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“I’m not getting involved with him.”
“No?”
Hedge! Liar Bob whispered with zeal.Throw her off the trail!
“No,” I said. “I’m madly in love with Dr. Stephen Florris, who it turns out isnotmarried, so Merry Christmas to me.” And I was going to find out where he lived as soon as I got home, and take Peachblossom to his house.
A strange look came over her face. She seemed about to say something, then apparently thought better of it. Instead, she said, “Please do not break Cass’s heart again. He has been through enough.”
“I’m not going to break his heart again,” I said, surprised by the depth of feeling in my voice. “I promise.”
* * *
Cass’s house was on Oak Street, which was weird, because somehow I’d imagined him still living in his parents’ place on Third Street, in his bedroom covered in posters of early 2000s bands and baseball players. Cass had gone through a period of trying to hide his sexuality by overcompensating with sports. Even after he’d come out, he’d kept the baseball players up—and who could blame him? I too had enjoyed baseball players and their tight pants, right up until that Red Sox game with Ben.
“Is this where your friend Cass lives?” Ada pointed out the window as we rolled to a stop.
I checked the number on the mailbox. “Looks like it.”
“Is it your friend Cass that you were kissing in our tree?” Em asked.
“I... That’s not really—”
“He has a blow-up reindeer!” Em exclaimed, and both girls oohed.
Cass’s house was a small Craftsman with a ridiculously charming exterior. It was the house of a man who knew how to wear a cable-knit sweater.
I hauled our grocery bags out of the trunk—hello again, Peachblossom, hello again wave of guilt that I was ignoring—as the girls raced to inspect Cass’s inflatable reindeer. The porch steps creaked as I climbed them. I drew a breath and rang the bell.
Cass opened the door. He wasn’t wearing a cable-knit sweater today, just a faded gray OU sweatshirt that clung to his biceps in ways that made me wish I was also clinging to them. Then I wondered if it was a passive aggressive reminder of my betrayal, but Cass had never bothered with the passive part of passive aggressiveness. If he was pissed at you, he told you exactly why.
“Hi,” he said, and smiled softly.
“Hi,” I said, my heart doing a ridiculous flip-flop in my chest. “These are my girls, who you sort of met the other day, Ada and—hey, monsters! Leave that reindeer alone and come and meet Cass properly.”
The girls clattered up onto the porch.
“Ada, Em, say hello to my friend Ca—”
“A dog!” Ada exclaimed. “He has a dog!”
“A dog!” Em bellowed, in case nobody had heard Ada.
The dog in question came bouncing forward. It was some sort of indiscernible mix, with a short brindle coat, a square head, and ears that looked three sizes too big.
“Is he friendly?” Ada asked.
The dog’s tail was spinning like a propeller, so I was pretty sure that was a given.
“She,” Cass said. “And yes, she’s very friendly.”
The girls raced for the dog and the dog raced for the girls, and they met in a tangle of limbs and pets and cuddles on Cass’s floor.
Cass smiled down at them. “Her name is Noelle, because I got her last Christmas from the shelter.”
Cable-knit sweaters, a Craftsman house, and a shelter dog.Howwas Cass single again? I really hoped the answer was “Because it’s a valid choice” and not “Because you fucked him up so much when you were seventeen that he still hasn’t overcome all his trust issues, Fran.”
The dog untangled herself from the girls, and went and fetched a wet, bald tennis ball. She brought it back and dropped it proudly in front of them, tail still spinning madly.
