CHAPTER 16
CASSIE
The need to belong is deeply ingrained in us. I think it’s because there’s no worse feeling in the world than being on the outside looking in. Watching a group of friends laughing together in school and wishing you were in on the joke. Seeing your coworkers gathered around at the water cooler and longing to be part of the conversation. Or, in my case, desperately wanting to belong in my own family. From the moment Dad married Nia, I felt pushed aside. And then, when the twins were born two years later, I was more than pushed aside—I was pushed out. At least that’s what it feels like. Nia never warmed up to me, and I’m constantly walking on eggshells with Dad, which in turn makes me all the more desperate for their approval.
That’s probably why, when Dad calls thirty minutes before I’m supposed to meet Aaron for dinner and asks if I can babysit, I answer yes without hesitation.
“I thought Nia’s friend’s daughter was the best babysitter on the block,” I joke, unable to stop from dropping a passive-aggressive jab under the guise of teasing. On past visits I offered to babysit numerous times so Dad and Nia could go on their monthly date nights, but they’ve always dismissed the offer, opting instead for some teenager on their street.
Dad chuckles. “Kendra’s great. But she’s no match for their big sister. Anyway, she sprained her ankle this afternoon, so she had to cancel. We hate to bug you on Saturday night, though. You didn’t already have plans?”
“Well, I did. But I’m fine rescheduling. Unless … any chance I can invite a friend over? We had plans for dinner and a movie. Maybe I can talk him into coming by and watching Disney movies instead.”
“Is this the friend from the fish store?”
“No, somebody else.”
“Ms. Popularity over here! Sure, that won’t be a problem. Go ahead and invite your friend. And thanks, Cass. I owe you one. We really didn’t want to cancel date night—there’s a CCR tribute band playing in the park tonight. I’m stoked.”
“No worries. I’ve hardly seen the girls this month, so it’ll be nice to spend some time with them.”
After we hang up, I text Aaron.
Me: I am SO sorry to do this, but there’s been a last-minute change of plans. My dad’s in a bind and needs me to babysit my sisters. Any chance you want to come by and keep me company? Their bedtime is nine, so we’ll still have alone time. AND … there’s a Disney movie in it for you …
Aaron: Make it Frozen 2 and you’ve got yourself a deal.
Me: I’m afraid you’ll have to negotiate with two six-year-old girls on that. They run the show.
Aaron: Challenge accepted.
Me: I’ll text you the address.
An hour later, Nia opens the front door to let me into my childhood home, her reluctant expression telling me how little she’s enjoying this change of plans.
“Thank you for babysitting, Cassandra.” Her smile is a bit stiff. “I’m sure you have better things to do on a Saturday night.”
“It’s fine. I’ve barely seen the girls this summer.”
It’s not meant as an accusation, but I see a flicker of guilt in her eyes.
Before she can say anything, I change the subject. “Anything I need to know for tonight? Any new allergies since the last time I was here? Or still just coconut for Roxy?”
“Just the coconut.” Nia leads me into the kitchen. “They already had their dinner, and they just finished their bath. Clayton is dressing them.” When the faint sound of girlish shrieks rings out from upstairs, she gazes at the ceiling with amusement. “Or at least he should be. Your father always turns the simplest task into a game.”
I grin. “He’s always been like that.”
She stops at the counter. “We went grocery shopping today, so there are plenty of snacks and drinks. But don’t let them drink any soda. Not even a drop.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
“Let me go upstairs and speed them up.”
As Nia ducks out of the kitchen, I take off my jean jacket and drape it over the back of a breakfast stool. Setting my purse on the counter, I reach inside it for my phone and find a message from Tate.
Tate: I’ve prayed to the kissing gods on your behalf. Good fortune be with you.
I’ve been waiting for him to text all day. I hadn’t wanted to do it first, and the longer today dragged on without a word from him, the more I worried just how badly last night had screwed things up between us. I’d passed out like a light after our mutual pleasure session, then woke up this morning wondering what the hell I’d done. A line had undeniably been crossed, but I didn’t know how to address it. I figured when he got in touch and brought it up, I could blame it on all the champagne.
But this? This is the message I get?
We’re just going to pretend it never happened? That I don’t know what his face looks like when he ejaculates?
A warm flush spreads across my skin at the filthy memory. I’m never going to be able to erase that image from my mind. His teeth biting into his lip. Hand clenched around his cock. The husky noise he made. Watching Tate Bartlett shudder in orgasm was the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.
But okay. I guess we’re not going to talk about it.
Me: LOL thanks. Might be hard to get some kissing in, though. I got roped into babysitting, so Aaron’s going to keep me company.
Tate: Lame.
Me: I know. Maybe we’ll go out afterward if the folks don’t get back too late.
Tate: All right. Have fun.
Sighing, I lay the phone down. Hell, maybe it’s better we don’t talk about it. Just forget it ever happened.
Only, as with most impossible tasks, forgetting last night is … well … impossible.
“Bedtime is nine,” Nia is saying ten minutes later, as she and Dad slip into their shoes in the front hall. “They can watch one movie. Only one.”
I watch as she secures the ankle strap of one gold sandal. She looks beautiful tonight. Her hair is loose, tight black curls framing her face and making her appear softer; usually it’s pulled back in a low bun, giving her a more severe look. Her makeup is light, just the sweep of gold eyeshadow and a touch of mascara. She’s clad in a flowy blue dress with a unique pattern on it, paired with those strappy gold sandals.
“You look gorgeous,” I tell her, the compliment popping out before I can stop it. Experience has taught me that Nia is terrible at receiving compliments. Or at least ones that come from me. She typically dismisses them with a stiff wave of her hand.
Tonight, she surprises me. “Thank you.” She smooths the front of her dress. “My mother sent me this dress last year, but this is my first opportunity to wear it.”
“Care package from Haiti, huh? That’s cool.”
Nia smiles. “It’s always a wonderful surprise. Makes me very homesick.”
I’m pretty sure this is the first time she’s shared something this personal with me. Holy shit. Are we bonding?
Dad ruins the moment by peering past my shoulder into the living room, where my sisters are on the couch babbling to each other in French.
“Au revoir, mes petites chéries,” he calls out.
“Au revoir, Daddy!”
“Don’t give your sister too much trouble,” he warns.
“We won’t,” Roxy promises.
Dad kisses my cheek and ducks out the door. Nia lingers, her expression taking on a glint of panic.
“No soda,” she reminds me. “If they want a snack, there are rice cakes on the top shelf of the cabinet. Monique loves them, especially if you spread some peanut butter on them. Oh, and be sure to keep a close eye on her. She likes to climb the furniture.”
“We’ll be fine,” I assure her. “I’ll call you if I need anything. Go out and enjoy the concert.”
“Thank you, Cassandra.” Everyone else calls me Cassie or Cass, but in the eight years I’ve known her, Nia’s never called me anything but Cassandra.
I close the door behind them, lock it, and proceed to dance into the living room like a game show contestant who just got chosen to go onstage. “All right, the adults are gone!” I shout. “Let’s party!”
The twins burst into giggles. I flop down on the couch between them and throw an arm around each girl.
“So, I should warn you,” I say, “I invited a friend to hang out with us tonight.”
Roxy squeals. “What’s her name? How do you know her?”
“Well, firstly, it’s a him—”
“Ewwwww,” Mo says, making a face.
“What’s his name? How do you know him?” Roxy demands.
“His name is Aaron. You’ll like him. He’s really funny. I told him he can watch a movie with us.”
“I don’t want a movie. I want a story,” Monique whines. “I want Kit ’n McKenna!”
“We can do both,” I tell her. “Movie now, and a story at bedtime.”
At the reminder of their favorite bedtime story, I suddenly realize I haven’t heard from Robb in a few days. I gave him the story line for our Kit ’n McKenna book last week, but he still hasn’t sent back any concepts for the artwork. Since the printer I found takes about seven days to print the book, Robb and I need to finalize the illustrations by the end of next week if I want it to be ready in time for the girls’ party.
As Roxy continues to interrogate me about Aaron, a message from him pops up, informing me he’ll be here in forty minutes or so. When I told him we wouldn’t be eating together, he ended up driving to Charleston with his brother for dinner, and they’re on their way back now.
Me: The girls are feeling very nosy today, so expect some grilling when you get here.
Aaron: Ha! I’m not worried. All kids love me.
He’s not lying. An hour later, we’re watching Moana, and the twins are laughing their butts off while Aaron stands in front of the TV and belts out the entire number that The Rock sings in the movie. He knows every word, and when I demand an explanation afterward, he offers a sheepish smile and says, “My older sister has a four-year-old daughter. We watch a lot of movies together.”
Halfway through the film, the girls declare they’re bored and would rather play a game, so Mo brings out a ridiculous card game that Roxy tries valiantly to explain. It involves monsters and severed body parts and requires us to fight each other in weird card battles. I don’t understand what the hell is going on, but Aaron picks it up fast, and the next thing I know he and Roxy are competing in a fierce monster battle rife with dark glares and very bad trash talk.
“Oh, you’re going down,” he warns my sister.
“Nuh-uh. You are.”
“No, you are.”
“No, YOU ARE!” Roxy sticks her tongue out at him.
Aaron sticks his tongue out right back at her.
I stare at him. “I’m dating a six-year-old.”
“Dating, huh?” His eyes sparkle.
Smiling, I arch a brow. “I mean, yeah, isn’t this a date?”
“Ewwww!” Monique cries.
“Cassie has a boyfriend!” Roxy yells.
I roll my eyes. “You guys are SO immature,” I say haughtily, and Aaron snickers.
Eventually, I check the time and notice it’s almost eight thirty, so I encourage everyone to wrap up the game. Roxy wins, but I think Aaron lets her, which is another check in his plus column. Not batting an eye about our change of date venue is another one. He really is a decent guy.
“You okay staying down here while I put them to bed?” I ask him.
He’s already reaching for the TV remote. “I’m good,” he assures me. “Preseason game is on. Gotta see how the Bills are looking so far.”
I keep forgetting he’s from New York. Not that far from Boston, a little voice in my head points out.
I suppose that’s super convenient. If we keep dating, that is. Right now, though, while I’m having fun with him, it still feels very platonic. Our initial spark doesn’t seem to be catching fire. I don’t feel a sense of eagerness to kiss him, but I’m not sure if the lack of heat and passion is because of what happened last time we kissed, or if it’s simply just not there with us.
I know I’m capable of feeling it. I felt it last night. I’m sure some of that had to do with the alcohol we’d consumed, but most of it had to do with Tate.
Upstairs, I tuck the girls in and switch on the little lamp atop the night table between their beds. When I turn off the main light, the lamp casts a yellow glow over the room and projects glowing mermaids on the walls. It’s the coolest thing. I wish I’d had one of those growing up.
I drag a white-painted rocking chair closer to their beds. It’s a remnant from when they were babies, and I suddenly have a memory of Nia sitting in this chair, rocking my tiny infant sisters to sleep.
“Okay,” I say cheerfully. “Are we ready to find out what happens when McKenna’s older brother finds Kit hiding in the garage?”
“Thanks for waiting.” I come downstairs about thirty minutes later. Aaron’s made himself comfortable in the living room. Feet up on the coffee table, leaning back against the couch cushions with one arm propped behind his head.
He looks kind of sexy in that position …
This is promising.
When his head turns toward the doorway and his eyes smolder at the sight of me, I feel a fluttering between my legs.
Promising, indeed.
“The girls asleep?” he asks.
I settle beside him on the couch. “Roxy’s out like a light, but Mo will take a bit longer. She was drifting off when I left, though.”
“They’re cool kids. Half sisters, right?”
“Yeah. Their mom is Dad’s second wife. Nia.”
“And you don’t have any other siblings?”
“Nope. I was an only child until I was fifteen, and then the twins came along.”
We talk about families for a while, but I have to admit I’m not paying too much attention to what we’re saying. Aaron’s arm is around me now, and his fingertips are brushing my bare shoulder. Stroking lightly. It feels nice. I’m pleasantly surprised to find heat gathering in my belly. My heart beating faster. Okay, I can work with this.
“Cassie.”
I look over to see him peering at me through heavy-lidded eyes.
“Yeah?” I swallow.
“I really want to kiss you.”
I swallow again. “Good. So kiss me.”
For all of Tate’s advice about how to ward off the “aggressive entry,” it happens so fast I barely have a chance to blink, let alone touch his face and compliment him. The speed with which his lips latch onto mine and his tongue is thrusting inside is almost remarkable. He’s perfected the art of persistent passion with zero buildup. In fact, I’ve never met anyone who’s this skilled at kissing this bad. Once again, I’m caught in the same predicament, a helpless participant in a kiss that makes my head spin, and not in a good way.
Tell him to slow down.
I hear Tate’s voice in my head.
But I feel too awkward asking him to change gears. Not when he’s moaning as if he’s thoroughly enjoying this. His fingers are threaded through my hair. One hand strokes my thigh over my yoga pants. Fortunately, I’m granted a reprieve when he comes up for air. I suck in as much oxygen as my lungs will allow, while Aaron mumbles, “You’re so fucking pretty,” and abruptly starts “kissing” me again. At this point, I don’t think it qualifies as actual kissing, so much as face banging.
Say something.
I say nothing.
Yup, I chicken out. I let him keep doing what he thinks of as sexy kissing for another solid minute. Until, to my sheer relief, a little voice interrupts us.
“Cassie?” Monique whines from the stairs.
Aaron and I break apart. “Hold that thought,” I tell him, when inside I’m like, please, forget that thought.
I step into the hall and find Mo wobbling down the stairs in her PJs, wide awake.
“Hey, squirt.” I frown. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Aww. Well, that’s not good. How can we fix that?”
“Can you tell me another story?”
I glance at the clock hanging on the wall at the entrance to the kitchen. It’s five past ten. An hour past her bedtime. And Nia and my dad should be home in the next hour or so. I bite my cheek. I can’t have Monique up and about when they get back or Nia will never leave me alone with the girls again.
“All right.” I let out a sigh. “Go up to bed and we’ll do another story. Just give me a sec to say goodbye to Aaron.”
“I’ll wait here.” With a stubborn jut of her chin, she plants her butt on the bottom step.
“Okay. But don’t move.”
When I reenter the living room, Aaron is already up, phone in hand. He swipes his keys off the coffee table.
“You heard that?” I say wryly.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I need to go back upstairs and put her to sleep, and I feel bad making you sit and wait again.” Monique’s insomnia also happens to be the escape hatch I’d been praying for, but I keep that thought to myself.
“It’s no problem,” he says easily. “Why don’t we meet again during the week? I heard there’s a really good mini golf course on the south end of the boardwalk.”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
I walk him to the door, where he leans in to kiss me goodbye. Luckily, just a kiss on the cheek, his tongue remaining firmly in his own mouth.
“Good night, sexy,” he says huskily, and I can’t lie—it does nothing for me.
I close the door after him and lock it. Then I stand there for a moment, exhaling a long, tired breath when I hear his car driving away. I don’t think this Aaron thing is going to work. A friendship, maybe, but I honestly can’t envision anything more than that. Which means—
A resounding crash jolts me from my thoughts.
It sounded like it came from the kitchen.
A wave of fear slams into me, propelling me forward. “Monique?” I shout, running through the house.
I fly into the kitchen and my heart stops when I spot her small body sprawled by the tall cabinet where we keep the snacks. The bottom shelf has broken off, the splintered plank now lying on the floor. It’s clear she tried to climb it, and it didn’t hold her weight. Random items are strewn around her feet—bags of chips, a can of peanuts, an array of baking supplies. On the top shelf, another tin of nuts teeters on the edge before crashing down and missing Monique’s head by mere inches. She screeches in surprise.
I dive onto the floor and help her into a sitting position. “Oh my God. Sweetheart. Are you okay? Where are you hurt?”
I snap into emergency mode and search her for injuries, the frigid chill of panic icing my veins when I notice the cut on her jaw. It’s not bleeding, just a few red dots, but whatever hit her did break the skin and leave a small indentation.
Tears stream down Monique’s face. “The thing fell on my face. That one.” She points.
I follow her finger to a peanut can that’s rolling toward the fridge. Okay. Thank God. It’s a plastic container. Not glass. Although either way Nia is going to kill me.
“It broke my face,” Mo sobs. “I just wanted the rice cakes.”
“Come here, baby.” I pick her up. She wraps her arms and legs around me and clings tight. Her wails begin to quiet, transforming into hiccups.
“Let’s get you a Band-Aid.”
“I don’t want a Band-Aid,” she cries, then hiccups again.
“Tough. I’m going to put you down now, okay?” I set her on the chair at the kitchen table. “Don’t you move a muscle, you hear me? Not one muscle, Mo.”
I duck into the hall bathroom, where I know Dad keeps a mini first aid kit under the sink. I grab it and hoof it back to the kitchen, where this time Mo listened and didn’t move from her chair.
Sinking to my knees in front of her, I tear open an antiseptic wipe. “This is going to sting just a little,” I warn her. “Ready?”
She nods weakly.
When I swipe it over the tiny cut, her face scrunches up. “I don’t like that!”
“I know, but it’s over. See? It’s over. All done.” I check the wipe, gratified to find no blood on it. She might have a wee bruise, but that’s it.
Once the Band-Aid is on, I scoop her up again and search her face. “Are you okay? Does it still hurt?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Good. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”
We reach the stairs as the front door opens.
Shit.
I hear Nia and Dad’s voices. So does Mo, because she exclaims, “Mama! Daddy! I broke my face! Come see!”
I swallow a groan. “Monique,” I chide.
It’s too late. The adults are galloping in. Nia pries Monique from my arms, while Dad barks, “What happened? Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” I reassure them. “I promise. There’s a broken shelf in the kitchen, but Mo is fine.”
Eyes now completely dry, Mo shows off her Band-Aid. “Look! Maybe I’ll have a scar.”
“A scar?” Nia swivels on me in reproach. “What happened?” Her voice is sharp.
“I was walking Aaron to the door. Mo couldn’t sleep and was alone in the kitchen—when she was supposed to be waiting for me in the hall.” I frown at my sister.
“I’m sorry,” she says meekly.
“She tried to climb the cabinet to get a snack—”
Nia’s eyes blaze. “I told you not to let her climb anything, Cassandra.”
“I know.” Guilt jams in my throat. “I swear I only left her alone for thirty seconds. Aaron was just leaving.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dad says gently.
“No, it’s not.” Nia’s voice rises as she blasts Monique with a reprimand. “You’re not supposed to be climbing the furniture!” Dad touches Nia’s arm, but she pushes him away. “No. I’m taking Monique to bed. Say good night to your father and sister.”
“Good night, Daddy. Good night, Cassie.” Monique’s face is forlorn as peers at me over her mother’s shoulder. She knows she got me in trouble. I’m sorry, she mouths.
I flash a smile of assurance. Love you, I mouth back.
They disappear at the top of the stairs.
Dad observes my expression and sighs. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine. Kids are resilient.”
“I know,” I moan. “It’s just … Nia already doesn’t like me.”
His features soften. “What are you talking about? That’s not true.”
“You know it is.”
“It’s not,” he insists. “She thinks you’re wonderful. We both do.”
Sure. If he says so.
His false assurances still echo in my head as I drive home ten minutes later. It’s eleven o’clock and I’m exhausted. I was supposed to go on a fun date tonight, which somehow turned into my trying to prove to my stepmother that I can be a good big sister. Instead, I only validated her already low opinion of me. And I couldn’t even be assertive with Aaron. Too afraid to hurt his feelings by asking him to slow things down.
God. I feel like shit. My self-esteem is in the toilet, and for the life of me I can’t conjure up a silver lining for tonight. I simply want to go home and climb into bed and sleep the rest of this disastrous weekend away.
When I pull into the driveway of Grandma’s house, I’m startled to find another car parked there.
A silver Mercedes.
Oh no.
No.
Please, don’t let it be her.
Please.
My stomach churns as I shut off the engine. My mother’s go-to rental car choice is a Mercedes. She hates driving Grandma’s Range Rover when she’s in town. Claims it’s too clunky.
Only, Mom isn’t due to arrive for another two weeks. She’s scheduled to come on my birthday weekend, and there’s no way she would show up in Avalon Bay early. Not willingly. Ever since the divorce, this town has become a source of deep hostility for her.
In the front hall, my worst fears are confirmed when I spy several Louis Vuitton cases stacked against the wall. She always leaves her bags down here. Waiting for poor Adelaide to cart them up the stairs as if it’s our housekeeper’s job to play bellhop.
I kick off my tennis shoes and swallow a sigh when I notice the light on in the kitchen. I reluctantly make my way toward it. Steeling myself. Because apparently only bad things happen in kitchens tonight.
I enter to see Mom at the kitchen table, sipping a glass of white wine.
Yup. Only bad things.
“Hey!” I exclaim, slapping on a cheerful smile. It’s difficult, though. My spirits are already dismally low. And if there’s one thing I know about my mother, it’s that she has the power to drag me down even lower. “What are you doing here? You weren’t due for two more weeks.”
“I decided to come early,” she replies. “Mother mentioned on the phone the other day that you two haven’t even started going through the house to decide what she’ll be shipping to the city next month. Clearly my presence is needed here more than in Boston, which, frankly, has been sweltering this summer. It will be nice to spend a month by the ocean.” She takes another sip, then sets down the wineglass and rises from her chair. “Is that a problem?”
“No, of course not!” My voice sounds high, squeaky.
“Wonderful. Then come here and give your mother a hug.”
I walk over and obediently step into her embrace.
“Ah, it’s so good to see you,” Mom says, planting a kiss on the top of my head. The reception is more genuine than I expect, her hug infused with more warmth than I’m accustomed to. “I missed you, sweetie.”
“Oh. I missed you too.” My guard drops a couple of feet. I seem to have caught her in a good mood tonight.
She squeezes me tighter. “I’m hoping we get a chance to spend a lot of time together this month.”
Her brown eyes shine with what seems like sincerity as she releases me. Then they fix on my yoga pants and tight white tank, flicking briefly to the black bra straps peeking out of my top.
A frown twists her lips. “Is that what you wore out tonight?”
And so it begins.