by Zee Irwin
I grabbed the tools and flew back to the living room, slamming the office door behind me. I plastered on a fake smile for my family and myself, in complete denial that seeing Bronson in the flesh and in pictures had any effect on me whatsoever.
After Dad made quick work of putting the light together, my sisters and I played with it. We dressed up in all our new clothes and posed in front of the ring light, laughing like we were ten years younger. It was the kind of cozy family Christmas morning I never wanted to forget. And also a warm distraction, keeping deeper worries about Bronson at bay until later.
We ate until stuffed. One of the advantages of my folks owning the largest grocery store on Cape Cod was having full access to all the delectable treats and gourmet food each holiday. Mom outdid herself with the dinner, absolutely planned and cooked to perfection. But after all of her hard work, the kitchen mess remained for us to clean.
Mom poured herself a large glass of wine and sat at the island. “I’m grateful I birthed three daughters to clean up this mess.”
Emily washed, I dried, and Bella put away while we chatted through the cleanup. After a while, I sort of tuned out during the monotony of my chore. I barely heard Emily’s story about her freaky roommate from her fall semester at Boston U, with my thoughts flitting about from one Bronson memory to the next, all triggered by the darn photo on Dad’s desk.
“Isn’t that right, Cass?”
“Hmm?” I snapped my head to Emily.
“About guys at BU? They all try to outdo each other by dating the hottest girls?”
I sighed. I was familiar with it, yes. Mom glanced my way, taking me in. One look at me, and she knew something was off.
“What’s up, sweetie? You haven’t seemed like yourself tonight.”
There would be no avoiding my mom until I appeased her. “I ran into an old flame this week.”
All production on the dishes came to a full stop. They gaped at me, all knowing. Of course, the only old flame I had was Bronson.
“Yes. It was Bronson.” I answered their questioning faces.
Emily chimed in first. “Ooh, is he still hot? Maybe this is a sign you’re supposed to get back together.”
Deja vu all over again. It never occurred to me before how similar Emily and Lily were with all their romantic notions. My defiance against signs or anything resembling Fate tried to reappear, but it wavered.
“He wants to talk.”
My mom looked right through me. “There’s a bit of history to unravel with the way you two left things. A conversation wouldn’t hurt, would it?”
I nodded. “A conversation, yes, that’s how I’ll approach it. A simple talk, clear the air, no hard feelings, firmly shut the door, and move on. Good plan.”
Bella chimed in. “Of course, if the conversation leads to kissing or anything more with hot-as-hell Bronson, who could turn him down. Am I right, sis?” She shared a laugh and a knowing look with Emily until I shot her a look that said Butt out, little sis. It sent her huffing out of the kitchen. Emily followed.
I warned Mom not to start with me. “Don’t even go there. It’s hard enough seeing him again, and everyone is like ‘Must be Fate,’ and I’m like, please—doesn’t anyone remember what happened back then?” I tackled drying off the good Christmas china a little too vigorously. Mom calmly removed the towel and plate from me, setting them safely out of my reach, then took my hands in hers.
“Oh, my dear. Of course we all remember. We’re your family, and we lived through the pain with you. But we also lived through the good days before. Bronson had been, at one point, a special part of our lives, too. When you broke up, the loss rippled through all of us.”
“That may be the case, but I’m the one in this now, feeling confused. I wish I knew if Bronson being back was a good thing or a bad thing.”
Dad walked in as I finished. “Bronson is back? My Bronson?”
My head cocked left, and I gave him a huge eye roll. “Yeah, Dad. Your Bronson.”
“As in back together back?” His eyes grew large and expectant, as if waiting to jump for joy if I said ‘Yes.’
My head cocked right. “No, Dad . . . Oh, never mind.” I brushed past his large frame in the doorway, but he caught me by the arm.
“Hey, come on, my sunshine girl. Whatever happened back then can stay in the past. You have your entire future ahead of you. There’s nothing but time to figure out who deserves your love. You don’t need to decide tonight. But you know my vote is for Bronson, no pressure. Now . . .” Dad rubbed his belly. “I’m ready for pie.”
As usual, my dad gave quick words of wisdom and then focused on the food. Gotta love him. I knew his heart hung in the right place, and I knew he secretly, or not so secretly, hoped for a reunion with Bronson.
“Which one?” I gestured at the five pies my mom made. She overcooked for the five of us every holiday, but we lived for leftovers.
“All of them,” Dad quipped. Mom gave a tsk tsk sound while shaking her head, but I cut him tiny slivers of each type of pie anyway—cherry, apple, mincemeat, pudding, and of course, pumpkin—all arranged on a plate with a heaping mound of whipped cream. Mom shuddered at the huge dessert.
“Here you go. Enough pie for a bear.” I ruffled his salt and pepper hair.
He growled and brought me in for a hug, teasing me because I was a daddy’s girl. No matter what, I took every hug he offered.
Christmas was the best, and with my family, who knew me so well, it was even better.
10
My Weakness
Bronson
Kelly placed a present each in Aiden’s and Amie’s laps to unwrap, then stood with her hands on her hips in front of the tree, both guarding the presents against her four children and towering over me.
“Well, what are you going to do about Cassidy?” She beamed from ear to ear with a wicked, admonishing grin as if saying, I’m the only one NOT celebrating you being home, little brother.
I fumed in silence on the floor between the two-year-old twins, helping them unwrap their third present out of about fifty to go. Aiden mouthed the edge of the package while Amie played with wrapping paper stuck to her slobbered hand. I crawled over to the presents under the tree and sifted through them while scowling at my sister crouching next to me.
“Thanks, Sis. I can think of a dozen other times when bringing up Cassidy in front of Mom and Dad might have been more appropriate.” Fighting with Kelly wasn’t anything new, but come on. Being Christmas morning, I wanted to call a truce. “If you don’t mind setting aside theatrics today, I’d rather focus on the kids.”
I could have said more to her, like how she could sit on the floor and enjoy her children too, but thought better of it. Once she popped out the children, she only went through the motions of being a mother, in my opinion, and it drove me crazy.
Marie, wearing red flannel pajamas to match the twins, toddled between us. “I got a new baby. I take care of her. Aww, baby.” She cradled the doll for a second more before throwing it down. Then she tugged on Kelly’s sweater and whined in her baby voice. “Me want more.” Kelly pushed a present into her waiting hands, and the four-year-old plopped down on her bottom and ripped it open with more expertise than her twin siblings combined.
I found the present I was looking for, but Kelly didn’t drop irritating me. “You’re right, brother. We should enjoy the day, considering I don’t know when we’ll see you again. You left the party early Wednesday night and now, two days later, you decide to make a family appearance. I dare say, if it wasn’t for Christmas, you might not have even shown up for this.” Kelly blinked several times at me and used a sweetly sarcastic voice, loud enough for all to hear.
It hurt knowing she was right. I avoided time with them.
After punching Hank, I had spent four hours in the emergency room with him. He had swollen across his left cheek and nose, but nothing was broken. Then I crashed at Tony’s place after taking them home before the sun had come up. I spent most of
yesterday lazing on his couch playing video games with the guys and napping off and on. A pizza and several beers later, and I was in no shape to drive home last night either. Besides, as much as I loved my family, being with them every freaking second wouldn’t be a good idea.
Now, for Christmas morning, I had psyched myself up to be here. I wanted to be present in the moment with my nieces, nephews, parents, and yes, even Kelly and her introverted husband, Andrew.
Seated in a chair with a glass of scotch in hand, Andrew stayed out of any family conversation unless called upon. I figured with four children and my sister, poor guy, he deserved a break from being involved.
I pushed nothing further with Kelly, hoping if I stayed quiet long enough, she might shut up about all this Cassidy nonsense. Instead, I snuggled up to my oldest nephew. Watching Michael unwrap the present I gave him was the best gift for me.
“Cool! A baseball mitt. Thanks, Uncle Bron.” The five-year-old flung his arms around me and held tight. This was worth every moment of torture I endured from Kelly, so I had a minute where my nephew hugged me. I planned the entire afternoon where I could teach him how to catch a ball, as long as I could last through the rest of this typical, pretentious Maxwell family Christmas.
It took about an hour for the kids to unwrap presents. My parents did a fine job playing Santa once again, spoiling the grandkids rotten. Andrew finally got off his ass and started the fatherly chore of unboxing a few toys and, armed with a screwdriver and batteries, he seemed content assembling some of the more complicated ones. But who needed toys with a room full of ripped wrapping paper?
My nieces and nephews turned their attention to the piles of paper and bows and ran through them as if they were leaves fallen from a tree in autumn. Their squeals and laughter resonated around the room. I encouraged them by throwing small bits in the air like leaves floating down onto their heads. The giggles from little ones like this warmed my heart. I wadded the paper into a ball and threw it at them to see who could catch it.
I began instruction with Michael on the art of throwing and catching a wadded ball of paper when Aiden intercepted and the ball bounced off of him. Michael pushed his baby brother down. Aiden got back up and pushed back, and a fight ensued between the little siblings.
Everything suddenly reached a level beyond my abilities as an uncle. I shot a nervous glance at Andrew for help, but he acted like he wasn’t paying attention. I looked around for Kelly to break up the fight, but she wasn’t in the room. The only thing saving me was my mother’s shrill voice ringing out from the kitchen.
“All right, enough. I cannot take this anymore. Andrew, go get bags to clean up this mess. Which of you kids wants milk and sugar cookies?” Mom’s bark always seemed rougher than her bite.
The four kids jumped up and followed her to the kitchen like mice to cheese. Food. I should have thought of that. I noted for next time because surely sibling squabbles would only get worse, and it was probably a good idea to improve my skills as an uncle.
Mom continued dealing out stern orders. “Bronson, go see your father in his study.”
Oh shit. I already knew the topic of conversation, and the study was the last place I wanted to be. Not only could Buck be intimidating, but from his study, even more so.
Decorated with deep burgundy walls and dark wood molding with low lighting, only the shadows in the corners could be more fearful to anyone who dared enter the study. I knocked, pushed the door open, and my eyes landed on my father in his leather reading chair. I started out bravely, but the old familiar lingering scent of his Cuban cigars, to this day, made me sweat.
As I stepped closer, I realized our last conversation in this room was after I recovered from my accident when he had told me—no, ordered me—to work for him in London. Wrecked and depressed, I didn’t feel the freedom to argue at that point. The accident ruined my hand, which ended my baseball dreams, and then I lost my girlfriend. I lost all hope, and the only thing I had left was the family business and the dreams of my father.
They shipped me off to work my way up the international branch of the business, and my father’s grand plan of leaving the company in my hands progressed. And now, I stood before him as if waiting for my next order.
He didn’t look up from his book when he spoke. “What are you doing about this Cassidy situation?”
“What does it matter if Cassidy works for us? There are five hundred people in the corporate office and thousands around the world.”
It was a funny thing about my memory because my father didn’t appear as intimidating now. He seemed frail, sitting in his chair. When had his hair turned more salt than pepper?
He huffed. “I won’t stand for it. You will call HR on Monday and have her fired.” His hands shook as he brought the glass of liquor to his lips. He looked every bit the old man he had been too vain to become. And now I stood over him in the power stance drilled into me as a kid, feet square on the floor, arms down at my sides, shoulders back, and head held high. Who was the intimidating one now?
I prepared for battle to defy him, something I had never done with Buck. “I won’t. If she leaves, then I leave too. I swear it.”
I had his attention now, and all the years of being under his thumb and doing what he wanted me to do were making me crack.
He slammed his book on the side table and hitched his voice up several notches. “I won’t have it. She hurt you, nearly killed you. Why are you defending her?”
Being back in Boston didn’t mean I’d let him take control of me any longer. I slammed my hand on top of his book, and then I did the one thing I swore I would never do. I told him the secret I had kept all these years, the one I had been too ashamed to admit back then.
I leaned in and jabbed my finger into his chest. “Cassidy wasn’t the reason we got into the accident. It was me, after drinking at the MVP party, and she tried taking my keys so she could drive us home. I wouldn’t let her. I drove us drunk and I couldn’t react quickly enough when the deer jumped in the road.”
The anger overtook me, letting all my guilt out of its cage. I stepped back, not trusting my body, and shaking, never having raised my voice to Dad. “Cassidy had a concussion and wasn’t thinking straight. When the emergency crews arrived, she told them she was the one driving. She thought it would protect me so I wouldn’t get in trouble with my agents or have anything tarnish my reputation and miss out on the MLB draft. But it didn’t matter since my hand got crushed. Still, I was a coward, letting her take the blame while all of you hated her for it.”
“What’s all this? You’re saying I should thank Cassidy for not wiping this family name through the mud because of your ignorance and drunk driving?”
All this time, I had lived with the pain of regret, of knowing the one behind the wheel was me. I had put her in the position of lying for me because she loved me. I caused my parents to turn against her. They even threatened lawsuits on her and her parents at first.
“Even now, knowing the truth, all you can think about is the family name? You don’t even care about what I’ve been through or what she’s been through, do you? After the accident, she shouldered all the blame alone. Even I treated her like shit because of my guilt, and I pushed her away. And then, because of you and your grand plan, you sent me away to Europe, where I spent five years trying to bury it all. So excuse me, Dad, if now that I’m back, I feel an overwhelming desire to tell the truth. I owe her.”
He stood and crossed to me. “Of course I care for you.” But I didn’t see it. I couldn’t tell by his usual stern face if he had any feelings at all. “What I’m saying is leave the past in the past. There’s no sense dredging it up.”
I winced. “How can you be so flippant? This is my life destroyed by the past. And now, with Cassidy conveniently about, I can finally make things right.”
“If seeing her around the office is going to be too much for you, then fire her.”
“What? No. I’m tired of the lie, and I’m done with it. I won�
�t fire her, and you’ll leave Cassidy alone. If I hear you’ve done anything to her . . . You’ll lose me.”
I grabbed his opened bottle of rare fifty-year-old scotch whisky and flew out of the room.
My eyes seeing red, filled with hurt, only muscle memory got me and my car to the Amato house on Christmas afternoon. I couldn’t spoil their family holiday because mine had been shit, so I opened the bottle and drank in the car. Tears boiled up in my eyes, a few spilling over down my face.
I drank more and at some point I slept, because it was almost dark when I awoke. Guzzling down the last swig of the expensive whisky before getting out of the car—take that Buck Maxwell, you old prick—the numbness spread from my neck to my feet. The alcohol blocked certain feelings while others awakened.
Despite the one rule from Buck—don’t be weak—weakness now served as the only thing powering me. I couldn’t fight it. My weakness for Cassidy would be my undoing.
I stumbled around to the back of the house, where I knew I’d find the Amato brothers and cousins gathered around their fire pit drinking, bundled up in blankets, singing, and laughing. The large Italian family had the same Christmas traditions year after year, including tables of food and wine, not enough chairs for everyone, and a round of singing Old World songs while their Pap played the fiddle around the fire pit. The scene served as a stark contrast to my family’s Christmases.
Tony and Hank were easy to spot among the large group assembled. They were the only two without significant others. Tony, because he was an asshat, and Hank—because he was Hank.
“Well, if it isn’t the nose-basher.” Tony smirked as he greeted me. I wasn’t in the mood, otherwise I’d wipe the look right off him. And I avoided the admonishing look of Mrs. Amato.
“I’m going to Cassidy’s.” What made me say it, I don’t know, or why I walked into their backyard for the formal announcement—must have been the alcohol talking. If I’d driven right to Cape Cod after I left my house, then I would have already been there. But the plan had only now been formulated in my unclear brain. My weakness was her, and I had to tell her.
