Every Little Kiss (8 page)

T
hat Saturday afternoon, Audrey was huffing with exasperation as she helped Casey haul a four-foot concolor fir tree into her home.

“Can I please just call Kieran? He can be here in two minutes and he'll have the thing up in three.”

“We're almost there,” Casey replied, lifting the trunk higher. Sap smeared against her jacket. “Just up the steps and into the house.”

“That's the hardest part,” Audrey grumbled. “You didn't even shovel your sidewalk.”

“I know, I know. I'm used to living in an apartment.”

“All this snow just makes everything worse.”

“Think of it like a workout,” Casey said. “Like this is one of those circuit-training things you make all your clients do.”

“If this were actually a workout, I'd be out of a job within a week.”

Nevertheless, Audrey lifted her end with grace and strength, and they started up the steps. Across the bundled boughs, Casey watched her sister, feeling a surge of pride. Audrey had started a small personal training business in White Pine, and it was booming. She'd been a gym teacher and coach for years at the high school, so parents and teachers and community members already knew her and were excited to work with her. She did all this on top of working with Kieran at the Harley dealership, where they'd changed the whole culture of the place to be more welcoming to women, and they'd watched profits burgeon as a result. Business was good for her sister, and Casey couldn't be happier. She just wished Audrey would ease up on the complaining a little.

“You always make me do stuff I don't want to,” her sister said, fumbling with the front door.

Casey bit back laughter. It was as if Audrey was eight and she was eleven, and she was forcing her little sister to sit still while she brushed Audrey's hair or demanded she be the student while Casey played teacher and “graded her homework.”

Her sister had put up with so much. And had loved Casey anyway.

They maneuvered the tree into the living room and propped it up in the corner. “I can do the rest,” Casey said, shrugging out of her jacket. “You sit down and I'll make you some spiced cider.”

“God,
finally
,” Audrey said with mock drama. She pulled out one of the white stools around the island in the kitchen and collapsed into it. “I may need sustenance as well. In the form of sugar cookies, if you've got them.”

Casey grabbed the nearby Santa tin. She pulled off the lid to reveal rows of trees, stars, ornaments, and snowmen, all covered with frosting and sprinkles. She'd made extra the weekend before when she couldn't decorate, since the boxes with all her holiday trimmings were still missing.

Audrey grabbed a snowman and bit off the head. She tucked her glossy auburn hair—
so much thicker and lovelier than mine
, Casey thought—behind an ear and looked around. “The place is really coming together. I love the paint color you chose in here.”

“Apple Blossom,” Casey said, recalling all too easily the cans she'd hauled up the steps and onto a tarp so she could paint what were formerly beige-colored walls. In her previous life, she would have left the beige. So many things about her used to be beige, after all. Her clothes. Her car. For years, she'd allowed that to be fine. But the truth was, there was a deep-set part of her that loved bright colors. That loved sparkle, even. She'd just buried it under years of practicality because, growing up, when you're living on a shoestring and trying to raise your little sister by yourself, you take what you get, not what you want.

But then there was the night of the asparagus festival, when Casey realized that all that practicality had done more than define her—it had turned her into someone she didn't want to be.

Within a week, she'd given notice at her job. Within two weeks, she'd bought her first pair of shoes that weren't brown or black. They were purple. And the heel was taller than an inch.

Casey heated the cider and pulled out two mugs. They were each a dull muddy color. She'd purchased them years ago.
I should replace these, too
, she thought. The idea excited her and exasperated her all at once. She was trying to change so she'd never repeat the mistakes of her past, and she'd come so far. But staring at the mugs made her realize how far there was to go.

When will I know when I'm there?
She wondered.

“Hey. Are you listening?” Audrey asked.

“What? Sorry.” Casey's head jerked up. “What'd I miss?”

Audrey broke off another snowman's head. “I was asking what time you want to hit the Wheelhouse tonight.”

Right. The bar. “I'm supposed to say hi to…what's the guy's name?”

“Dave Englund. He was in my class. All through junior high and high school.”

Casey wondered what he looked like. She tried to picture him, but the only image in her mind was of Abe Cameron.

She still hadn't told her sister about kissing the firefighter. Frankly, she wasn't sure how to tell her.

“You're introducing me to a
younger man
,” Casey said instead.

“Three years. It'll cause a scandal in town, no doubt.”

“They'll brand me with a letter C. For ‘cougar.'”

Audrey laughed, a rich, lovely sound that filled up the kitchen. Casey smiled. For years, she had treated her sister like a project, something to be managed. Now she wanted to kick herself for missing out on so much.
Like just hanging out
, she thought. No agenda. No strategy.

Just two sisters.

“What will you wear now that you're a cougar?”

“Something skin tight, no doubt,” Casey said. “My heels should be at least three inches tall.”

“Chandelier earrings,” Audrey said, nodding. “And fake nails.”

“Nails so long I can't even use my phone.”

“You'll have to ask Dave Englund to text for you.”

Casey mimicked batting eyes at the bartender. “Er, Dave, I hate to ask you this, but can you text my sister for me and tell her I'm having a terrible time and she should come rescue me?”

The two women laughed together. Just outside the kitchen window, neighborhood kids ran past with sleds in tow, headed for a nearby hill. The smell of freshly cut pine from the new tree enveloped them. Casey wanted to hit the pause button in her head and let this happy moment stretch forever. This was what she'd been missing in her life before. This was what she'd been working so hard to achieve.

She just hoped she could keep experiencing these blips of happiness. Deep down, she was secretly terrified by the idea that she'd mess up again and Audrey wouldn't want anything to do with her. Of course, Audrey had promised her that wasn't the case. “Forgiveness isn't something you ladle out once and then it's over,” Audrey had said the first time they'd walked into the Knots and Bolts recipe exchange together. “It's a renewable resource.” She'd winked at Casey. “Besides, you might need to forgive
me
for something soon. Like making you join this club.”

Casey had felt small and out of place during that first Knots and Bolts meeting. She still felt that way these days, but not as much. It was a small price to pay, though. You did things that were uncomfortable when you tried to change. If it was easy, then you weren't changing.

Right?

The cider heating on the stove interrupted her thoughts. Casey focused on pouring it into their mugs. The rich, spicy smell steamed all around them.

“Oh, man,” Audrey said, wrapping both hands around the ceramic, “this is such a treat. A freshly cut tree and cider and cookies on a snowy day. It reminds me of when we were kids and you'd string popcorn together because we never had any tinsel. We wound up eating more of it than we hung.”

“I'm surprised we didn't get sick,” she said, recalling the scrawny pine tree she'd cut down behind the high school one year. Aunt Lodi, the girls' caregiver after their parents had died, never seemed to have time to get a tree between shifts at the nursing home and long stints at the bar. So Casey had picked one out herself in the middle of a snowy, windswept field. She'd found a rusty saw in the garage and brought it with her, though she probably could have used scissors on the trunk, the tree was so anemic. But she and Audrey had hauled it home anyway and stuck it in an old coffee can. It had started to list while they'd decorated it with popcorn and paper ornaments they'd made. Together, they'd managed to keep it from toppling over completely.

When Aunt Lodi had finally come home that night, the girls expected her to be irritated. She usually was. But instead she'd actually smiled, and then had gone to the basement to retrieve a moldy-smelling cardboard box rattling with ancient ornaments. Together, the three of them had hung as many as the little tree would bear.

In the end, the scrawny thing had been transformed, just like so many other things on Christmas. Right then, Casey realized that included herself and Audrey and Aunt Lodi as they sat there and stared at the skinny branches and mangy needles. For a moment, they were a normal family appreciating the season with a beautiful tree in their home. Casey's heart wasn't bottomless with bone-deep grief over the loss of her parents, and Audrey wasn't crying herself to sleep every night, and Aunt Lodi wasn't lying to them about having extra shifts at the nursing home, when they all knew she was headed to the bar. Christmas was magical that way. For a little while, even just a few minutes, the dazzle and twinkle of it covered everything else, and the whole world was aglow.

“You were a good big sister,” Audrey said, as if the exact same memory were flashing through her own mind. “You still are.”

Casey took a breath. She didn't know about that. The reality of their holiday was that they were just poor kids with some cheap popcorn, a listing tree, and, in Casey's mind, too much of feeling like everything was up to her. That everything depended on her. Tears pricked her eyes. “Sometimes I don't feel that way.”

“Then sometimes you're ridiculous.”

Casey laughed in spite of the overwhelming emotions. She had done her best. It was flawed, but her sister loved her anyway. And always would. Christmas would always have
some
magic to it, even if everything didn't remain glittering and perfect forever.

“You want to hear something even more ridiculous?” Casey asked.

“Always.”

She took a deep breath. She had to share her news with her sister. She had to tell
someone
. “Abe Cameron kissed me. And I kissed him back.”

Audrey's molasses-colored eyes grew wide. “Are you serious? When did this happen? We've been together for hours. This should have been the
first thing
you said to me today.”

Audrey reached across the counter and smacked Casey's arm in mock fury.

“I can't believe I'm not getting more credit here. I almost didn't tell you at all.”

“What? Why?”

Because of the list. Because I'm not sure he's right for me. Because I don't want to mess things up again.

“Because you have Kieran,” she opted instead. “You two are so happy and you have it all figured out. I'm just—well, I'm not there.” It was a partial truth, anyway.

Audrey sat back. “Are you forgetting the part where Kieran was a total jerk and I could barely stand him? He nearly fired me from my job. And I was so bullheaded, thinking he was the exact same guy he'd been when we first met. I was determined to believe he'd never change.”

She knew Kieran and Audrey's road to being together hadn't been easy. But it was still hard for her to believe that her sister could empathize with Casey's current situation.

“You got there in the end, though. Being together, finding love.”

Something out of reach for Casey because she knew that most men who wanted love and marriage wanted kids, too.

Audrey's eyes sparkled with deep happiness. “We did. And so will you.”

Casey shook her head. “I doubt it. And even if I did, it wouldn't be with Abe Cameron. Though he wants to take me out on Sunday.”

“A date? Casey! How are you telling me all this now?” Casey got another arm smack.

“It's complicated.”

Audrey leaned forward. “Why?”

He's all wrong for me. But I still want to bang him.
“He's just not my type,” she said instead.

“But?”

“There are no buts.”

“Abe Cameron has a butt,” Audrey said, smiling. “I've seen it. It's not half bad. So, technically, there
are
butts.”

Casey almost spit out her spiced cider. “I'm not talking about those butts. Or about his butt. I just mean…”

She fumbled for the words. Deep down, she was fearful of getting involved with someone all over again, believing that they had a future together, only to find out that she wasn't enough on her own. That she was part of a bigger package that involved responsibilities she'd already shouldered. Plus, being with the wrong man might bring out her type A tendencies, and she'd turn into a controlling freak all over again.

“Ideally I'd want to check things off the list with someone who's less uptight. Who can help me loosen up a little.”

“You don't think that Abe might loosen up in the bedroom?”

Casey thought about Abe's sculpted firefighter's body, the way he'd held her face in his hands as he'd pressed into her at Robot Lit.

“I don't know. There's a lot to him, that's for sure.”

Audrey stared at her over the top of her mug. “Care to elaborate?”

“I'm saying that he's very…thickheaded.”

Audrey squealed and nearly fell off her stool. “Oh my God, I thought he just kissed you! Are you telling me you
saw
it?”

“No. I just kind of felt it. Through his jeans. And my jeans.”