Nineteen | Cassidy
Nineteen
Cassidy
“S orry I’m late, but I come bearing coffee,” Sam said as he walked into my parents' kitchen, which was covered in flour and baking utensils.
“If you don’t have a gingerbread latte, I’m going to—”
“Relax,” my brother replied with a chuckle. “I have your gingerbread latte, and mom’s peppermint mocha, and dad’s black coffee. Trust me, I know what everyone likes by now.”
“Well, some of us have been up baking since the butt crack of dawn and need an afternoon pick me up,” I said, narrowing my eyes as I accepted the drink he handed me. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, and some of us have been up since three this morning making lattes to keep the crazy town of Sugarplum Falls running,” he countered. “Some of us need the afternoon pick me up more than others.”
“Has it been that busy?” my dad asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Yeah. I don’t know why, but people are way more stressed about Christmas this year than usual. We’ve had lines out the door since we opened, and the drive-thru line has blocked traffic on Main Street. Piper is closing today, but I imagine she’ll stay open late to get through the line.”
“Wow. I didn’t know people were so stressed right now,” my mom said with a cinnamon stick poking out of her bun.
“Mom, you have cinnamon in your hair,” I commented, pointing to it.
She reached up and felt around until she found the cinnamon stick.
“Oh, my goodness. I thought that was a pen.” She looked around the messy kitchen that had cooling racks scattered about with stacks of cookies on them. “I wonder what I did with the pen.”
My dad leaned over the pot that was boiling on the stove, using the tongs to pull something out.
“Found it,” he said, holding up the dripping wet pen.
“Oh my God!” I burst into laughter, making everyone else laugh with the snort that came out with it. “Mom!”
“What? I’m sorry, but things have been busy, and I’ve been distracted. It’s not my fault. This is why I said we should have just gotten everything from Sugarplum Sweets and saved everyone the trouble this year.”
“Yeah, but I like our family tradition,” I said softly.
Sure, the day was long, and my feet would be killing me by the time I sat down, but I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world. Baking as a family were some of my fondest memories growing up, and spending time in my grandparent’s kitchen as we learned from them.
“Mine too,” Sam replied, hanging his coat on the back of a chair. “Even if I’m always late and miss most of it. I still enjoy being here and doing this as a family.”
“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but once I finish this latte, I’m bringing out the real afternoon pick me up,” my mom said, nearly downing her latte in one big gulp.
Sam and I exchanged a look with each other before staring at our mom in disbelief.
She set her empty cup down and then went to the fridge.
“Eggnog, anyone?”
Sam and I both groaned, knowing that my mom’s eggnog always messed people up. She didn’t bother to measure when she made it, which meant it was usually stronger than anything Aiden served at Sugar Faced Bar.
“I’ll order the pizza,” Sam said as I pulled off my apron and hung it on the wall.
“I’ll start cleaning up.”
We all knew that once the eggnog was out, that was the end of family baking because no one wanted to bake while they were buzzed—and we would all end up that way if we drank it. On nights like this, it was common for Sam and I to stay the night, so we didn’t have to worry about driving home. While I still had my old bedroom to sleep in, Sam would crash on the couch, which he claimed was more comfortable than his old bed that my parents got rid of when they converted his room into a craft room for my mom.
An hour later, I was resting on the couch with my feet up, enjoying the warm fire as I finished my second cup of eggnog. The pizza was supposed to arrive any minute, but I could already feel the warm fuzzies creeping into my head.
I grabbed my phone and opened the text messages. It had been over twelve years since I had called or texted Sean, but I never had it in me to delete his phone number. I chewed my nails as I debated sending him a text message, hoping he hadn’t changed his phone number.
He had been overly nice to me when he took care of me after I fell, and it wouldn’t hurt me to say thank you for it. It wasn’t like I was forgiving him or professing my love for him—just a simple thank you .
I scrolled through the names in my phone until I found the one that said Fucker Face . I clicked on it and started writing my message.
Me: Dear Sean. I am sorry.
I squinted at my phone to try to read the words, but everything was blurry, and it looked like it was spinning around me. I pressed send and then started another message.
Me: You are not an ass, but you have one.
Me: A nice one.
Me: I wasn’t looking.
I looked up as my mother stood in front of me, offering me a refill of eggnog. I smiled and took it from her, wondering why it was sloshing around so much. I took a big sip to bring the level down before it spilled.
Me: But maybe I should.
I was about to text more until Sam sat beside me and yanked my phone away from me.
“Hey! What are you doing? Give that back,” I demanded, holding my hand out.
He grinned as he read through the messages.
“Who is Fucker Face ?”
“None of your business,” I snapped, lunging for the phone as the liquid in my glass rose dangerously close to spilling over again. I took another drink, wondering why my mother kept refilling it if it was already full. Then I found her sitting on the other couch with my dad, drinking her glass of eggnog. I frowned at the one in my hand and wondered if it had somehow been reproducing on its own and making more when I wasn’t looking. Maybe it was one of those cheeky little elf dolls. Those things gave me the creeps.
“Is this Sean?” he asked, a wicked grin spreading tightly across his face as my phone dinged with a new text alert.
“Give it to me!” I set the glass down the best I could on the table beside me and lunged for my phone.
“What’s going on?” my dad asked, watching us. It wasn’t unusual for us to wrestle when we were younger, but those days were long past us. Or so I thought.
“Nothing,” I grunted. “Sam is being an ass and won’t give back my phone.”
“Language,” my mom scolded, followed by a hiccup.
“I’m twenty-nine, mom. I say much worse than that when you’re not around.”
“Doesn’t surprise me one bit,” she answered, lifting her glass but pausing to take a drink as she hiccupped again.
“It seems our little Cassidy is texting Sean,” Sam said with a mocking tone.
“Oh! How lovely!” my mom exclaimed, attempting to clap her hands until my dad intervened and took her drink away. He never partook when we had eggnog, which was probably best since we all needed an adult to supervise us. “I’m so happy our little Sean Cassidy is back!”
“Your what?” I asked, stopping to try to get her face into focus. Man, that eggnog was strong this time.
“Our little Sean Cassidy. That’s what we used to call you two back in the day when you were dating.”
“I don’t even know who that is,” I said with a shake of my head and a shrug.
“You know, Sean Cassidy?” she pressed, tilting her head to the side.
“Not ringing a bell.”
“ The Hardy Boys Mysteries ?”
I shook my head again, wondering if Sam knew who she was talking about.
“Well, he might have been a bit before your time. But back in the day, he was a real looker, and all the girls loved his voice.”
“Sounds fabulous,” I said with a hint of sarcasm. “But no, we are not Sean Cassidy. There is a Sean, and there is a Cassidy, but we are not together.”
“Might want to check your phone before you start denying anything,” Sam teased, tossing it back to me as he got up to use the restroom.
I looked down at the screen, and my eyes widened.
Fucker Face: Feel free to touch it if it makes you feel better.