Page 42

CHAPTER 41

BEND brEAK

CASS

T he universe decides to use the rest of the week to prove a point.

When Wilder told me he’d picked up a shift for a guy whose wife had a baby three weeks early, I thought, how sweet. What a guy. What I didn’t consider was that he’d be gone Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Which meant I was completely on my own for everything but after school on Tuesday. Which would have been helpful, except Wilder had a game, so he said hi to us when we got home and then took off for practice.

Monday, I was ambitious. I was gonna own the fuck out of it and have plenty of time for myself left over (fuck Davis forever—I’d prove how wrong he was or so help me). I helped Cricket with homework. Did laundry I’d ignored over the weekend in exchange for getting fucked into oblivion. I made a nutritious dinner, cleaned up said dinner largely alone, got Cricket cleaned up and ready for bed, read her a chapter from the book she and I decided to read when Wilder is working, put her to bed. All I had left to do was grade homework and work on lesson plans.

What did I end up doing?

Faceplanting in bed, scrolling social media for an hour, and passing out, phone still in hand.

It was downhill from there.

I carted Cricket around town for her ball practices, therapy, Wilder’s game, errands, and many a trip to Sonic—all the things Wilder did when he was home was on me. Every single day, we were on the go, a flurry of homework and commitments and work. Through all the time I found myself sitting in a camping chair behind a chain link fence, I tried to get through grading all my babies’ math and spelling, which wasn’t hard, obviously. But I was still behind.

By Friday, that fact has not changed. The physical stack of things that need to get done grows. Grades needed to be input—I’ve already gotten in trouble for it once. The end of my prepared lesson plans is approaching, but I can’t seem to keep my eyes open past nine. At least on the nights we’re home. And last night, Cricket had a double header. We didn’t even get home until almost ten.

It’s fine, I assure myself for the millionth time that week, clutching my steering wheel, trying to stay awake as I drive us home from school on the gray, dreary day. Cricket is chatterboxing, animated and happy and adorable—I haven’t heard a word she’s said. The knot in my chest is too tight, demanding attention as it recites the list of things I need to do in a doom loop I cannot seem to break.

It’s fine, I think again. Wilder is home right now, then we’re leaving to take her to her grandparents. And when we get back, I can get through a chunk of homework and sleep and spend the weekend alternating between passed out and catching up. It’ll be great. It’ll be glorious. It’ll be fine .

The reminders don’t make me feel better. Every task I complete for someone else takes something from me, and I feel it like a physical thing, like a coin plucked from the coffer in my chest. I pride myself on my resilience. Six months ago, I would have told you I could have weathered anything.

And if it was any one thing, I would have been able to without flinching, even if it endured for months as it had now. But it’s not one thing—it’s a hundred little things every day, taking a precious coin every time. I used to think that coffer was bottomless, since I’d never hit the end of it before. But for the first time, I can see the bottom, just a hint, a sliver.

The trouble is, it’s going to be a hundred little things every day indefinitely.

Which means I’m about to be in the deepest of shit.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I grip the wheel harder. Because what can I possibly do about it? Very little, short of leaving Wilder and Cricket, which I’d rather die than do. I don’t want to burden my friends or family. I don’t even want to burden Wilder. Which is probably part of the problem.

You’re empty , rings Davis’s words. For ten years, I filled up my life with him, despite having always felt like me. But I’d been cut off from my friends, my family, my career.

I was empty for him because he poured me out first.

But at least that all fit. This new life is messy and spilling and splattering.

A tear makes it past my defenses, and I’m thankful it’s on the cheek Cricket can’t see.

Is this what motherhood is like? Surely it’s only this bad because I’m new to it. Surely all moms don’t feel this way. Do they?

A question for my mother.

Cricket is still talking, but the cool trail on my cheek starts to tingle, and I swipe at it discreetly.

I thought.

Cricket goes silent. “Are you crying, Cassie?”

The question makes it so much worse, but I wrangle my emotions well enough to sort of smile and say, “I’m okay, bug.” But I can’t look at her, certain that if I do, the cry is gonna be ugly after building up all week. Month. Months?

I sigh, grappling for a topic to divert her when the pungent smell of burning rubber rises. The check engine light flashes a bunch of times in succession, and I note the temperature gauge reads somewhere in the depths of hell.

“ Shit, ” I hiss, pulling over into the grocery store parking lot and killing the engine just as smoke begins to rise from the hood. Panic fires me into action. I grab Cricket and my phone and hurry out of the car. But at a distance, I can see it’s not smoking anymore.

“I bet it’s the radiator,” I say to no one.

“What’s a radiator?”

“It helps keep the engine cool. I need to go check it.”

I only get a step away from her when she wails, grabbing my hand. She nearly drops her weight to stop me. When I look down at her, she’s so scared that it scares me.

The fire.

“Oh, baby.” My voice wavers and I drop to my knees, pulling her into my arms. She’s sobbing, noisy and hard, but I hang onto her until the asphalt digging into my knees can’t be ignored. I sit instead, pulling her into my lap. It’s not until she finally slows to hitched breaths and hiccups that I can breathe.

“Let’s call Daddy, ‘kay?”

I feel her nod against my chest. She doesn’t speak.

I fumble for my phone and call him.

“Hey,” he answers, and I can hear him smiling.

“Hey.”

Instantly, his voice drops. “What’s wrong?”

“Truck broke down. Could you come get us? We’re in the Kroger parking lot.”

“Again?” he says on a sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. You okay?”

“Yeah.”

A pause. “I’m gonna ask you that again later and you’re gonna tell me the truth, okay?”

Now it’s my turn to sigh, and the knot in my chest loosens just a little. “Okay,” I promise, though silently I give myself permission to change my mind.

“Be there in a sec.”

“‘Kay.”

I slip my phone in my jacket pocket and wrap my arms around Cricket, who’s still sniffling. Her head is the perfect height to fit under my chin, so I rest it there, staring at a spot on the pavement for the length of time it takes Wilder to get there.

He frowns when he sees me. Cricket doesn’t move.

“What happened?” he asks, and I tell him. Understanding passes across his face. “The radiator. I knew it was going to need a new one, but I was hoping it’d hold out. Let me take a look at it.”

Cricket jolts, screaming, “No!”

Confused, Wilder glances at me.

“The engine was smoking.”

He nods and kneels to her level. “There’s no fire, bug. The radiator smoked because it probably doesn’t have any fluid and it got hot. I don’t see any more smoke. Do you?”

She shakes her head.

“If there was a fire, there would be smoke. I wouldn’t do anything unsafe. Do you trust me?”

A nod.

“Can I go look at it?”

“Okay.”

He nods once, but he and I share a look when he stands, walks to the truck and pops the hood. Cricket sighs when nothing happens, her muscles softening.

“Come on,” I say, helping her to stand and getting myself up. “Let’s go get in Daddy’s truck.”

We gather our things from my truck and pile into his, waiting quietly for him to inspect the damage. I’m staring off into space again, my mind so full, it rage quit and emptied everything in it. When he lowers the hood and makes his way back to us, he wipes his hands on each other, then inspects them. Whatever he finds has him veering to the big silver storage box in the bed, returning with a rag.

“It’s definitely the radiator.” The door thumps shut. When he turns the keys in the ignition, I see him glance at me in my periphery. I break my gaze to offer him a small smile. It doesn’t smooth his frown, but whatever he sees leaves him quiet too.

On the short trip home, he asks Cricket about her day and tells her he missed her when he was gone. Occasionally, he looks at me, but I’m leaning on my elbow, staring at the trees whooshing by. I feel the unspoken pressure to reassure him. To say I’m fine and smile and participate. To keep things happy and even and good. I just don’t have it in me.

Wilder helps Cricket out of the truck, grabbing her backpack and the jacket she stripped off and flung to the other side of the cab. And I gather the multitude of bags, all filled with things I needed to do, lugging them inside like sacks of bricks where I dump them unceremoniously on the island with a sigh.

“Okay, bug—go get your bag ready for Nana and Pops, okay?” Wilder says as he hangs up her jacket.

She smiles. “Okay!” And then she’s off, running through the house, happy as a clam again.

I climb onto a stool and stare at the bags for a second before starting to unload them. Maybe I can at least get a plan together before we have to leave to drop Cricket off.

“Want a drink?” Wilder asks.

“No, thanks. I’m too tired.”

“I missed you.”

With a weary smile, I answer, “Missed you too.”

“I’m sorry I was gone all week. I didn’t realize it was going to be so busy.”

“It’s always this busy.” The folders I’ve stacked start to slide, but I don’t care. “Anyway, it’s fine. We survived. It’s the weekend. Wine exists. Things could be worse.”

“If you have any inclination to get outside, Remy asked if we wanted to go on a hike tomorrow morning. I think he said at seven, but that can’t be right. He’s never woken up early on purpose in his life.”

The sharp pluck of anxiety precedes the threat of another coin being taken. “No. I want to sleep in.”

He watches me, but I don’t meet his eyes because I know he can see me, at least partly, and I don’t want to talk about it.

“All right. Maybe we can go look at cars. That piece of shit belongs in the junkyard,” he jokes.

“I can’t,” I answer, trying not to snap. “I have no credit, Wilder.”

A pause. “How’s that?”

“Because I was an authorized user on Davis’s cards and accounts. Nothing has ever in my name. So when he took me off months ago, my credit tanked—I have no credit of my own. I’ve already looked.” I gather the folders back into their stack but they slide off each other again. Annoyed, I start to stack them again with enough force that they snap against each other, this time alternating the spines.

“You’ve gotta get a new car, Cass. You can’t drive a hundred miles without something new breaking on it.”

This time, I do snap. “I know. But what am I supposed to do? I don’t want to pay crazy interest or get stuck with a payment I can’t afford if I’m on my own again.”

I don’t intend to suggest we won’t stay together, but he feels the undertone all the same. I’m too pissy to apologize. When the folders fall again, I make a frustrated noise and shove them back in the bag.

“I can help. Maybe I just buy a second car for myself and you can use it when you want. I’ve been wanting a Jeep anyway. It’s a good excuse?—”

“ No. ”

His frown is concerned and a little confused. Maybe he can’t really see me after all. “I mean, I can cosign, or put you on my cards if you want, but I didn’t think?—”

“Ohmy god , Wilder,” I groan, my head rolling back to glare at the ceiling. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. I don’t need your help!”

“But you just said?—”

I’m off my stool, every muscle in my body tight, my voice strained as I approach him. “You cannot save me. You cannot throw money at it or fix it for me. You cannot just swoop in and erase my problems so you feel better.” Tears cling to my lashes, and I’m not sure I can stop them this time. “I know you’re trying to be sweet. I know you’re trying to make me happy. But this is exactly what left me with nothing in the end. This is what he did. And I’m not doing that again.”

Realization dawns on him, his face falling with some mixture of horror and regret and apology. He steps close, pulls me into his arms, holds me to his chest with his hand cupping my nape.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”

Tears roll down my cheeks, soaking the front of his shirt. “I know.”

“No, Cass. No—I mean it. I’m sorry. I’ll fix the truck. I’ll fix it a million times if that’s what you want. Whatever you want.”

I nod, and a sob skips out of me, followed by a couple more. And then I’m just blubbering for a minute in the circle of his arms. It feels good to let it go. I don’t have to think about anything for that moment. And he just holds me and rocks me a little and kisses the top of my head and strokes my back.

I finally compose myself enough to let him go. My fingers ache from clenching the back of his shirt, and I flex them, surprised that I didn’t even know I was doing it.

“I’m sorry,” I say with my stuffy nose accent in full effect. I pull a tissue from the box. “It was a rough week.”

But he’s shaking his head. “No. You’re not apologizing for anything. You didn’t do a single thing wrong. How did I not see that you were stressed? How did I not know?”

“You weren’t here,” I try to joke, but it falls flat. “It’s okay. I just underestimated how much time everything was going to take. I’m so far behind. I have all these papers to grade,” I say, my face pinching again as more tears fall. “And I have to work on my lesson plans but there’s just no time. I feel like I’m failing.” My throat closes to everything but tears. It takes me a second to speak again. “We haven’t had a decent meal since Monday. I have this mountain of shit to do. The house is a wreck. Cricket is getting bullied and I can’t stop it. The stupid truck is broken down and I can’t get a new one. It’s j-just a lot.”

Wilder wraps me up in his arms before I start to bawl again, his voice tight.

“Jesus, Cass. I am so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry I left you here all week on your own to handle everything—it’s so much. It was so much, babe.”

“It’s o-okay.”

“Stop. Stop it. It’s not okay. I put this on you. All your stress, it’s because of my choices. Because I dragged you into it. And then I left you holding the bag.” He leans back to look at me, his fingers softly sweeping tears from my cheeks. “You did all of that. You handled so much, and you never asked for help. I’d be so pissed at me. Are you so pissed at me?”

I shake my head, my chin wobbly.

When he pulls me back into his chest, I start to cry in earnest again. “Goddammit, I am such an asshole. And I didn’t even thank you.” He swallows hard, holds me tighter. “You are one of the best things in my life, and you always have been. The second you don’t know how appreciated you are is the second I’ve stopped doing my job, and I swear to you—it won’t happen again. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

I’m crying so hard, I’m worried I might hyperventilate, but after a few minutes listening to his heartbeat in one ear and his comforting murmurs in the other, the tears have run their course.

When he loosens his grip, it’s only far enough to cup my shoulders and run his big hands down my upper arms. He ducks his head a little so we’re closer to eye level.

“New plan,” he starts, and I listen raptly. Because despite begging him not to fix things, I would love a life raft. “First, I will not pick up any more shifts during the week. Okay?”

I nod.

“Second, fuck the house and the meals. None of it matters. And the truck we’ll figure out, even if it means me fixing it through all eternity like that guy who can’t push the rock up the hill.”

I chuckle. “Okay.”

“You have all this stuff to do, so I’m going to take Cricket to the Wilsons, and I’ll bring home dinner.”

Great, now I’m going to cry again. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely fucking positive. And this weekend we aren’t gonna do shit but lay around like slobs and rest and you can work, with my help if you want it. Unless you need space for that, in which case I’ll be doing a lot of hiking with Remy.”

This time, I laugh. “You can stay.”

He smiles. “Good because being away from you all week was hell.” Again, he gathers me in his arms. “Thank you, Cass. For everything. I am so lucky. Cricket is so lucky. And I won’t let you down again. But promise me something.”

“What?” I say to his shoulder because my head is tucked under his chin.

“Don’t do this again. Don’t take so much on that you break. Tell me next time. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” With another kiss to the top of my head, he lets me go. “I’ll help Cricket get ready. You go put on your ratty ass sweatpants and do your hair up in that bird’s nest.” He leans in to kiss my cheek, pausing at my ear after. The hairs on my neck rise, goosebumps flaring at the feel of his breath. “Because you know that shit turns me on. And later, if you ask me real nice , I’ll fuck you until you can’t remember what planet you’re on. Deal?”

“Deal,” I whisper.

He catches my chin between his thumb and index finger, taking a gentle kiss, firm enough to convey the promise.

And then he leaves me standing in the kitchen, grateful and tired and already trying to forget what I was so upset about.

Because thinking about it only makes it worse.