Chapter 22
Cassie
I stew all the way to Kroger to pick up a pound of German potato salad, and then I stew all the way to Nana’s. My mind keeps replaying the moment Macy’s artificially plumped lips slobbered on Luke’s. I should have known he had a woman hiding away in a closet somewhere. Another woman on the side. That man wouldn’t change if a meteor was headed straight for earth.
One thing I don’t do is cry. I will not shed another tear for Luke Curtis. I’ve shed too many. I’m just glad I found out sooner rather than later that he was stringing me along for his own pleasure. Trying to convince me that he’s a good guy. That he’s changed. Well, now I know the truth. He hasn’t. Not one bit.
The parallel parking spaces in front of Nana’s house are filled. I recognize Madison’s and Mom’s cars but not the rest. Rather than turn around and park across the street, I choose a spot three houses down and carry my meager container of potato salad to Nana’s. Along the way, I catch a glimpse of Nana’s dilapidated garage.
“No, no, no. No!”
I veer off the sidewalk and head up the sliver of grass between Nana’s house and her neighbor’s. My eyes weren’t deceiving me. A portion of the garage roof is collapsed. I survey the damage, speechless. My heart pounds harder as I add “fix the garage roof” to my mental list of repairs. Repairs? Who am I kidding? The garage will have to be torn down and replaced. That’s twenty thousand dollars minimum. Probably more.
I look at the sky, watch a fluffy white cloud travel lazily through the deep blue. Fall is coming, and with it, rain. All that water pouring straight onto Nana’s Christmas decorations.
There’s nothing I can do. My money is tied up in my businesses.
I try unsuccessfully to shake off the heavy weight on my chest, before turning in resignation toward the house. The screen door wobbles on its hinges as I tug it open. It needs replaced too. The siding needs repaired and painted. Termite damage needs addressed. The list in my head continues as I step into the kitchen.
Mom, Nana, Aunt Suzanne, and Madison are at their stations—Nana at the stove, Mom at the counter, Aunt Suzanne and Madison at the table. They turn to welcome me with hellos and smiles, except Nana who is stirring something vigorously in the stock pot.
“Hello there,” she says, throwing up her free hand while her back is still turned.
“Hey.”
Mom drops her knife and comes over to hug me. “You look tired,” she says when I’m at arms-length.
“The garage roof is caving in.”
“None of my decorations were damaged,” Nana says. “I moved them all to the empty bedroom upstairs.”
“You went inside after it collapsed?”
Mom rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I told her not to.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Nana says.
“It looks terminal,” I say.
Mom lets go and returns to her chopping. Madison is next in line for hugs. After a quick squeeze, she grabs my container of potato salad and slips a letter into my hand. The bells on the outside are a clue. It’s wedding related.
I open the envelope and pull out a postcard-sized rectangle of card stock. She looks at me expectantly as I read and re-read the text.
He proposed to me, now I’ll propose to you... Will you be there with me when I say I do?
It’s an invitation to be her maid of honor.
My eyes blur. The writing becomes fuzzy. I fake the feelings I know I’m supposed to feel: happiness, gratitude, excitement for my cousin. The weight on my chest is still heavy, impeding the outflow of genuine emotions.
I paste a smile on my face and try to sound lighthearted. “Of course I will!” I successfully exclaim. The effort siphons a large percentage of my available energy.
Madison and I hug, and then she begins rattling off details including dates and times for dress selections and fittings, shoe and jewelry shopping. None of it registers.
“She can’t remember all that,” Aunt Suzanne says from her chair in the corner. She eyes me like she knows something is wrong. I double down on my efforts to appear effortless.
“I’ll send you an email,” Madison says.
I nod and drop into the seat across from Aunt Suzanne. “What’s wrong?” she mouths.
Madison sees her. “What? Is something wrong?” She rests her hand on my shoulder.
“No. Nothing. I’ve been working too hard.”
“What’s new?” Madison says.
It feels like a jab. Boss Cassie. Always working. Always trying to put this family on the map. Trying to figure out how to keep the roof from caving in.
I tighten my grip around my purse.
“What’s this?” Nana asks.
“Potato salad,” Madison says.
I peek over my shoulder. Nana is holding my container, the one I went through the trouble of purchasing so she wouldn’t holler at me for not contributing to the table. The weight on my chest starts to dissolve. I panic because I know what that means.
“This is not potato salad,” Nana says. “It’s a stale brick of chemicals and preservatives.”
Aunt Suzanne’s eyes go wide when she sees my expression.
“They make it fresh at the deli counter,” I say through clenched teeth.
“I don’t care what they say they do. I’m not eating it.”
I jump out of my chair. “Fine! Don’t eat my potato salad. Don’t drink my sweet tea! Don’t eat anything I bring!”
Nana looks at me like she’s seen a ghost. “Calm down. It’s just food.”
“It’s not just food. It’s more than food! It’s—”
The weight lifts. The exhausting weight that’s been damming my outflow of emotions. When it goes, the water flows freely through my tear ducts and down my cheeks. I run from the kitchen, through the living room, and out to the porch where I collapse onto the swing, purse still in hand.
These tears aren’t for Luke. These are stress tears. That’s all.
Madison barrels through the front door followed by the rest of the crew, including Granny.
“What’s all the ruckus about?” Granny croaks from her perpetually hunched over stance. Aunt Suzanne pulls a lawn chair over to her and Granny sits with her hand propped on her cane.
Madison sits next to me on the porch swing and puts her arm around me while Mom claims the other side of the swing. Nana stands in front of me with her arms folded in front of her chest and Aunt Suzanne hangs back, leaning on one of the columns holding up the porch roof.
“What’s wrong, sis?” Madison says.
Now that they’re all staring at me and pressuring me to talk, the tears flow in sheets.
“I’m fine,” I choke out. “I just need a minute. You guys can go back inside. Please.”
Mom puts her hand on my knee. “Something’s wrong, honey. We want to help.”
“Could maybe just...one of you stay and help?” I’m at that stage of crying where the breath hitches involuntarily. This hasn’t happened to me since I was five. I’m bawling like a kindergartner.
Nana puts her hands on her hips. “Why are you so upset about potato salad?”
Mom shoots Nana a look. “I don’t think this is about potato salad.”
“Yes. It’s...the potato salad,” I manage. “That’s all it...is. I worked hard on that potato salad. Could you please...give me a minute? Alone?”
“That’s the problem,” Nana says. “You’ve been working too hard. You need to learn how to unwind.”
I lean over my knees and cover my ugly cry with my hands.
“I don’t think that’s helping,” Mom warns.
Madison begins stroking my back. “What’s wrong? You can tell us.”
I can continue avoiding or I can spill it and appease their curiosity. I choose the path of least discomfort, the one that will get them off my back as soon as possible. “I spent the night with Luke.”
Nana gasps. Aunt Suzanne looks surprised, but she spares me the judgmental vocalizations.
“I’m not sleeping with him,” I say, cutting to the chase. “It was just an...overnighter.” I suck in a breath to calm my involuntary gasps.
“So, you are sleeping with him,” Nana says.
“No! I just said I’m not. Nothing happened.” Except for an epic make-out session, the memory of which makes me want to giggle and gag simultaneously.
Aunt Suzanne pulls another lawn chair toward Nana, and then rests her hands on Nana’s shoulders, gently coaxing her into the seat. “Just let her talk.”
“Tell us what happened,” Madison says gently.
“We were ghost hunting. His ghost, Betsy, started moaning, and we found cats in the crawlspace.” I sniff.
“And...” Mom prods.
“And we kissed. A few times. And then this morning, his other girlfriend barged through the front door and started making out with him.”
Nana gasps again.
“Oh, honey,” Mom says softly.
“Is Luke the handsome one?” Granny asks.
“Yes,” Madison says.
“Ooo, boy.” Granny thumps her cane against the floorboards. “I always liked him.”
“So, you thought things were going well with him—” Mom says.
“But he’s still a cheater,” Madison finishes.
I nod while a fresh batch of tears pours down my face. “That’s not it though.”
“Isn’t that enough?” Nana says.
“Your house is falling apart!” The ugly cry resumes and I hide it with my hands.
A car passes the house, rumbling over the asphalt. It makes me want to run to my car and rumble on out of here.
“What’s that got to do with Luke?” Nana asks.
I lean back and take three deep breaths. “Everything,” I say as I look up at the porch ceiling, its paint peeling and flaking like the rest of the house. “He’s funding MatchAI. But I can’t take his money. Not now.”
“You’ll find a new investor,” Mom says.
“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. In the meantime, the garage is going to collapse, you’re all going to boil in the heat, the roof on the house is going to rot away, the neighborhood organization is going to keep hassling Nana.”
“You don’t worry about me and that nasty organization,” Nana says. “I got it under control.”
I meet eyes with Nana. “They’re never going to leave you alone about that garage.”
“And I’ll never stop ignoring them,” Nana answers.
“They have money, and covenants, and city codes, and lawyers.”
“And I have God.”
“God’s not going to fix your garage.”
“And neither are you,” Nana says. “It’s not your problem to solve.”
“No one else will do it,” I snap back.
Silence falls over the porch. Madison continues rubbing my back. My tear ducts are dry. For now.
“Honey,” Mom says softly, “Your grandma is right. This house isn’t your problem.”
“This is our house. Our history.”
“I know how important that is to you,” Mom continues, “but you have your own life to worry about. You don’t have to rescue the rest of us.”
“She’s right,” Madison whispers.
“Ever since your dad died, you’ve held the world on your shoulders.” Mom strokes my hand. “It’s time to let some things go.”
A fresh tear spills onto my cheek. “You were always working. There was never enough money.”
“We got by. We survived.”
Shouldn’t life be about more than just surviving? Everywhere I look, people are thriving. Houses are being remodeled. Happy young people are moving in. People are smiling on Instagram, going on beach vacations, posing in their bikinis with cellulite-free legs and washboard abs. In the meantime, Nana’s garage roof is caving in, her AC is busted, the exterior paint is peeling, termites are digesting the house.
“But Great Grandpa’s legacy...” I say.
“He would be proud of you,” Nana says, her voice uncharacteristically soft.
“Hear, hear,” Granny says, tapping her cane against the porch railing.
“You’re killin’ it,” Madison concurs.
Was. I was killing it. Thanks in large part to Luke’s money. Which I can’t, in good conscience, continue accepting. “Luke is the majority investor in MatchAI.”
“So what,” Nana says. “Keep that cheater’s money. He owes you.”
“No. He doesn’t. It’s a lot of money. I mean, a lot.”
“You don’t have to decide today,” Aunt Suzanne says.
“She’s right,” Mom agrees. “Let’s just go inside, eat Nana’s chicken and dumplings, and you can see how you feel tomorrow.”
Nana shoots out of her seat. “My roux!” She runs into the house, slamming the front door behind her. A moment later, she returns to the porch, walks over to me, and plants a kiss on my forehead. “Don’t worry about the house, okay?”
I nod. It’s a lie. I’ll keep worrying about it. But I don’t have to worry about it any more today.
“I’m sure your potato salad is wonderful,” Nana continues.
“It’s not.”
“Well, we have plenty of other food to hold us over.”
I sigh. “Thanks, Nana.”
She returns to the house.
“I’m sorry about the card,” Madison says after the door slams a second time.
“What card?”
“The maid of honor invitation card.”
“Why?”
“I just... It was bad timing. I know how important Luke was to you. I was really hoping things would work out.”
“It’s okay. He’s a lost cause. Better to know now than to waste two more years with him.”
Madison peers at me. She seems unconvinced.
“Thanks, everyone,” I say. “You can all go back to your posts.”
“I don’t feel like we helped,” Mom says.
“You did. I think I just need a few minutes alone.”
My family obliges by shuffling back into the house, leaving me to push the porch swing back and forth gently with my toes.
The weight has lifted. The water behind the dam has equalized.
Nana is right. This house isn’t my problem. It’s much more than that. Fixing it is my dream. I just need to come up with a new plan. A plan that doesn’t involve Luke.
A fresh realization descends onto my chest: I not only have to extricate myself from Luke’s money. I have to wipe myself clean of his marketing mojo. His face is splattered all over my Instagram account. How am I going to tell everyone we didn’t work out without drawing a huge black smudge on MatchAI’s reputation?
My marketing plan is as terminal as the garage. Bethany and I will have to come up with a new one. Assuming Excel doesn’t drop me when I tell them I can’t work with Luke anymore.
Maybe I can just be honest with my Instagram followers, tell them Luke and I were always a sham. I could apologize. Offer to try Cupid again. Give her a fair shake.
I pull out my phone.
The database feeding Cupid’s algorithm has grown over the past few weeks. Single men have filled out their profiles. Maybe Cupid could work for me. Who knows?
I pull up the app and stare at the Choose button. I created this app for singles like me. Singles who need a touch of my magical matchmaking dust. I believe in my app. I believe it can work.
I press Choose.
Available bachelors scroll by, in a whir at first, and then slowing, clicking by until Cupid chooses my match.
You’re kidding me.
Luke’s profile picture smiles back at me, just like it did during the news segment with Felicia Acrea. I quickly scan his profile to see if he cheated the system again. Everything checks out. The real Luke is my best chance at romance.
I’m screwed.