CHAPTER FOUR | CASSIDY
I had just finished scrubbing the sink full of dirty dishes leftover from Saturday night’s dinner when I heard the soft pad of my dad’s footsteps treading down the stairs behind me.
“How’s Mom?” I whispered, twisting off the sink faucet and drying my hands on a white dish towel.
“She’s not feeling too well,” he shook his head wearily. “She’s napping now.”
I swallowed the lump in the back of my throat. If the first twenty-four hours were anything to go by, Mom’s remission wasn’t off to a great start. Even though that afternoon had been a scorcher with temperatures soaring into the 90s, Mom had spent most of the day huddled up in bed with the heating on, shivering under several layers of blankets.
Dinner hadn’t gone well, either. I had prepared Mom’s favorite dish -- homemade spaghetti bolognese -- as a welcome home treat, but she had only managed to get a few bites down before the nausea kicked in.
“Doctor Burke called in a new prescription to help with some of the side effects she’s experiencing from the last chemo treatment,” Dad said, reaching for his car keys on the kitchen counter. “I’m going to head to the pharmacy to pick it up.”
“I can go,” I offered.
“No way,” Dad said firmly. “You’ve been doing too much around here as it is. You should take the night off.”
I started to protest, but he stopped me:
“That’s not optional. I know you want to take care of Mom, but you need to take care of yourself too, sometimes.”
“In fact,” he added, crossing the kitchen and popping open the refrigerator, “I think there’s a prescription for you in here, too…”
He ducked behind the refrigerator door and rummaged around for a few seconds, then he emerged with a bottle of wine.
“Here it is,” he said, flashing his signature playful grin as he presented the bottle to me. “Pinot grigio. They prescribe this stuff for over-worked daughters who need to take a break before they run themselves into the ground.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Even in the most trying times, my dad had a positive energy that was contagious.
“I’ll take care of Mom tonight,” he said. “Why don’t you pour yourself a glass and relax? Maybe sit outside by the pool, get some fresh air and sunshine, go for a swim…”
I wanted to protest, but I realized that I couldn’t argue with my dad. Ever since my mom had been diagnosed, cancer had completely taken over my life. Taking care of Mom had become my top priority, whether that meant cooking, cleaning, driving her to appointments… I had even given up my apartment and moved back into my parents’ house, so I could be there to help around the clock. I knew that I needed a break, and I knew that I needed to take care of myself, too.
So, I took my dad’s advice. Fifteen minutes later I had changed into a pink bikini and old pair of denim cut-offs, poured myself a jumbo-sized glass of pinot grigio, and headed out to the backyard pool.
Even though it was late in the day, the summer heat still prickled my skin when I stepped outside. By the time I had made my way across the pool deck, a thin sheen of dewy sweat had started to form on my exposed skin.
I undid the button on my denim shorts and rolled the waistband slightly down my hips, so the sun could reach my bikini line, then I sprawled out on one of the Adirondack chairs by the poolside.
I had brought a book to keep my mind occupied on something other than cancer, and after getting adjusted in the chair I cracked the paperback open to the first page.
After reading and re-reading the same page for what felt like the hundredth time, I finally dropped the book into my lap and huffed a sigh of defeat. Even the promise of escaping to some fictional, cancer-free universe wasn’t enough to stop my mind from wandering. I was supposed to be relaxing, but all I could think about was the conversation I had with my mom at the hospital.
I tossed the paperback aside and reached for the glass of wine, hoping that the pinot grigio would offer more relief than the book had. My fingers wrapped around the glass, squashing the tiny beads of condensation that had formed in the heat, and I took a long gulp.
There we go, I thought, as the wine immediately sent a calming tingle through my veins.
My eyes started to wander as I took another hearty sip, following the fence line that separated our backyard from the next-door neighbors. The Hudson family had lived next door for as long as I could remember, and the Hudson boys -- Brady and Josh -- had been like brothers to me when I was growing up.
Mrs. Hudson had passed away when the boys were young, and my mother had taken them under her wing and treated them like her own, insisting that they join us for dinners and family outings. I didn’t have any objections; I was an only child, and there weren’t any other kids close to my age in the neighborhood. I was just grateful for the company.
The three of us drifted apart naturally as we got older, but I had always stayed on friendly terms with Brady.
For some reason my eyes stayed glued to the Hudson’s house as I took another sip of wine. My mind was racing with memories from growing up. Then a voice shattered my concentration:
“Lookin’ for me?”
I nearly choked on my mouthful of wine. My eyes darted towards the opposite corner of the fence and landed on something tall, dark, handsome and shirtless.
Speak of the devil. It was Brady Hudson. And he was walking straight towards me.
In my mind, there were two versions of Brady Hudson. There was the Brady I practically grew up with and regarded as a brother. And then there was the Brady who was standing in front of me; the Brady who looked like he had wandered in straight off the set of Magic Mike.
His washboard abs glistened with sweat, and his muscles were rigid with thick veins. His denim jeans were dirty from working in the yard, and the waist hung a little too low. My eyes followed the sharp contours of his Adonis belt, and when I moved my gaze even lower and noticed the bulge in his jeans, I felt a sudden pang of heat tingle through my pussy. I snapped my legs together, reacting to the unexpected jolt of excitement.
He’s practically your brother! I tried to remind myself, but my body wasn’t listening. I couldn’t stop myself from squirming in the chair, so I popped up and took a giant gulp of liquid courage as I strutted towards the fence.
“Hey Ladybug,” Brady grinned at me. He leaned his elbows forward on the fence post and flashed a smile that turned my insides into white hot lava.
Ladybug had been his nickname for me since we were kids. The summer before first grade, our backyard had become infested with the little red bugs. I was obsessed with them, and I had decided that I was going to convert my backyard sandbox into a ladybug sanctuary. I was about halfway done with constructing a makeshift building for the bugs out of random objects I had picked out of the garage, when all of a sudden, the sky filled up with dense grey storm clouds. A few minutes later, the rain had started pelting down.
Brady must have spotted me running frantically around my backyard, because he came out in the rain to ask what the hell I was doing. I explained through tears that I was trying to capture all of the ladybugs and bring them to the sanctuary I had constructed, before the rain washed them away. Brady was a few years older than me, so he was old enough to know that I was being absolutely ridiculous. But he didn’t say a word about it. Instead, he ran around the yard, helping me collect handfuls of ladybugs and carry them to safety. My obsession with ladybugs had ended a few months later, but the nickname stuck.
I smiled at the memory, then I said: “Hey yourself.”
“How’s your mom?” Brady asked. “I heard she’s in remission.”
“She just finished her last round of chemo,” I nodded. “We brought her home yesterday. I think she’s still adjusting, but…” my voice trailed off. Mom had been battling cancer for five years, but I had never mastered the art of talking about it without getting emotional.
I took another swig of wine, and my eyes got hooked on his abs again. My teeth dug into my bottom lip, and some crazy voice inside my head wondered what it would feel like to run my hands over the contours of his sculpted chest.
“I’m so glad she’s finally home,” Brady said. His face lit up when he smiled, and the happiness that twinkled in his grey eyes looked genuine. Then he added: “Your mom really means a lot to me. I’ll never forget the way she looked out for Josh and me, after our mom died…”
“She’s got a big heart,” I agreed. “She’s always looking out for others, or taking care of people… she can’t be happy unless she knows that everyone around her is happy, too.”
My voice trailed off when I remembered the conversation we had in the hospital. I had basically just repeated the same thing my mom had told me: that she wanted me to be taken care of and happy.
My heart thumped in my chest and I glanced back up at Brady. Suddenly a crazy, ridiculous idea started forming in my head.
Mom loves Brady… she always has. He’s practically already part of the family, I thought. I threw back another gulp of wine. I wasn’t entirely sure where my thought process was taking me, but it felt dangerous.
Brady cocked his head and smiled again as he said something, but my brain was too preoccupied to listen. Part of me was trying to build up the courage to spit out the idea that had formed on the tip of my tongue, while the other part of me bit down on my lip, trying to stop myself before I said something crazy.
I drained the last sip of wine in the glass and then, before I had time to hesitate, I blurted it out:
“Hey Brady, I need to ask you for a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Will you marry me?”
His eyebrows shot up and I knew that whatever he was expecting me to ask him, it wasn’t that.