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“I meant to tell you,” I start, changing the subject. “Outside of the... clam-tastrophe”—Cassie gives me anahathat I roll my eyes at—“work will be busier for a while.”
Her brow knits. “Oh?”
“Yeah. We’re testing a few new dishes for their potential as additions to the permanent menu, and that always means more time to assess any feedback and refine any details. I’ll have to meet with the new suppliers, and go over the recipes with my sous-chefs... It’s usually a nightmare.”
“Oh.” She nods idly. “I get it. Gotta work, right?”
“Stay in school as long as you can,” I huff. “It’s shit out here.”
Cassie laughs. “I bet the whole steady paycheck thing makes it worth it though.”
“One might argue that, yes.”
Her smile really is... very pretty. It usually tilts on one side first, like she’s thinking about it, but then the other lifts to join it as she grins in earnest. It makes it hard not to look when she smiles like that. I should let her get back to her schoolwork, I know that; I should turn around and head to my room to shower and leave her be.
I walk to the couch instead, settling into it as I take another swig from my water bottle. I reason that I am just resting for a second.
Don’t make things weird.
“Did you always want to go into occupational therapy?”
“Mostly,” she says. “Since my sophomore year of undergrad. Maybe earlier. The money is good, and the work feels like something I would enjoy.”
“I mean, you’re amazing with kids... Is that who you want to work with?”
“I think so. I told you my parents were sort of shitty, right?”
It hits me harder than it should, being reminded of it; maybe it’s because of my own situation. “You did.”
“Yeah, well. I kind of like the idea of being there for kids like that. You know? Kids that don’t think they have anyone else.”
Every new thing I learn about Cassie makes talking to her that much more dangerous.
“I get it,” I say, crinkling the plastic of the water bottle as I nod down at my knees. “It’s good motivation. Plus, it seems like you’ve had a lot of practice, with the children’s hospital. You worked there for almost a year right? What did you do before that?”
She looks surprised by the question, a strange blush at her cheeks as she averts her eyes, looking suddenly very interested inher laptop screen. “Oh,” she says. “Random odd jobs. Nothing nearly as cool as the hospital. I tried the whole full-time student thing for a bit, I guess.”
“Ah.” There’s something sort of nervous about her behavior, and I can tell that whatever she did, she must not want to talk about it. Which is odd, but also none of my business, I guess. I take her dodgy reaction as my cue not to pry. “Well. I’m sure it was very rewarding. It will be good experience, too, I imagine. It’s all very admirable. What you’re doing.”
“Makes for a lame personal life though,” she laughs. “My best friend is in her seventies.”
My brow furrows. “Really?”
“Oh, you’d love Wanda, if you can get around the fact that she’s still not entirely convinced you don’t have a secret basement, that is.”
“Oh,thatfriend.”
She beams back at me. “She’s kind of a worrywart.”
“I hope you brought her up to speed on the basement situation.”
“I did, but she hasn’t entirely ruled out the possibility that there’s a hidden door around here.”
“The more I hear about Wanda, the more terrified I am to meet her,” I snort.
“Oh yes. You should be very afraid. She’s one hundred and thirty pounds of pure terror.” She looks pensive then. “I would actually love to take Sophie to meet her eventually, if that’s okay? I think they’d really hit it off.”
“I don’t see why not,” I say after thinking for a moment. “Sophie would like that, I’m sure.”
