Page 84 of Since Always

I give him a half smile and nod.

"In this life, you have mine," I say.

He looks away then; the words hanging too heavy in the air. He quickly changes the subject.

"Hey, I didn't give you your birthday present. Today got a little crazy. Let me grab it."

He leaves the room for a moment and comes back with a beautiful silver wrapped box.

"Did you do this yourself?" I ask as he sits back down and hands it to me. "It looks so good."

He gives me a sheepish grin. "Uh, no. My assistant in DC did."

"Owen," I say, laughing. "You delegated my present?"

"I did everything else. I swear. Down to having the engraving done. But, you know, I am very busy and important." He pauses for a moment before his face falters, breaking into a laugh.

"Oh, good lord, what I have done?" I ask, laughing as I tear into the package.

Inside the box is a delicate gold necklace with a single charm—a solid gold ball. I take it out to examine it up close and see that my father's initials are engraved into it.

"Wow," I whisper.

"I want you to remember, every single day, how strong you are. And I also want you to remember how much your dad loved you and believed in you. The weight you carry is heavy, but if you hadn't loved each other as much as you did, it wouldn't hurt like it does. The ball would be empty. It's heavy because it's filled with his love."

I choke back the lump in my throat before I speak. "Thank you. It's... It's absolutely perfect."

"Live a good life for him, Cass. Live a good life for yourself."

I swallow the tears and the words. What good is a life, after all, if I'm not going to share it with him?

I throw myself into school when I get back. Something comes over me, and I feel a sense of determination I have not felt before. I am devastated by the reality of my situation with Owen, and upset that my brother and I aren't speaking, but I also don't want to fall back into a depression. So this time, I just try to use it. I know now what my life is not going to look like. But I need to figure out what it is going to.

I call the number my professor gave me and set up a meeting with the guy running the news site over coffee the next day.

I want to call Owen to tell him I'm doing it, but I resist the urge. I call Becca instead.

"I'm so happy for you, Cass. I'm glad you are putting yourself out there," she tells me.

On Wednesday, at the cafe, I sit with Reggie Washington in a quiet corner and he tells me with a gleam in his eyes about his plans for The Real Story.

"I want to present facts," he tells me. "Obviously there is a bias in all reporting, but I think we can minimize it. Of course, there will be people who think we are being biased just by reporting facts, but those people don't tend to believe in facts anyway, so I'm not really concerned with them. But I think there is a sizable chunk of the country, especially in our generation, that's tired of being spoon-fed how they should think about something."

"I agree," I say. "And I love the idea. Here is what happened, here's the events, here's the outcome, all without editorializing."

"Exactly," he says, nodding enthusiastically. "Which doesn't have to mean boring, I don't think. It doesn't have to mean watered down writing either. I think you can still tell a story in an engaging way without coloring it with your own bias. But I do think, as a writer, that will be a bit of a challenge."

A wide grin spreads across my face. "Well," I say honestly. "I'm always up for a challenge."

We talk more about the job. He explains it won't pay as much as he would want it to, at least starting out. I can tell by the way he tells me this that our professor did not tell him who I was, and I just smile and say that I will be able to get by on whatever he can do, but that money isn't a deterrent for me. He tells me travel with be necessary to cover stories, which I am thrilled to hear, because that should keep me busy.

By the time we leave the coffee shop, almost three hours later, the job is officially mine. We have also talked at length about story ideas and site design and marketing. I have some thoughts right away on things that might help, and he seems genuinely impressed by my input.

I call my mom on the way home.

"I got the job!" I cry.

"Oh, Cassidy, that's so wonderful! I am so happy for you! Tell me all about it."

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