen. Impressed as Spencer was to see Hanna with a book in hand, she also found amusement in the look of disgust on her face. It was as though the pages of the book were releasing some unpleasant odor.

"Morning," Spencer murmured, yawning unexpectedly.

Hanna glanced up and immediately closed her Art History book, as if she had been dying for something else to do. "Morning, sleepy-head!"

Spencer combed her fingers through her hair, trying to get out the knots she had created by sitting under the water for so long without washing. "Actually reading that?" She indicated the text book on the dining room table.

"What?" Hanna looked to Spencer then back at the book. "Oh. There was nothing on TV. Just stupid talk shows."

"Mmm," Spencer mumbled noncommittally, wandering into the kitchen to check on the coffee. As she passed Hanna, she caught a whiff of Hanna's favorite expensive perfume. The one she only wore on really special occasions.

She paused and noticed for the first time that Hanna was completely dolled up in her trusty 'little black dress,' and her make-up and hair were Hollywood worthy.

"You look fancy," Spencer began suspiciously. "What's going on?"

Hanna grinned, skipping past Spencer and into the kitchen to begin pouring the coffee. "Caleb is flying in. He'll be here in a little while."

Spencer watched as Hanna practically dumped the entire sugar container into her mug, considering this new information.

"Already? You've only been gone a day."

Hanna giggled wistfully. "I know, but he won some extra money from a scratch-off ticket. He said he couldn't think of a better way to spend it."

Spencer was still trying to digest all that this would entail.

"What does that mean for tonight?" she inquired, feeling unprepared to leave the apartment to them so soon after moving in.

"No worries," Hanna dismissed. "We're getting a hotel room at the Ramada."

"How much money did Caleb win?" Spencer demanded, knowing that Caleb wasn't exactly loaded and that Hanna's mother was being careful to budget her.

Hanna stirred in her cream and sugar and leaned her back against the counter, taking small sips. She still hadn't wiped that school girl grin from her lips.

"Five hundred dollars."

"Damn," Spencer responded, impressed. "I wish I had his luck." Satisfied with the unofficial Q&A, Spencer began mixing her own mug of coffee.

"First pot of coffee in our own place," Hanna marveled, propping herself up into a sitting position on the counter. "And it tastes perfect."

Spencer had the distinct feeling that Hanna had prepared the coffee to a very mild degree, much to her chagrin. Spencer liked her coffee strong. But nonetheless, Hanna had a point - it was another first in a series of many to come, and was to be appreciated.

"So, uh..." Spencer began, grateful to be busying her hands and eyes on the task at hand. "You got home a while after I did last night..."

Hanna coughed gently as she was taking a sip, caught off-guard. It took her a moment to formulate a response. "Yeah...about that..."

Spencer finished mixing her morning beverage and turned to face her expectantly. "What happened?" she demanded, fearing the worst.

Hanna seemed unnecessarily engrossed in the coffee floating around in her mug. She studied it carefully, as if she were browsing a catalogue. "Not much," she muttered. "I just wanted to see how Toby was doing..."

"Hanna," Spencer began reproachfully. "Why would you talk to him?" She felt inexplicably annoyed.

"Why wouldn't you?" Hanna demanded defensively, raising her eyes to meet Spencer's. "I get that you're still hurting, but it's been so long. And 'A' hasn't bothered us in months. You have no excuse for ignoring him except your own fears and insecurities about picking up where you left off."

Ouch. Hanna had hit the nail on the head, much to Spencer's dismay. She certainly knew how to strike below the belt when trying to make a point.

"It's just...impossible," she mumbled, nearly incoherent. She knew she sounded foolish.

Hanna cleared her throat, seeming to be getting a thrill from gaining all the power in the conversation. "I think you should see him."

Spencer nearly spilled her coffee. "I think that's a really bad idea."

Hanna rolled her eyes. "You've been wallowing in self-pity over this break-up since it happened," she reasoned harshly. "You still love him. It's obvious. You're just too scared to confront it, or confront him. If you want to stop being miserable, you know how to make it happen. So forgive me if I don't feel sorry for you anymore."

Double ouch. Before Spencer had even completely processed what Hanna had said, she was already leaving the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Spencer demanded.

"I'm going to pick up something for breakfast," Hanna replied, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "And when I get back, I'll be expecting a change in attitude."

"Okay, Mom," Spencer muttered sarcastically. The look Hanna shot in her direction only solidified Spencer's joke.

"I'll be right back." With that, she was gone.

Spencer lowered herself uncertainly into one of the dining room chairs, trying to process the conversation. Though Hanna had made a feeble - hell, a nonexistent - attempt at sugar coating, and though it had painfully struck a nerve within Spencer, she knew she was right.

And she hated the embarrassment of someone else being right. It was an insecurity that stemmed from her childhood, always being outsmarted and outwitted by Melissa. The first memory of feeling inadequate was etched into her skull, as much as she would have liked to forget it.

She was five, and she and Melissa were racing on their bicycles. Spencer remembered watching Melissa's hair riding the wind elegantly, and hoped to be as beautiful someday. Melissa had won the race, of course, and made a cruel remark about Spencer still needing training wheels. "I'll always be older, and smarter, and stronger," Melissa had said. "And I'll never let you forget it."

Somewhere deep in her subconscious, Spencer had developed a complex about always needing to prove herself outside of her family. If she wasn't good enough for them, she would damn well show the rest of the world how valuable she could be.

She uncertainly made her way back to her bedroom, steaming coffee mug in hand. She paused on the threshold, leaning against the door frame, studying the taboo box that still remained unpacked in the corner. Within it, she knew she would find further proof of Hanna's annoyingly-sensible argument.

It was almost as though he had known. His letter had specifically stated that, should they ever meet again, he wouldn't let her go a second time. Spencer, being logical-minded as she was, had decided that the odds of their reunion ever happening were extremely disdainful. What with his departure to North Carolina, and hers to Michigan - she hadn't imagined there would be a chance in Hell that they could ever meet again. She had lost that hope long ago, and had grown to accept it. She assumed that Toby Cavanaugh would always be her fondest memory, but that he would only ever be that - a memory.

She approached the box with caution, feeling as if her feet were not her own. Some untraceable force was pulling her in its direction, as if a fishing hook had been slung through her belly button. It called to her, in a manner that would certainly be certifiable for insanity.

Lowering herself to the floor beside it, she weighed the options of exploring it. Maybe its contents would restore the hope that she had so desperately missed. Though she enjoyed the logical way in which her brain functioned, she often found herself disappointed in its cynical consequences. She had never been much of an optimist, simply because realism did not allow for it.

She pulled the flaps open once more, noticing that all photographs had been purposefully turned upside-down. She knew precisely why she had done that, but had never before taken note of the deeper meaning. Hesitantly, she pulled the first off the top.

It was the picture she had taken the day she bought his truck. There he was, standing in front of it, brimming with pride and affection. She knew how much the gift had meant to him at the time, but since then had somehow forgotten what it had been like to sacrifice so much for another person. She studied his face in the picture. So young. So naive. In comparison to the face she had seen last night, it seemed as though years of wisdom and experience had been tacked on in such a short amount of time.

She also recalled perfectly that this was the same day he had told her he loved her for the first time. The image was burned into her head like a tattoo. She could remember the exact look on his face, the passion in his eyes. It was the sort of memory that you wished you could bottle forever, so that you could share it with your children and grandchildren, untainted.

Carefully she lifted the next item. It was the letter he had slipped into the French version of Catcher in the Rye. It seemed foolish to keep it, as it was only a Braille marking from Jenna's computer...but nonetheless, it had been one of the first indications of his trust in her. And somehow, that made it more special than anybody else could understand.

She was shaken from her reverie when she heard the front door slam.

"Spencer! I'm back! I have bagels!"

She sat there for a moment, unsure of what her appetite status even was. She felt emotionally empty to an extent that surely required some sort of substance to fill the void; but physically, she felt sick to her stomach.

"Spence," Hanna called, approaching the door. She paused in the doorway, examining the events unfolding before her. "Spencer..."

"You were right," Spencer said quickly. She hated admitting when she was wrong, and tried as often as she could to say the words as painlessly as possible. Speeding up the sentences usually helped. "I miss him." She took a deep breath to steady her emotions, though she could feel her eyes welling up with involuntary tears.

"Oh, honey," Hanna murmured, dropping her purse and the bag of bagels, quickly making her way over to her best friend in the corner. She immediately sat and wrapped her arms around her, cradling Spencer's head in the crook of her neck. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier...I was a bitch..."

"No," Spencer protested, shaking her head against Hanna's warm shoulder. "No, you were right. I've been - almost enjoying being miserable, in some morbid way. It's as though I spent all this time trying to get over him, but in the end haven't accomplished anything. It became another challenge to overcome, and I became obsessed with making it happen. I forgot about what it means to be happy...I forgot it a long time ago."

"There's still a chance," Hanna reasoned optimistically. "Maybe you two ran into each other again for a reason."

If only she knew how spot-on she was. She had never read the letter...Spencer had kept it strictly to herself.

"I don't know," Spencer whispered desperately, pulling away and wiping her eyes. The wetness in their corners had gone as quickly as they had appeared. "Maybe I already screwed it all up."

Hanna scoffed good-naturedly, sending Spencer a side-long smirk. "Spencer Hastings? Screwing something up and not being able to fix it? Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?"

Hanna's comment actually caused Spencer to laugh a little. And she had to admit, it felt quite good.

"C'mon," Hanna urged, standing and offering a hand. "I have bagels."

"I'm not hungry," Spencer argued.

"Pish posh," Hanna dismissed. "Like my granny always said, breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

Spencer rolled her eyes and accepted Hanna's hand. She grasped it all the way back to the kitchen, feeling grateful for the warmth against her own clammy skin. She let go only when Hanna began unveiling the baker's dozen she had acquired, rambling on and on about all the available flavors. Spencer watched her with appreciation.

"Thank you," she murmured. It was the most genuine gratitude she had expressed to anyone in months.

Hanna paused and smiled somberly. "I'm always here, lovely."

And Spencer knew it to be true.

Hanna, as if suddenly remembering something important, quickly raised her wrist to her face to study her watch. "Oh, shit," she muttered. "I have to get Caleb." She began gathering her things and snatching a bagel to go, but stopped in her tracks, staring at Spencer.

"What?" Spencer asked.

"I just...I...I can tell him to wait," Hanna decided, clearly feeling guilty for abandoning her friend.

Spencer smiled and shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm fine." Hanna gave a dead-pan expression. "Seriously. Go."

"Are you sure?" Hanna questioned, though Spencer could tell she was failing to hide her excitement.

"Yes," Spencer promised. "Go on. Don't leave him waiting."

"Thanks!" Hanna chirped, throwing her arms around Spencer. Spencer laughingly patted her on the back.

"Love you," Hanna said as she made her way out the door. "I'll be back tomorrow!"

"Bye," Spencer said in the cheeriest voice she could muster. Once the door had closed, she allowed her face to fall back to reality.

She would be fine. She didn't lie to her. Right?

A sharp knock on the door interrupted the bite she had taken of her bagel. Hastily setting it down and wiping her hands, she ran towards the foyer.

"What did you forget?" she laughed as she pulled the door open.

It was Toby.

"Nothing," he murmured softly in response.

TO BE CONTINUED