Chapter 35
thirty-five
Cash
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I exhale a deep breath and call my sister again. When she doesn’t answer, I take it as a sign to abandon homework and head to her place.
I’ve been banging on her locked front door—my key is somewhere at home—for a good couple minutes before the heavy lock clicks and the door opens to a bushy-haired and pissed-looking Maisy. My relief is short-lived, though, her unkempt appearance alarming.
“Yes?” she snaps.
“You weren’t answering your phone. Are you okay?”
“I was sleeping.”
“At three p.m.?”
She cocks her head. “It’s called a nap.”
“You’ve been taking a lot of those lately.” I step inside without being invited, which doesn’t seem to surprise Maisy, who simply shuts the door and heads for her couch. I follow and sit across from her.
“Yes, I’ve been napping a lot lately. I’ve also missed zero classes this semester, my GPA is perfect, and I have two new tutoring students. Everything’s fine.”
“So are you just working too hard, or is this you struggling?”
I’m prepared for her to snap at me to mind my own business, but she only settles her head against the back of the couch and sighs. “Yes and yes.”
I take my sister’s hand. “Tell me what’s going wrong.”
“Every time I think about next year, I feel sick with anxiety because no matter what I do, I’m losing out. But I made my decision: I’m going home after graduation and working for Mom and Dad.”
I sit up. “What? Mais, no, that’s not the plan we had.”
“The plan changed. And that’s okay.”
But the quiver in her voice and the way her eyes refuse to meet mine scream otherwise. “No it isn’t. You were always the one who said we needed to live our own lives and forget what Mom and Dad wanted. You’re the one who convinced me I don’t owe them shit.”
“That’s why they need me more than ever.”
“So me trying to go pro means you have to pick up the slack?”
“I don’t mean it that way. Cash, nothing makes me happier than thinking of you doing what you’ve always wanted to do with your life. Nothing. I’m not putting my choices on you, I’m only saying we can’t both abandon Mom and Dad. We just can’t.”
“Abandon? They’re gonna be fine, they just need to get over the stubborn need to control everything. They need to hire someone who wants this job, not someone who feels the walls closing in every time she thinks about working for them.”
We both know I’m right, but my sister bites back her words and stares down at the couch cushion.
“Look, I know the pressure. But you could go to grad school and then reassess after. If things are that terrible, maybe you go home and help temporarily. You can’t give up your admission.”
“They need us now.”
I scowl as a familiar guilt rears its ugly head. “They want us, they don’t need us.”
She shrugs dismissively. “Semantics.”
“I don’t know what that means, and you know it.”
“It means we have to be there for them. Every time I talk to Mom, I hear in her voice she’s terrified about Dad’s surgery—and everything that comes after.”
Shaking my head, I push away thoughts of my poor, scared mother before they can get me in their grip.
We’ll be at her side when he has surgery.
No question. What I want to do instead is tell Maisy what bullshit this all is after she’s spent years telling me I should enter the draft.
But I can’t find a way to make this her fault. “Hey, I might not even end up drafted.”
“In what world?”
“Or I do but it goes nowhere. Happens to so many guys.”
Maisy says nothing.
“So what’s your therapist say about all this?”
“I don’t know. Same as he always says.”
“Well, we should make a plan, Maisy,” I say impatiently.
I hate when she’s miserable and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Maybe we spend the summer helping them do some hiring so by the time fall comes, they’re all set.
We can sit down with Mom and Dad and tell them…
” I have a sudden vision of the conversation and all its futility.
“You know, tell them you’re still deciding. ”
A few curls spring free as she shakes her head slowly. “This isn’t your problem. I’m only venting.”
“I don’t mind it being my problem,” I say, sounding a little desperate. “If it’s yours, then it’s mine.”
She opens her mouth to respond but closes it when her gaze catches on my face. Maybe my worry is more obvious than I think. Her expression softens. “I’m good for now, Cash. I know what I want to do. But if I need help, you already know you’ll hear about it first.”
My thumbs tap out a random beat on my steering wheel as I sit parked in my sister’s driveway.
Maybe I should call my parents and let them know Maisy’s struggling.
Let them know what she’s giving up for them.
Thing is, last time we talked, I told Dad Maisy’s under stress and to ease up on her, but of course he dismissed it.
That’s how it’s always been with my parents.
Ignore the warning signs and act like everything’s fine, then freak the fuck out when things go wrong and expect answers from me.
Nah, better if I keep a close eye on her myself. My phone buzzes inside my pocket, and I pull it out.
GEORGIA: Are you still coming over?
I groan, frustration with my own scatterbrained self making me type back furiously.
CASH: Sorry, lovely. On my way right now.
After a final glance at my sister’s windows, I back out of the driveway and head for Georgia’s place, my guilt multiplying.
I told her I’d come over after homework, but really, I’m about twenty-three hours late—yesterday’s planned dinner somehow never happened after a long phone call with my dad and a furious series of texts with my sister.
I’ve done a shit job of being Georgia’s boyfriend the last couple weeks, distracted and forgetful and letting my stress be too handy an excuse.
At the intersection of Georgia’s street, I detour back home and dash inside for scissors, which I use to clip an armful of the yellow daffodils that pop up every spring in the narrow bed in front of the house.
“Are you about to break the record for fastest-built deck stairs?” Georgia says when I find her in the kitchen spooning chicken noodle soup into two big bowls. She sets the bowls down as I present her with the flowers.
“I don’t follow.”
She motions toward the glass doors that lead to the deck. “The sun sets in half an hour.” Then she buries her face in the daffodils and inhales. “These are beautiful.”
“Uh…still don’t follow.”
“Redoing the deck stairs.” Impatience peeks through the sweetness in her voice. “You said you’d start today so you have plenty of time for painting them.”
I slap my forehead with my palm. “Oh shit.”
“You forgot?” Her tone of disbelief immediately puts me on edge—or even closer to the edge I was already on.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sorry. It’s been that kind of day.”
She turns on her heel, making her ponytail swing, and yanks open a cabinet.
After digging around, she pulls out a tall jar, which she fills with water.
When she finally meets my eye again, she’s wearing a patient expression that looks painted on.
“You were supposed to do the stairs two weeks ago, and then last weekend. You know I don’t care when it gets done, but now we’re running out of time. My party’s in nine days, Cash.”
“I know when your party is.”
A brief staredown ensues, and while gazing into Georgia’s eyes, I realize I’ve never actually seen this girl lose her cool. What is she like in those moments? Icy and silent? Yelling and throwing things around the room? Oof. I have no business being turned on right now, but here we are.
A beam of sunlight hits her face just right, making her beautiful baby blues sparkle despite her frown. Like that, my irritation turns to tenderness, and I pull her close enough to catch the rose scent of her lipstick.
“Trust me when I say I’ll get it done for you. I’m a little scattered with football and now Maisy going through it, but I’m gonna make sure this house is picture perfect by the time your family members walk through the door, all right?”
“Is Maisy okay?”
“She’s okay. Her depression’s flaring up, I guess, but I’ve got it handled.
” I lean down to kiss her, all the hardness in her body gone by the time our lips meet.
When we kiss, everything else seems unimportant, like minor problems I’ve been a fool to let get in the way.
I thank the universe for Georgia and the way she melts right into me.
“Hold on,” I murmur against her lips as I pull myself away. “Let me just take a look at these steps before it gets dark, and then we’ll finish what you started.” I wink and teasingly push her off me.
“You started it.”
“That means next time it’s your turn,” I say before stepping out onto the deck.
I survey the cracked, rotting deck stairs, making a mental note of what I’ll need to do and what supplies I have to bring with me tomorrow morning when I show up bright and early to get the job done.
I pat my pocket—I should make more than a mental list—but I must have left my phone in the car.
Oh well. I’ll remember. I need to remember.
Tomorrow. Deck stairs. Do the job and do it well. And stop letting her down.