22 Zara
Traditions
Saturday at Mama Lori’s always smells like sugar, laundry detergent, and whatever Cass burned earlier trying to pretend he knows how to cook. Today it also smells aggressively like pumpkin guts.
“I think mine is possessed,” I mutter, staring down into the hollow orange corpse in front of me.
Cass doesn’t even look up from the pumpkin he’s carving across the table. His knife scrapes against the inside wall with slow, deliberate movements, like he’s performing surgery instead of committing vegetable violence.
“It’s a pumpkin, Zae.”
“Exactly,” I reply, poking the inside with my spoon. “And this one clearly wants to do me wrong.”
Now he glances up with that familiar look across his face—the one that says you are ridiculous but unfortunately I love you anyway.
“You said the same thing about the toaster last week.”
“I stand by what I said. That toaster is the devil.”
He snorts quietly and goes back to carving. The kitchen table is covered in paper towels, pumpkin seeds, and two half-destroyed carving kits Mama Lori bought from the grocery store sometime in the early 2000s.
Every year we swear we’re getting better tools. Every year we forget and end up here again, using plastic knives that feel one aggressive scoop away from snapping in half.
Tradition.
We’ve been doing this since sophomore year of high school. First it was on the driveway because Mama Lori didn’t want pumpkin guts inside the house. Then one year it rained, and suddenly we were allowed to do it in the kitchen as long as we “didn’t make it look like a crime scene.”
We still make it look like a crime scene. Cass’ pumpkin already looks annoyingly good. Mine looks confused about its life choices. I lean over the table and squint at him.
“You traced that.”
He keeps carving, not even glancing up. “No, I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Nope.”
I narrow my eyes. “There is no way your brain produced symmetry like that on its own.”
Now he looks up, dark eyes calm and mildly offended. “Sounds like jealousy.”
“It is jealousy,” I admit easily, pointing the plastic carving knife for emphasis. “Your pumpkin has structure. Mine looks like it lost a fight with a spoon.”
Cass’ mouth twitches, but he tries to hide it by leaning forward again.
“Maybe stop stabbing it.”
“I’m not stabbing it,” I protest, immediately stabbing it again.
He finally laughs under his breath. The sound warms something under my ribs before I can stop it. I glance up at him again, because that laugh has been harder to get out of him lately, and every time it shows up I feel weirdly relieved.
The last couple of weeks have been… different.
Not bad exactly, just off. Cass still texts me every morning.
Still walks me to class whenever our schedules line up.
Still grabs my hand without thinking when we cross parking lots.
He still kisses my forehead when he thinks I’m tired and tells me to drink water when I forget.
But there’s a carefulness to him now. A tightness that wasn’t there before.
He pulls away from kisses first. He watches me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. And every once in a while, I catch him looking at me with this expression that feels less like admiration and more like he’s trying to memorize my face. It makes my stomach do weird little flips.
Today he seems better though. Looser. Probably because we’re here.
This place has always been our reset button.
Right on cue, Mama Lori breezes into the kitchen carrying a mug that smells suspiciously like coffee with way too much sugar.
She stops in the doorway and looks at the table, then she sighs.
“Lord, it already looks like a murder scene.”
I grin automatically. “Festive.”
Cass gestures toward my pumpkin with the knife. “She’s the one responsible for the carnage.”
“Lies,” I reply, pointing at him in return. “He’s the one with the weapon.”
Mama Lori walks closer, peering at the pumpkins, lifting an eyebrow.
“Well,” she announces after a moment, “one of those looks nice.”
Cass smirks as I gasp.
“Traitor.”
She pats my shoulder sympathetically. “Sweet girl, that thing is crying for help.”
“It’s whimsical,” I defend.
“It looks drunk.”
Cass chokes on a laugh and turns away, shoulders shaking slightly.
Rude.
Mama Lori takes a sip of her coffee and glances between us with that familiar amused expression, the one she gets when she loves watching us just be us.
“I’m heading over to my sister’s for a few hours,” she says casually. “You two behave yourselves.”
I blink, but Cass doesn’t.
“Always do,” he replies, completely unfazed.
She gives him a look that clearly says she raised him and knows better. Then she kisses the top of my head.
“Have fun, my dears.”
And just like that, she’s gone. The front door shuts behind her, and silence settles in the kitchen for about two seconds. Then I turn slowly toward Cass.
“Did your mother just evacuate the house?” He shrugs. “That’s suspicious,” I add on, because clearly he’s not getting it.
“You’re paranoid.”
“I think she thinks we’re about to commit crimes.”
“We are,” he replies calmly, gesturing to the pumpkins.
I look down at mine. “Fair.”
He stands up then, carrying his pumpkin toward the sink to rinse it out. His shirt rides up slightly as he reaches for the faucet, exposing a strip of skin along his lower stomach that my brain absolutely does not need to notice. Unfortunately, my brain is a traitor. I look away immediately.
We are not doing that today.
I need to focus.
Cass glances over his shoulder. “You okay over there?”
“Fantastic,” I reply too quickly.
“Your pumpkin is leaning.”
“It’s expressing itself.”
“It’s collapsing.”
I grab it defensively and carry it toward the sink.
When I get close enough, Cass reaches out automatically and wipes pumpkin string off my wrist with his thumb.
It’s such a normal Cass thing to do that I almost miss it.
But then I notice the way his eyes linger on my arm for a second longer than necessary.
The same arm that got scraped up at the skate park. The same arm he patched up like he was trying to glue the world back together. Something tight flickers across his face before he looks away again.
There’s that carefulness again.
I dry my hands on a paper towel and lean my hip against the counter, studying him. “You’ve been weird.”
Cass turns the faucet off, but he doesn’t even blink at my comment. “That’s not new.”
“Not your usual kind of weird, Cass.”
He dries his hands slowly on the dish towel, like he’s taking time to think. “What kind of weird is it, then?”
“The suspicious kind.”
He glances at me with his dark eyes all calm and his expression neutral. “I’m fine, Sunshine.”
I fold my arms. “That answer should come with a warning siren now.”
His mouth curves slightly. “You making up systems for me?”
“I have to. You’re shady.”
“Shady?”
“Yes. Suspicious. Concerning. Mildly unhinged.”
He tosses the towel onto the counter and leans back against it. “I’m literally carving pumpkins with you.”
“That didn’t answer the question.”
He studies my face for a moment, then he shrugs. “Just tired.”
I stare at him. He holds the stare back. And because I know when pushing will actually help and when it’ll just make him retreat into himself harder, I sigh dramatically and grab my pumpkin again.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But for the record, you would absolutely fail a lie detector test.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Terrifying.”
I squint at him across the kitchen table while he lights the stupidly perfect pumpkin he carved. Mine… is doing its best.
“That one has character,” I argue, gesturing proudly at the crooked grin I carved into mine.
“That one looks confused,” Cass replies calmly.
“It’s whimsical,” I repeat, stuck on that word.
“It’s concussed.”
I gasp. “You wound me.”
“You wounded the pumpkin.”
He slides the tea light inside anyway and sets the lid back on top. The little flame flickers through the carved eyes and suddenly the kitchen looks like the inside of a Halloween Pinterest board.
Okay. It’s actually kind of cute.
I move mine next to his. The two pumpkins stare at each other across the table like they’re about to start a fight.
“That one’s you,” Cass says, pointing at my chaotic one.
“That one’s you,” I shoot back, pointing at the one that looks like it’s silently judging everyone.
He shakes his head and reaches for the candy bowl Mama Lori left behind. Mini Snickers. Reese’s. Those weird, hard, almost Laffy things no one actually buys but somehow always appear. He tosses a Snickers at me.
Peace offering accepted.
“Come on.” He scoops both pumpkins up like they weigh nothing. “Let’s go watch the movie before you start massacring the produce again.”
I grab the candy bowl and the blanket from the back of the kitchen chair.
“First of all,” I mutter, following him down the hallway, “the pumpkin started it.”
He sets the pumpkins on his dresser when we enter his room and then turns off the main light. Now, the only glow in the room is the TV screen and the orange flicker from the pumpkins.
Five-star rating for atmosphere.
I flop onto his bed like I live here. Which… honestly… I kind of do. Meanwhile, Cass grabs the remote and scrolls through the movies.
“What are we starting with?” I ask, kicking my shoes off.
“Halloween.”
“Of course it’s Halloween.”
“It’s the superior slasher.”
“It’s the most obvious slasher.”
“It’s classic.”
“It’s predictable.”
He presses play before I can continue my slander, and the music starts immediately. That creepy piano intro that always gets stuck in my head. Cass climbs onto the bed beside me and stretches out on his back, one arm tucked behind his head. I roll onto my side and steal half the blanket.
“Thief,” he mutters.
“Sue me.”
His arm slides around my waist automatically. Just like always. I tuck myself into his side, resting my hand against his stomach through the fabric of his hoodie. His body is warm under my palm, solid in that way that always makes my brain calm down a little.