CHINA
Trying to find ways not to kill my older brother for his sideswipe of me with Wyatt, I decided to come home, but I sat in the car, staring at the emptiness of it for almost twenty minutes.
Sure, Cassidy and Ciccero are here, but they’re here because they’re paid to be here. Closer than family to each of us in many ways, they have been and still are very accommodating through everything that’s happened. What I wouldn’t give for a bit of tension filled conversation. Once you’ve had it, it’s hard to handle the placidity.
Passing through the vacant hallway from the garage, past Dad’s empty as fuck office and toward the expansive great room, I take a quick glance out the bank of windows to the track that calls for me. I want nothing more than to head out and ride, I truly do. Just not yet.
“China?”
“Yeah, Cassidy?” I yell back.
“How was Wyatt and Circe? Did they like the homemade tacos from Ciccero?”
“Yeah, we all loved them. Thanks, Cassidy.”
“That’s great, China. Just great.”
Entering the kitchen, I find Cassidy standing at the monstrous island, placing what I assume are premade dinners into containers for me. I smile as I look over the contents. It looks like chicken cordon bleu, fajita mixes, stir fry, and various sweets. When she makes my favorite meals, I totally overlook her prim and proper expectations of me, or what she feels my mother would expect.
Her coarse, thick, midnight black weave is pulled back in a cloth wrap, keeping it back out of her slightly aged face. Her limited makeup and conservative attire seems so out of place for a lady who runs the house. She looks so out of place. I’ve told her that since I was little. She doesn’t take offense because she knows it’s just how she looks to me. She’s comfort in my chaotic life.
“Do you need any more help tonight before the fundraiser? If not, I’m heading out early. I have a date.” Her eyes light up.
“He must be special to have you grinning like that, ol’ lady.” I quip as I snap up a tray of the stir fry mix and a stray fork.
Flicking a towel on the back of my hand, Cassidy frowns. “That’s not for now, young lady. And food is meant to be used with napkins, not as a rush through the kitchen.” Holding my hands high in defeat, I grin as she slides a fork and knife across with a napkin encircling them.
“You’ve been taught better. Now, sit down and I’ll pull out your dinner from the oven. I had it there warming.” Bending low, pulling out a cooling tray from the bottom of the island, Cassidy rests the hot stone on the rack in front of me.
“How’s Wyatt?” she asks.
Pushing the previously absconded tray back, I pull up a stool to take a seat.
“Wyatt’s good.”
“That’s good, honey. I’m glad to hear he’s on the mend. The house is vacant without the sound of you two killing banshees on the track.” Laughing at the vision of us racing again and her expectation, I’m reminded of how much I miss it—how I miss us.
“He’s good enough to pick up a utensil now, but there’s still no strength in his grip. It’ll be quite a bit before he hits the track.” I feel like a forlorn widow. I shouldn’t be such a sad sack of shit about it. I still have my brother in my life. Whiskey, reluctantly being here, isn’t the same.
“You avoided my question, Cassidy. Who has you wound up for a date?” As she finishes plating the food, I see the deep russet crest on her mocha features as she blushes.
“Mi amore, are you ready for adventure?” Wandering in, Ciccero, my brother’s warden, walks in looking particularly dashing.
“Holy shit,” I say, smirking.
“Keep it to yourself, little one.” She taps me on the back of the head in reprimand, just after setting the steaming stir fry bowl down in front of me. “It’s a first date.”
“Well, color me amazed. You and Ciccero? Oh, that’s fantastic. Truly,” I tell them as I swirl my fork around in the veggies and rice mix.
As any house with a busy family schedule, our parents felt we needed intervention when it came to manners, cleanliness, and fortitude of character. Cassidy was my house warden, and Ciccero was Jamieson’s and Wyatt’s. Later, he became just Wyatt’s. They were there to make sure we did our homework, cleaned our rooms, and made sure we were-well rounded members of status for social events. In other words, we were to be good kids, not brats.
Ciccero is a sexy, mid-fifties man with graying hair at his widow’s peak. His mustache is always trimmed and waxed in an executed fashion. With a peppering of silver stringing through, it adds to his old guy cuteness. He’s not a bad looking man. As a little girl, I had a crush on him. I’d tell him that I wanted a prince charming, just like him. He’d laugh it off, telling me to reach higher in my expectations. He was wrong. I expect nothing more than devotion from any man, regardless of their wealth.
“Do you mind if I take this lovely lady out for a night on the town? It’s been years in the making, I’m afraid.” Stepping up beside Cassidy, grinning widely, he places a gentle kiss on her cheek. The red tinge to Cassidy’s cheeks heats to an all-time high as she blushes from his adoring attention.
“Go. Have fun, kids. Don’t worry about me. I’m ready for a night of disdainful, disgusting, distinguished sponsors.” I snap my fingers. “I’ll be home before you know it.” Forking a load full of deliciousness into my mouth, I stare into my bowl, looking for a genie to pop up. I’m trying to avoid their loving haze. I’m feeling more and more affected by all the lovey-dovey couples surrounding me lately.
I’m sure Cassidy wants to say more, but with a few choice, quiet words, Ciccero has her turning heel and saying goodbye.
Drinking down an ice-cold glass of white wine and wiping the dirty edges of my soul clean, I wonder when my life will turn a corner. When do I stop walking the plank of a disheartened life? Watching others moving on after my parent’s death, bit by tiny bit, my soul erases.