You and Everything After

by Ginger Scott

  “Yes, I’m awake. What is it, Mom? I have things to do.” I don’t have anything to do—my homework was done Friday afternoon, and Rowe is probably spending most of her afternoon with Nate. And I’m sure, somehow, Paige is also caught up on the Cotterman issue, so I’m looking at an afternoon of reading and MTV until Ty gets back.

  “I was just making your flight plans for Thanksgiving. Your sister said she was okay with an early-morning flight, and I wanted to make sure it would work for you,” she says, knowing full well she already bought the tickets. I hate early-morning flights. You have to get to the airport before the sun is even up. But my mom uses Paige as our litmus test—if she’s fine with it, then the other child must be as well. We’re twins, after all.

  “Early is fine,” I say.

  “Good. You’ll be heading out at 7:50 a.m.”

  “Fuuuuuck,” I moan. It just slipped out. It’s my attitude. I’m usually able to keep it in check, but I think maybe I’m just done—done with it all.

  “Cassidy!” Here comes the scolding.

  “Sorry,” I say, glad she can’t see me shake my head and roll my eyes.

  “This is that Tyson fellow’s influence, isn’t it?” she says, not even disguising the judgment. I’m sure I can thank Paige for this. I don’t know why my mom acts like this. She’s a textiles designer who owns a bead shop—she’s borderline hippy. She’s supposed to be open, accepting, and not…well, not a snob!

  “Paige told you about Ty, I see,” I say, sitting down on my floor with my back against my dresser. Might as well get comfortable.

  “Well, it’s not like you tell me about your boyfriends,” she says, and I hear the little tone at the end of that statement too. Boyfriends—like I’ve ever had more than just this one.

  “Mom, there’s just Ty. He’s it, and I like him. I like him a lot. You’d like him too if you’d bother to meet him in person—instead of the version of him that lives in Paige’s head,” I admonish.

  “Oh, she didn’t say anything bad about him. She only told us that he’s disabled, in a wheelchair? Is that right?” she asks, like she even has to.

  “Yes, Mom. He’s in a wheelchair. But I don’t even notice. He’s a physical trainer, and a grad student,” I start to launch into my list of all of Ty’s amazing qualities, but she’s not listening.

  “Right, that’s what your sister said. He’s older,” she says, a special emphasis on that word.

  “Yes, he’s older than me, but not by a lot. And that shouldn’t matter. Dad’s older than you,” by, like, ten years I continue in my head.

  “Right, right. I know. It’s just…” I don’t like her pause. She’s mulling, and hemming, and hawing. “—with this Paul Cotterman situation, Cass…are you sure you need to be having an affair with another older man?”

  Another. She used the word another.

  “What do you mean?” I’m back on my feet, pacing. Pissed. On fire.

  “Honey, maybe you shouldn’t be dating. Or, at least…maybe you should meet some of the boys in your class? You know, your age?”

  I don’t talk at first. I make it uncomfortable. I use this time to choose my words. I have one shot at this, and then she’ll call my father, and then he’ll lecture me. Of course, I’m not picking up my phone anymore today, so it doesn’t matter.

  “Mom, I’m only going to say this once. Paul Cotterman is a sick man who tried to touch me inappropriately, with physical force, in a classroom that I later found out was locked. I punched him—hard. And you should be proud that you raised a daughter who not only knew what to do, but has the physical strength to beat her way out of a nightmare,” I say, stopping for a breath before launching into my disappointment in her. But she interrupts me, halts me, and then kills me dead.

  “Cass, are you sure this wasn’t like that thing with Kyle Loftman last spring?” Her question leaves me breathless. My father told her, told her everything. And I’m sure she told Paige. My secrets are not so secret.

  I don’t say anything else, and the sensation of my phone in my hand, against my ear, suddenly feels burning hot. I pull it to my lap and look at it; the text reads MOM to identify who I’m talking to.

  “Cass? Are you there, honey?” I can hear her voice mutter from my lap. I stare at the phone though, don’t pick it back up to continue our conversation. “Cass? Cassidy? Cass?”

  She sounds like she’s in a box—so I close it, and press my finger to the END CALL button. I put the ringer on vibrate, so I don’t have to hear it loudly.

  I wait for Ty. I need Ty. I love Ty.

  Ty will make this all okay.

  Ty

  “Dude, so she bought you floor seats? For the Thunder game?” I’m looking at the tickets, holding them in my hand. They don’t even have row numbers on them. They just say VIP and then a string of letters. I’m officially jealous of my brother.

  “Third-row, but close,” he grins at me. He should grin—turns out Rowe is even cooler than I thought.

  My brother’s birthday is this week, and Rowe surprised him with the tickets after their prom experience. I didn’t bother to tell him about my prom, because I knew there was no way his could compare.

  I haven’t stopped thinking about Cass since she slept in my arms last night. I couldn’t get back from workouts fast enough, and when I left the gym, I went right to her room. Rowe came home an hour later, and I got a feeling she wanted some time with Cass, so I came here. But I wanted to stay there. I would have stayed there all night, again—every night.

  She didn’t buy me floor seats to the Thunder game, but what she gave me…it was so much more. I’m not very eloquent at talking about feelings. I don’t really know what to say. I’m good at honesty, and at calling people on bullshit. But I need to say something to Cass.

  I need to say a lot of things to Cass.

  “So, can I have them back?” Nate startles me. I’m still holding his tickets.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry,” I say, handing them back. He takes them slowly, one brow arched suspiciously.

  “Just like that? No joke or maneuver to hork my tickets, or make fun of me, or say something about how if Rowe really had good taste, she’d take you to the game instead?” he asks.

  “Well, while that last part is very much a true statement, no bro. I’m just glad you’ve finally met a girl worth all of your fine Preeter qualities,” I say, turning my attention to the TV remote, switching the channel to ESPN. “And hork is a stupid word. Don’t say it anymore. It’s not even in the dictionary.” I move toward my bed and pull myself up, my back leaning against the wall. It’s Sunday Night Football, and Dallas is playing.

  “That’s…it?” Nate says, standing in the way of my view. I dodge his head, trying to catch the stats on the bottom of the screen, but miss something about someone who’s injured for the Browns, probably my fantasy-team running back.

  “Yes, that’s it. Move your fucking head,” I say.

  Nate laughs, then sits on his bed and pulls the tab on a soda. The noise is irritating. His sipping is irritating. He’s staring at me still, and that’s irritating.

  “Dude, are you trying to make me punch you?” I ask. He grins, then pulls the soda can from his mouth. “What?” I shrug.

  “You’re in love. With Cass,” he says, and my stomach cinches tight. Instead of dignifying that with the guilty face I’m making on the inside, I turn my attention back to the TV.

  “Toss me a Coke?” I’m avoiding. I’m completely avoiding this. Not going to touch it.

  “Sure,” he says, and I feel relief that he’s bending down to pull a soda from the mini fridge. Moving on, yes…good. We’re moving on. “Have you told her yet?” Not moving on.

  This time, I don’t look away from the TV. I can hear the way my breath sounds through my nose. It’s that same sound my dad makes when Nate and I tease him and he gets fed up. But I’m not fed up. I just don’t want to talk about this, because then I have to talk about it with Cass. And if I talk about it with Cass, I
have to talk about it with Kelly—because Kelly’s the only other one, and I always promised myself I would make it okay with her if there was ever another. And now her husband is a loser. And fuck, fuck, damn, damn. Nate is staring at me, but I keep my eyes on the ticker at the bottom of the screen. Great, it is my running back that’s hurt. Well, there goes my fantasy week.

  “You have to tell her,” he says.

  “Nothing to tell,” I lie.

  “Liar,” he says. Yeah, he knows me too well.

  “Whatever,” I say.

  “You talk to Mom about it?”

  I blink, and keep my focus straight ahead. Fucking Nate, no I didn’t talk to my mommy about it. He knows it’s a sore spot for me, being the mama’s boy. But he doesn’t quite understand how much Mom was there for me when I was losing my way, when I was falling to depression. Mom pushed me into art, and that—and Kelly—saved me.

  “Dude, it’s a good thing…falling in love? Cass is awesome. You should let yourself have this, that’s all I’m saying,” he says.

  “Got it. Good. Okay, are you done now? I’d like to hear some of the commentary,” I say. I’m being a total asshole. It’s what I do when I’m uncomfortable, and he knows it.

  “Yeah, I’m done. Here’s your Coke, dickhead,” he tosses it on my lap so that I have to wait to open it. I’m tempted to spray it on his bed sheets. But I don’t. Instead, I pull it into my hands and spend five minutes tapping on the top until it’s safe to open.

  Goddamned love. It’s ruining football.

  Chapter 22

  Ty

  This isn’t quite how my night was supposed to go. When Nate and Rowe left for the game, Cass and I were settled in for some time alone. Pizza, a six-pack of Pabst, and Chunky Monkey ice cream. We were celebrating her official membership on the McConnell team—because her parents weren’t celebrating.

  I hate that for her. My parents wouldn’t miss a single moment of something big in Nate’s or my life. If I wanted to join a wheelchair knife-throwing league, my mom would ask if they had shirts for parents, and how she could get season tickets. Cass is doing her best to not act disappointed, but I can tell she is—she shows it in the quiet moments, when she’s thinking—her eyes off in the distance.

  Tonight was going to be all about forgetting the assholes. That was my plan. But then my brother became an asshole, and I had to deal with it.

  An hour after he and Rowe left, I saw Nate’s ex-girlfriend, Sadie, interviewed on television at the game. Sadie’s playing college ball over at OSU. She’s kind of big in the women’s basketball world, and the Thunder invited the OSU women’s team out for pre-game. Nate and Sadie’s breakup was swift, but ugly. She cheated, he caught her, and that’s the short of it. I knew things couldn’t be good when he texted me in the first quarter, asking me to guess who he ran into. Seems the introduction of his new girlfriend to his old girlfriend didn’t go well, especially for his new girlfriend. Needless to say, they came home early. Rowe needed Cass, and here I am, two beers in at Sally’s—Nate a beer ahead of me.

  “Dude, you called her your friend? Rowe is just a friend?” Honestly, I’ve said a lot of dumb shit in front of girls—things that have earned me a slap to the face more than once, and harder than the time Cass set me right. But I’ve never really minced words, had a slip of the tongue, just plain botched my ability to speak English. Nate? He’s an idiot.

  “I don’t know, man. I don’t think I can fix this.” Nate is wallowing. I have two choices: push him into a drunken stupor, or give him hope. His girl lives with my girl. I’m man enough to admit that plays into my decision.

  “Of course you can fix this.” Here comes Captain Positive. I suck at this too, a symptom of my tell-it-like-it-is quality. But for Nate, I can spin hope. And I think it’s there. Rowe’s in love with my brother, and this won’t be more than a blip.

  “Dude, I’m supposed to meet her parents this weekend. They’re coming to my tournament. She’s going to introduce me as her asshole-neighbor down the hall, who sold her out in front of his ex…because he’s too weenie to admit he’s in love with her,” he says, his own admission hitting him all at once.

  And there you have it. The Preeter brothers—in love, and too big of pussies to do anything about it.

  “While I agree that yes, she should introduce you that way, you know that’s not going to happen. You were an idiot, a colossal idiot. Like, bonehead idiot champion of the universe,” I say.

  “Got it. Move on,” he says.

  “That girl loves your ass anyway,” I say, and he sighs once, eyes staring into the half full glass of beer. “Just promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?” he asks.

  “You won’t let this relationship-shit fuck up baseball.” He laughs, nods once, and tilts his glass back letting the rest of his draft slide down his throat. “I’m serious, man. You know I don’t like shit fuckin’ up baseball.”

  “Oh, I know,” he says through a chuckle, standing up and tossing down twenty bucks before heading to the back for the men’s room.

  “Cass would never fuck up baseball,” I think to myself, then I toast to no one and take a long chug to catch up with Nate. I drop my twenty on the table and wait for him at the door.

  Things seem to have worked out for Nate. I knew they would. And he didn’t play like shit in his tournament, despite all of the drama-rama. Rowe did have some dude come to the game with her, pretty much hitting on her in front of my brother. That shit wasn’t cool, but Cass said I didn’t know the whole story, or whatever. All I know is if Cass brings some guy to tag along with us somewhere, I’m going to knock his teeth out—and I don’t care what his story is.

  Cass has had a full week of practice. Her body is holding up to the pressure. I know it’s a concern for her, making sure she gets rest, stays cool. I made her take an Epsom salt bath in the physical therapy room on Friday. She hated it, but it’s good for her muscles and nerves. Overheating isn’t good for MS, and extreme cold isn’t great either. Salt seems to be good for just about anything. I’ve been researching it as much as I can, because I want to help her, to be there to push back when MS tries to knock her down.

  She’s dodging calls from her parents. At first, it was really upsetting her, but now it’s almost routine the way she just clicks END on the phone when she sees their names pop up. Thankfully, Paige doesn’t seem to be bullying her about it. Cass says Paige is always on her mom’s side, but I don’t know. I think Paige might be in Cass’s corner more than she realizes. Paige sure as hell let me know where she stood.

  Cass has been out with the girls all day—Halloween shopping. I love this holiday. When I was a kid, I liked that I got free candy. When I was a teenage boy, I liked that teenaged girls dressed up in slutty costumes. And now that I’m twenty-two…? I like that college chicks dress up in slutty costumes.

  “So, do I get to see?” I ask Cass, pulling the bag on her arm, trying to get a peek at her costume. I only get a glimpse before she jerks the bag away. I can see the skirt—red and white stripes. She’s either a hot nurse or a cheerleader. I’m good with either.

  “No, I want to surprise you,” she says, her cheeks a little red when she smiles. It’s cute when she’s sexy like this. “What are you wearing?”

  I laugh once at her question before I answer. “Like you don’t know,” I say. Yesterday, I got a ransom note in my mailbox. It was a picture of a teddy bear—more specifically my teddy bear. I’ve had Cookie since as long as I can remember. Honestly, I think he means more to Mom than me, but I like that he means that much to her. So, I keep him in my box of crap that I haul around with me—he’s in there with a few trophies, yearbooks, homecoming pictures, and I think maybe my kindergarten report card.

  Anyhow, the note with the picture said that if I ever wanted to see Cookie again, I better wear a tutu at the Halloween party. It’s not so much about Cookie as it is about someone thinking they have something on me—so yeah, I’m going to wear the tutu. I’m g
oing to fucking own that tutu—and the silver sparkly Speedo-style thong I’m wearing underneath.

  “What does that mean?” Cass asks, and I try to size up the look on her face. Yeah, she’s in on this. She’s totally in on this.

  “You know what that means,” I say, and she rolls her eyes at me. Yeah. She’s in on it. I can’t wait for her to see the tutu.

  Cass

  Rowe filled me in on the Cookie thing after the boys left. I guess Ty’s been picking on Nate, so to get back at him, Rowe kidnapped his teddy bear and is holding it ransom. My boyfriend has a teddy bear…named Cookie. Yep.

  The best part is that she dared him to wear a tutu to the party tonight. I wish Rowe knew Ty as well as I do. If she did, maybe she wouldn’t have taken the threat so far. I’m pretty sure everyone at the party has seen my boyfriend’s penis. There’s not a lot hiding it. There’s a goodly amount of pink fluff that tufts up in the front as he’s sitting, and then there’s a very small silver thong…that doesn’t fit well.

  It’s not attractive, like, in the least, but I kind of love that Ty couldn’t give a shit. Most of the guys at this party tonight are dressed in stupid, scary masks, or with bad vampire makeup and their regular street clothes. The blend of the various colognes gave me a headache, so we’ve been hanging out outside.

  “Okay, so again, explain this whole tutu thing to me? This is all because you tease Nate about making a fussy fuss?” I say, noticing a group of girls walking by, staring at Ty’s lap, giggling, and moving on. That’s right, ladies, get a good look. He’s all mine. I laugh a little to myself.

  I move to his lap, a strategic maneuver to cover the tutu, which he doesn’t mind. His hand finds my knee quickly, and his fingers inch up my leg every few seconds, closer to the edge of my cheerleading skirt. I’m okay with this, too.

  “When we were kids, I used to beat Nate up. You know, normal brother-wrestling kind of crap, not like bloody-nose stuff,” Ty says. “Anyhow, he was easy to pin—all thin and gangly. I was four years older, and he never stood a chance. But he’d always start crying, running to Mom and telling her I was picking on him. Well, one day, she was busy…working on one of her sculptures. She was trying to get some welding equipment to work in the driveway, and here Nate was waving his arms, whining that I pinned him on the carpet and gave him a rug burn. She told him to stop making a fussy fuss.”