She's the Ash

Chapter 4: Meeting

A/N: Sorry for the delay in this chapter, but you know how the holidays get- busy. I've also been trying to pack- I'm spending a semester in London, just like Ashley, leaving behind my boyfriend who desperately doesn't want me to go, but wants me to be happy. So, this story has even more of a connection to me now. I hope that shines through. And, as always, THANK YOU for the reviews. I appreciate them so much!

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I had gone down to eat dinner a little while after my disheartening revelation. Mom had ordered Chinese food – Toby's and my favorite – but I was only picking at my crab ran goons, my head lost and my eyes downcast.

"Ashley, what's wrong?"

I ignored her and finally popped the friend noodle filled with cream cheese and synthetic crabmeat into my mouth.

"Did something happen with Jimmy? Wasn't he supposed to come over tonight?"

"We broke up," I said, flatly, unconcerned.

"What?!" My mom looked at me wide-eyed. She was so afraid of me freaking out when my relationships were shaky or ended; since I become horribly depressed, gone goth, and dashed to London at each relationship's end, I could certainly see why she'd expect such a reaction now.

I looked at her finally, my steady eyes locked with her panicked ones.

"Mom, I'm fine. Honest."

Her look didn't let up. Toby rolled his eyes; this had already gone through the Degrassi rumor mill, and all of the silly teens had their own theories as to why.

"Ashley, are you sure you're okay? I can call Dr. Richards-"

My therapist.

"No, Mom, I'm fine. We were about to break up; we've been having problems for months."

"You don't seem upset at all by it."

I shrugged, and picked up some lo mein with my chopsticks.

"I guess I never really cared as much as I thought I did this time around. I didn't love him, Mom. Not really."

She nodded, trying to understand. After a minute she just went back to her fried rice. As long as there was no sign of drugs or depression she'd let it go.

We had been eating in silence for a little while when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket; the ringer went off, too, and The Hush Sound's "The Boys Are Too Refined" rang out through the kitchen.

I jumped and pull my phone out of my jeans, flipping it open as I got up out of my seat and walked out of the kitchen and into the foyer.

"Hello?"

"Is this Ashley Kerwin?"

"Yes."

'Congratulations! This is Anne from Columbia Records, and you're our winner of the Mano a Mano with Manning contest!"

I nearly dropped the phone.

"What?"

"You're our winner, Ms. Kerwin! You get to meet Craig Manning Saturday in Stouffville!"

I resisted the urge to squeal, but I couldn't keep the excitement from bubbling up into my voice when I gave my thanks.

Oh, my God. I was going to see Craig, sooner than I had ever anticipated.

Anne explained to me how there would be a tent outside of the Columbia Records store where the autograph signing would take place. I'd need to show my I.D. at the tent, and then I would wait until he was done signing autographs, then he'd come to the tent and I would meet him.

I hung up the phone, smiling widely and heart beating wildly, filled with confidence. I could tell him, in person, that I loved him.

Two days later, I was on the train to Stouffville, half-asleep in my seat and Craig's CD blasting through my iPod's earbuds. It was nine in the morning, and the ride would take an hour and a half. The signing started at eleven o'clock- an early morning for a rock star.

I could barely stand waiting for the past two days. I had planned, re-planned, and thought over everything I wanted to say to him so many times that I had psyched myself out.

But no planning was really necessary; there was no way that this moment could be rehearsed or practiced thousands of times to achieve perfection. It needed to be spontaneous and heartfelt. I had only three words that were really required of me. I love you.

I had lied to my mom; I had told her that I would be spending the day at the library on a research project for Kwan. She still didn't like Craig, given that he was one of the reasons why I hadn't come back for my senior year of high school, "ruining my education", and I wasn't going to tell her that I was this desperate to see him. I needed to, so much.

"My Window" was blasting from my iPod now. His CD was all that I had listened to since that night. My revelation and feelings had swirled around my head continuously; it was all I could focus on. With each listen of the album, I felt my heart swell and grow, falling still more deeply in love with this artist, this man who, in every song, seemed to speaking – no, calling out – to me. I hoped the fangirls didn't feel the same way; I wanted those songs to be about us and mean something only to me, as selfish as it was and even if I didn't deserve it after all these months.

And at the same time, I was so worried that I wouldn't get the reception I fantasized of My hands were shaking and tingling from the fear that he'd hate me, thinking I had rejected him, or that he no longer loved me, crushing the heart that had only ever belonged to him and had just been too stupid and stubborn to admit it.

I needed him to love me still, and need me as much as I needed him. I needed to apologize for running away and being too much of a coward to even tell him myself, too scared of my emotions and of his illness to allow myself to rise above the ocean of feeling I had been drowning in. I hoped he would just listen.

The train arrived in the station on time, lurching to a halt that nearly sent me flying forward into the seat back in front of me. I got up from my own seat, careful to check for all of my stuff: my purse and the zip-up black hoodie that I had taken off, and my iPod.

The rain was very light when I exited the train. Anne had told me that the signing was about two blocks away from the train station on Elm Street. I put the hood of my hoodie over my head to prevent my hair from frizzing out, and I internally thanked God that I had chosen to forgo flare jeans that would drag along the wet ground. I wore skinny jeans and a pair of black Converse that I had unearthed from under a pile of high heels in my closet. I had washed the Ramones shirt and was wearing it again, determined to look like the Ashley he remembered, not the girl he saw at Ellie's graduation or at his gig with Taking Back Sunday.

The weather, despite the rain, was pretty mild. There weren't very many people around because of the drizzle, but that changed once I turned from Main Street onto the Elm. A line of people was stretched from the record store to the end of the block, and more giggling girls than I could count were approaching it, threatening to engorge the line and stretch back around the corner where I had come from

Between the blonde heads I caught a glimpse of the top of a pristine white tent and I began to push my way through the throngs of teen girls. I ignored the dirty looks and the short brunette who called out snottily, "Y'know, the line starts all the way back there" and after nearly running over a ten-year old girl wearing a shirt with Craig's face on it, I managed to make it to the tent.

A table was set up at the entrance, with a sign declaring it to be the meeting place for the "Mano a Mano with Manning" winner. I still found it so coincidental – so much so that I couldn't help but feel that it was destined – that I had won. Any other typical fan could have won, and he'd have been subjected to giggling and squealing and breathless adoration that I knew he wouldn't be able to stand. Instead, he was 'meeting' with a fan who once knew him intimately.

I was lucky to have this chance, and I refused to screw it up.

I approached the poor man who was sitting at the table, bleary-eyed and sucking down a coffee like it was the Elixir of Life. Apparently, eleven o'clock was early for everyone in the music business.

"Hi," I half-yelled, attempting to be heard over the chattering

"Hello? Can I help you?" he replied, placing his Styrofoam cup down on the table.

"My name's Ashley Kerwin; I won the contest?"

"Oh! Right- can I se your I.D. please? I just have to make sure that it is actually you. We get a lot of people here trying to meet Craig without winning."

I nodded and showed him my Ontario driver's license. He smiled, then ushered me behind the table.

"Just go to the chairs in the back, Anne will be there to explain everything to you more fully. I'm Don, Craig's manager," he said, extending his hand.

I gave him confused look. I was wary; El had told me all about Craig's shady signing manager. "Not Leo?"

"No- Craig dumped Leo as soon as he checked into rehab." He then took his turn to give me a confused look. "How'd you know about Leo? Craig's fans normally don't know about his managers, or anything like that."

I shrugged "Just a really big fan."

He laughed. "Sure."

I made my way to the back of the tent.

There were two folding chairs set up another table, which had a couple of Craig's headshots on it along with a Sharpie, ready for him to sign. Anne was there, smiling a little too cheerily and holding two cups.

"Hello, Ashley!" She grinned while setting down the cups "Coffee?"

"Please", I smiled, setting my bag on the chair without the pictures in front of it. Anne handed me some creamer and sugar, then sat down in the unoccupied chair.

"So, there are a few things we need to go over," she began as she poured five creamers into the other cup, turning it from deep brown to tan .The only person I knew who liked their coffee that white was Craig. My eyes lit up; I really was going to meet him. I wasn't dreaming.

"Like what?"

"First, don't actually touch Craig. It may be a hard temptation to resist, but we can and will assume that you are attacking him."

I did my best to refrain from laughing. Yes, I would have to curb any desire to touch him, but not because of any fangirl tendencies. Rather, it would be hard to quell the urge to hug him, kiss him and never let go.

"Okay. Anything else?"

Anne nodded. "Don't ask him too many questions. He doesn't like to discuss his personal life. And especially don't ask him about his love life." She winked at me. "It's a sore subject."

Oh, I bet.

She glanced at her watch.

"It's about eleven now; Craig is going to sign CDs for about an hour, and then he'll be in to meet you! Do you need a magazine or some water while you wait? I've got a copy of American CosmoGirl!"

I shook my head.

"No, I brought a book with me, but thank you."

She looked at me for a second, as if she were trying to figure out whether or not I was joking.

"A book? Wow, you're pretty different from the other girls who normally win these things."

I laughed and she left the tent. Oh, you have no idea.

I made myself as comfortable as I could in my chair and pulled out my novel: Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. It was one of my favorite books, its story captivating even when I was only a grade eight and didn't actually understand what I was reading.

I loved how both Jane and Mr. Rochester needed to improve in order to finally be together. There were still fundamentally the same people, but how the world saw them and how they saw themselves was altered and changed for the better. They both had to suffer and overcome hardships in order to let their true love fully blossom.

Their story reminded me so much of Craig and myself, which is why the pages were dog-eared from so many readings. It had given me strength when Craig cheated on me- but I now knew that wasn't the hardship I was meant to endure and overcome.

I had read that book time after time in London, itself a backdrop to everything that happened while I was abroad, and even when I returned. Ali and Jimmy were both my St. John, the men who were absolutely wrong for me in every way. It took me rejecting them in turn to finally realize that I was still trying to fill the gap Craig had left.

No matter how much I had changed while in England, I still needed Craig. Jane Eyre had induced me to return to Canada. It had convinced me to come home. It had convinced me that wherever Craig was was my home.

The hour passed while I read; Jane had just startled Mr. Rochester's horse when I heard a rush of disappointed sighs and the patter of hundreds of pairs of feet outside the tent. Just after the fangirls passed, I hear two male voices conversing – no, arguing – just outside the tent.

"Craig, c'mon, it's just one fan. I know you're tired after today, but-"

"No, Don, it's not just 'cause I'm tired. I'm just sick to death of these fawning fangirls, who giggle and bat their eyelashes and try to convince me that they are the ones my songs are about. But they aren't, Don. Those songs could never, ever be about anyone but her."

Don sighed. "I know, I know. Your Ashley, who has yet to contact you. I know that all you want to do is go back to your hotel room and write more songs about her, hoping that she'll hear them one day and come back to you, Craig, but you can't. You have to keep pushing this album before the tour in Europe, and that includes meeting the fan in this tent. If it helps, she's pretty."

Craig took his turn to sigh. "It doesn't. But I'll do it. But this is it until we go to Europe. Got it?"

"Just one more. In Buffalo, in the States. Then, you're back up in Canada for the Purple Dragon concert, then we're off to Europe."

"Fine, fine, fine."

"Good. Now, just so it makes it easier for you to play nice, her name is Ashley, just like your mystery girl. Kerwin's her last name. Ashley Kerwin."

I heard a chocked gasp, and suddenly the flap to the tent was ripped open. It was raining harder now, and a dampened man stood in the entrance, staring at me. My Craig, his hair grown back into its wonderful, adorable curls and his eyes boring into my face, as if trying to make sure that I wasn't a mirage and that I wouldn't disappear. They were still a gorgeous dark brown, and still capable of captivating me entirely. His mouth was hanging open, his jaw moving only when he tried to speak, but he couldn't seem to find the words.

"Ash-Ashley?" he managed to force out of his throat.

I nodded, stupidly, rising up out of my chair as I stared back at him. I felt such a magnetic pull towards him, a desire that I couldn't keep in check for very long. I was desperate to be near him again, and I was desperate to know that he still felt what I did. I wanted to tell him I loved him, I wanted to tell him so many things, but, like him, there weren't any words or even any coherent thoughts in my head.

Finally, I was able to speak just one word, a word filled with the feelings of the past but also with hope for the future, a word that defined this reconnection, this meeting, with him.

"Hello."