by Tawna Fenske
What I don’t like is the fact that I’m bracing myself for a conversation about how likely I am to scandalize their college friends with tales of my debauchery. Now that Simon and I have turned my fibs into truths, I feel strangely protective of them.
Luckily, my sisters seem more focused on the wedding than the bachelorette party. As if on cue, Lisa whips out her phone. “What do you think of these napkin rings for the rehearsal dinner?” She thrusts out the gadget, and I take a step back like she’s holding kryptonite.
“I have no idea,” I tell her. “Can’t people just unfold the napkins and put them in their laps?”
My sisters both look at me like I’ve suggested an orgy in place of the first dance. Truth be told, that would be my preference. Thoughts of sex remind me of Simon again, which has me smiling in a way they probably interpret as approval of the napkin choices.
“Do you like the one on the right or the one on the left?” Missy demands.
“Uh—right.” I don’t specify her right or mine. I honestly don’t care.
I’m too busy trying not to think about Simon.
We haven’t talked for several days. That’s not unusual, especially since we’ve both been traveling. Me to the Oregon Coast to this wine thing with my sisters, and Simon to—well, actually, he never told me.
But I know he’s out of town, and I know not to expect a lot of communication.
So why do I keep glancing at my phone? We’re not in a relationship. We only have two more items on the list—the roleplay one, and the Post Hole Digger, which we never figured out the other night. In fact, we ended up making love slow and sweet in my bed, then falling asleep twined in each other’s arms.
Which does seem kind of relationshippy, now that I think about it. Is he thinking about it?
“Don’t you think so, Cassie?”
“Wha—what?”
I take a gulp of wine and force my attention back to my sisters. Missy is regarding me with an expectant look, and Lisa’s still holding out her phone.
“What?” I try again. “Yes, the napkin rings are very nice.”
Both sisters roll their eyes. “No,” Lisa asks. “We were talking about dresses for the rehearsal dinner. About what might look nice on you.”
“Me?”
Missy nods and pops a tiny crab puff in her mouth with the tips of her French-manicured fingers. She chews and swallows before speaking, the model of perfect manners. “And before you say it, no, we’re not making your dress out of plaid flannel and letting you wear your lumberjack boots.”
I resist the urge to glare at them, but I do resent the implication. That there’s Cassie, the manly chick who plays in the dirt, or Missy and Lisa, the proper ladies who can distinguish between eggshell and cream paper for their thank-you notes. Nothing in between.
“I’m fine with wearing a dress,” I tell them. “I actually wore one a few nights ago when Simon and I went out for dinner.”
At the mention of Simon, my sisters’ expressions shift from vaguely patronizing to something bordering on impressed. Lisa sidles close as she nibbles a shrimp. “So, are you and this guy serious?”
“Of course not.” My response is hasty, but my sisters smell blood in the water.
“Please,” Missy scoffs. “I see the look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re hooked.” She smirks and takes a sip of her wine. “The one that says this guy isn’t just one of your flings.”
I hate that her words send tiny spears of uncertainty into my chest. Am I hooked? I want to say no. I want to argue that Simon’s just a fling. It’s what we agreed, after all, and nothing’s been said to indicate otherwise.
“When are you seeing him again?” Lisa asks.
“I don’t know.” I try to keep my voice cool, but I’m not sure it’s working. I take another sip of wine. “We haven’t really connected for a couple days. We’ve both been traveling.”
“Where’d you say he went this weekend?” Missy asks.
“Some sort of work trip,” I tell her. “I’m not sure where. We didn’t really talk about it.”
I try not to let it bother me that Simon has seemed oddly tight-lipped lately. That he clammed up when I tried to probe for details about his job or his family or anything of a personal nature. Does he travel often for work? Does he have siblings or parents he visits? I have no idea.
“What kind of car does he drive?” Missy asks, giving me yet another question for which I have no answer.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “We took a limo to Cascara Springs Resort.”
I’m hoping to distract them with that juicy detail, but it’s clear from Missy’s expression she’s undeterred. “Right, but you’ve gone out plenty of other times.”
Lisa sips her wine. “What did he drive when you went on dates before the trip?”
I shrug and grab a scallop off my sister’s plate. Realizing how little I actually know about the man I’ve been sleeping with is making me edgy.
“We usually hang out at my place,” I say. “Or take Uber. We took my work truck to the mountains a couple weeks ago.”
My sisters exchange a look I recognize as silent judgment. Or not-so-silent, in Missy’s case. “Are you sure he even has a car?”
I roll my eyes to indicate this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, even though the words hit home. “I don’t know, Missy. Maybe he relies on public transportation. Would that be the worst thing in the world? The guy made me come my brains out in the spa at a luxury resort. Does it really matter what he drives?”
There. That got a flash of respect. Or something, anyway. I saw it in both their eyes just now, and it felt damn good. Missy signals the sommelier behind the table and holds out her glass. “Do you have any chardonnay with more oaky undertones? This one’s too flat for me.”
The guy raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. Just pours from another bottle as Lisa turns away to signal the conversation is over. I catch the guy’s eye and give him a sympathetic smile.
“So, this Simon,” Missy says. “He’s some sort of repairman?”
“He’s a little more than that,” I say with a hoity note in my voice, even though I’m not entirely sure what his job title is. “He troubleshoots all kinds of computer problems and also works the retail side of things.”
“I see,” says Lisa. “So, is this just a sex thing, then?”
“I don’t know, Lisa.” I frown, annoyed to realize I’ve just taken the bait. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“So, you do like him!” Missy’s look is triumphant. She rarely gets me to admit to anything, so this is a big deal. “I mean as more than just a casual thing.”
“Look, I’m not sure, okay? I’m not going to start planning a wedding or anything if that’s what you mean.”
Lisa smiles and sidles up close to me. She puts an arm around me, and for a second it feels like we’re the sort of close siblings I always wished we were.
“You don’t have to marry him, silly,” Lisa says. “Not right away, anyhow. It’s just nice to see you crushing on someone.”
“Right,” Missy agrees. “Someone who thinks you’re fabulous enough to take on a luxury trip to Cascara Springs Resort.”
“Exactly!” Lisa smiles. “Gary’s never taken me to Cascara Springs.”
Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s the fact that my sisters are being weirdly nice to me, at least in their own snobby way. Maybe it’s the fact that I might be ready to admit it. Yes, I really do want to date Simon. Not just the sex stuff.
And I think he might feel the same. I hope he does, anyway. He could have taken anyone on that trip to Cascara Springs, but he chose to go with me. He could have skipped the uncomfortable items on the list like the snow sex, but he didn’t. He could have whipped through The List in a matter of days, but he’s taken his time. He’s gotten to know me—not just my turn-ons, but how I like my coffee and what I love about my job.
You do
n’t do that if you just want sex, right?
“Yeah,” I concede, taking a small sip of my own wine. I realize I’m smiling, and I’m not sure when that happened. “I’m into him. More than I have been with anyone for a while.”
My sisters titter and exchange a knowing smile.
“I thought so!” Missy bites triumphantly into a crudité.
“Do you have any photos of him?” Lisa asks.
I start to pull out my phone, but Missy waves me aside. “Let’s wait. Our pedicure appointment is in thirty minutes, and I want to grab coffee before we go.”
“Come on.” Lisa grabs my hand. “Let’s get our stuff from the coat-check guy.”
We get bundled up in rain gear and gloves. The weather’s chilly outside, but it’s not raining at the moment. That makes it a rare day on the Oregon coast. I zip up my kelly-green raincoat and head down the boardwalk with my sisters flanking me in their designer rain gear.
“Parker texted,” Missy says as she links her arm through mine. “He says to tell everyone hi.”
“Hi, Parker,” Lisa choruses with a little eye roll that makes me like her more. “Gary’s giving me space this weekend. He knows it’s a girls’ weekend.”
“Hmph,” says Missy, clearly unsure who just won the competition. She turns to me. “How about you, Cassie?”
“What about me?”
“Have you heard from your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I remind them, feeling my cheeks warm up just a little. I blame it on the wind.
“Oh, please,” Lisa says. “A guy doesn’t take you to Cascara Springs and a romantic trip to the mountains for no reason.”
The List. The List was his reason. Or was it? I bite back the urge to tell them the whole stupid story. To get their take on what’s happening between us. My sisters have always been experts on relationships and dating in ways I could never fathom.
But I’m not sure I’m ready to open up yet. To let them see the version of me that’s somewhere between dirt-digging PhD and wild vixen. The one who’s actually a little vulnerable.
“We’re giving each other space this weekend,” I tell them. “I let him know it was important to me to spend quality time with my sisters.”
They beam at that, pleased to be the focus of my attention. Lisa grabs my other arm so we’re walking like some awkward six-legged creature down the narrow Newport sidewalk. “We’re glad you came with us, Cass,” she says. “We didn’t think you would.”
“What?” I almost stop walking. “Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know,” Missy says. “You never seem interested in doing stuff with us.”
“You’re always making excuses,” Lisa adds. “Like maybe the kinds of things we’re interested in are boring to someone with a PhD and all those other fancy letters after your name.”
I feel a tightness in my chest that wasn’t there before, and I blink back a sharp sting in my eyes. Is that how my sisters see me? As someone who’s too good to spend time with them? I always thought it was the other way around.
“I’m glad to hang out with you,” I tell them. “It’s been fun.”
With some surprise, I realize I mean it. I really care about my sisters. Sure, we’re opposites in a lot of ways, but we have more in common than I once believed. We love travel and wine and food. We’re generous with each other. We’re passionate about the things that are important to us, even if they’re not the same things. We have a fierce love of family, warts and all.
I’m tempted to talk with them about Simon. To get their opinion on whether I might really have a shot at something serious.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I have a crazy flash of hope it’s him. That maybe I summoned him with my thoughts.
But it’s just a note from one of my coworkers about soil samples from a mill site in eastern Oregon. I start to shove my phone back into my pocket, but Missy reaches for it.
“Hey!” she says. “Weren’t you going to show us photos of your man?”
“Oh. Right. Sure.”
They stop walking and huddle up next to me on the sidewalk as I flip through my photo library. I want to angle it away so I can find something flattering instead of all these shots of job sites. I realize that I don’t have any photos of Simon and me together, and I feel a little sad.
At last, I find a shot of him standing in the woods. I snapped it when he was turned away, gazing out through the trees at the mountains in the distance. This was just after the Forest Service ranger left, but just before we had sex again, this time across the bench seat of my truck.
It’s just his profile, but you can still see his face a little. And you can definitely see his ass. His snug jeans that make it clear the man knows his way around a gym. I hold the phone out so my sisters can see.
“Wow.” The stunned look on Missy’s face makes me even happier than this single syllable does.
“That’s your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Still, I’m smiling as I peer at the screen. “That’s Simon.”
I feel a weird sense of possession when I say his name.
“He looks sort of familiar.” Missy wrinkles her nose the way she does when she’s thinking. “What did you say his last name is?”
I didn’t, actually. As a matter of fact, I’m ashamed to admit I don’t remember. I know he told me weeks ago, but it went in one ear and out the other. At a certain point, it becomes awkward to ask the man you’re sleeping with, “excuse me, what was your name again?”
But there’s no way in hell I’m admitting this to my sisters. Will one more little white lie really hurt?
“Simon—Simon Glass,” I say. “His name is Simon Glass.”
Oh my God. I realize I’ve just blatantly stolen this from an old Brady Bunch episode where Jan Brady invents a fake boyfriend named George Glass. I say a silent prayer my sisters won’t remember this. They were always more interested in watching the Home and Garden network anyway.
Luckily, no one bats an eyelash. “Simon Glass,” Missy repeats. “Huh. Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Lisa frowns. “So, you’d be Cassie Glass if you got married?”
“No,” I say with exaggerated patience. “I’d keep my maiden name, of course. It’s the twenty-first century. Women can keep their maiden names, you know.”
Good Lord. I can’t believe I just answered that question. That I’m even entertaining my sisters’ domesticated inquiries instead of scoffing at them like I normally would. I look down at myself to make sure I haven’t spontaneously sprouted a cashmere sweater set and pearls.
Nope. I’m regular old Cassie. And while I have no plans to inhabit my sisters’ world anytime soon, it does feel good to be bonding with them on some level.
“She can start using her full name,” Missy is busy telling Lisa, still hung up on my marital future. “Cassondra Glass sounds very elegant.”
“Oh, you’re right!”
I roll my eyes and stuff my phone back in my pocket. There’s no reasoning with them, so I won’t bother trying. We start walking again, and the ocean breeze tastes fresh and cool. My skin is prickling pleasantly from the salty air, and I think about snapping a photo of the waves to send to Simon. Would that be too much of a girlfriend move? And even if it is, would that be the worst thing?
“Oooh, there’s a bakery,” Missy says. “Let’s see if they have coffee.”
Lisa nods. “Okay, but if they don’t have flax milk, I’m out of there.”
Missy pushes open the door to the little shop, and we head inside. The space is warm and smells like cinnamon and coffee beans. I breathe deeply, enjoying the steamy aroma of coffee and the soft whoosh of an espresso machine.
I stare up at the readerboard above the counter, one of those old-school chalkboards with colorful hearts and flowers stenciled along the border. The chai sounds good, or maybe a mint latte. I’ve almost made up my mind when I feel a tingle on the back of my neck. Like someone’s watching me.
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Slowly, I turn around. It’s Simon.
Here. In Newport. Less than twenty feet from where I stand in my clunky rain boots and pilled sweater.
But instead of moving toward me, he’s moving away. He’s heading for the door in a hurry, glancing back at me with a fretful expression. My gaze locks with his, and I realize he’s not alone. A woman with shoulder-length caramel hair is holding his arm, her face turned away from me as she studies the row of souvenir mugs on the wall.
Simon freezes. He’s ten feet away, and he looks like a teenager who got caught sneaking out of the house. I hear a rushing sound in my ears, and I wonder if it’s the espresso maker or my brain exploding.
“Cassie,” he says.
It’s the first time the sound of my own name has filled me with dread.
Chapter Seventeen
Simon
As I stare at Cassie across the espresso-fogged café, I realize I’ve never felt so torn.
Part of me knows distancing myself from her is the easiest way to make a clean break. To keep either of us from getting too attached.
Another part knows that if my sister meets her, it’s all over. I’ll have three years of explaining things every time Junie asks, “Where’s Cassie?” and the real answer is, “she found a guy with a lot less baggage.”
And another part of me just wants to shove this fucking rack of mugs out of the way, race across the room, take her in my arms, and—
“Cassie,” I choke out. “Uh, hey.”
The two women flanking her have the same green eyes, but I know from Cassie’s descriptions that the taller one is Missy. That means the blonde in the Burberry raincoat is Lisa. I realize I can pick her sisters out of a lineup and name them on sight.
Cassie doesn’t know I have a sister.
“Simon?” Junie tugs my coat sleeve. “I like this mug a lot. The one with the cats?”
I say good-bye to any thought I might’ve had about whisking Junie out of here before she connects the dots between me and the perplexed-looking woman in the green raincoat. I turn to Junie, hoping maybe I can distract her.