Page 11 of Be Your Somebody
“Girl, that manalwayslooks good. I want to lick him from head to toe while also wanting to punch him in the face,” she says. My laugh comes out shaky. This woman knows how to cheer me up. I lean over, press a friendly peck on her cheek, and wrap my arms around her.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“Girl, you’ve already thanked me already. What are you thanking me for now?” she asks.
“For being you. For always being my support system, my bullshit detector, my comedian, and most importantly, my best friend. For encouraging me to step outside of myself and let the true Avery shine. I'm glad you bumped into me in the hallway all those years ago.” I turn to smirk at her, knowing I’m poking the bear.
“Excuse me, butyoubumped intome.How many times are we going to have this debate?” She laughs. “All jokes aside, you are the best person I know. Right now, things are all over the place, and it seems like you and Cas are heading in separate ways, but I have a strong feeling you’ll find your way back to each other,” she says.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Exhaustion takes over my body, so I rest my head on her lap. When I woke in the morning, Bri had gone off to work and left me a note that said she loved me and would text me later. It causes me to break into my first authentic smile since my interaction with Cas.
I push all Cas related thoughts begging to take over my mind aside as I get ready for the animal shelter. I was never allowed to have a pet growing up due to my parents' allergies, so volunteering at the shelter in high school was the only way I could safely satisfy that urge. I knew one of my purposes in life was to work with animals. In college, I wanted to major in veterinary medicine until I realized I would have to put animals down. That realization had me so distraught I didn’t leave my dorm for three days. Bri dragged me out of my dorm room and called me her little Eeyore the entire evening. The next day, I changed my major to animal science and never looked back. It just felt right. It felt like me.
I’m now the adoptions counselor and it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed career wise. I have the best coworkers in the world. I technically don’t have to work. With my inheritance and my parents’ life insurance, I have enough to live comfortably. I enjoy watching my furry friends find their forever homes. It also satisfies the urge to adopt one of my own, but unjustified guilt overcomes me every time. It feels like I would be betraying my parents somehow by bringing a cat into the house. It makes no sense, but it’s a feeling I can’t shake.
As soon as I step into The Furry Hearts Sanctuary,I beeline for the cat jungle gym in search of my favorite feline friend. The room is painted in a soft wisteria color with little wall decals in the shape of paw prints scattered throughout. Running along the wall are cat scratchers and ledges mounted for our more adventurous cats. Every corner has a cat tree of different shapes and sizes. There, perched on top of the avocado-themed cat tree, is the gray cutie with green eyes I’ve grown attached to. I walk over to her and she all but leaps into my arms, purring and marking her scent against my neck. The thought of her getting adopted has me feeling melancholy. If only I could pull the trigger and just adopt her….maybe someday. I let out a soft sigh before putting her down and getting a head start on my morning tasks.
Chapter 9
Cassidy
The emotional floodgate
Mybrainisallsorts of twisted right now. The plan was to go over there, smooth things over, and Avery would forgive me like she used to. Is it fair of me to assume she’d forgive and forget so quickly? No. But fuck if I still can’t be pissed off. I mean, she flat-out refused to be my friend. Okay, she didn’t refuseexactly, but she didn’t jump at the opportunity, either. I pace around my room, wavering between being pissed at her and understanding where she’s coming from. So why was this time any different? Fuck, my mind is a completeclusterfuck.
A knock on my bedroom door jolts me out of my thoughts. “Yeah?” I demand. My voice shakes with anger and frustration, making it come out harsher than intended. The door opens to my gram standing on the other side, looking at me like I broke her favorite vase. Shit.
“Excuse me? Who do you think you're talking to?” she fires back.
“Sorry, I’m just in a mood and didn't mean to take it out on you,” I reply.
“Cassidy! You can be angry all you want, but you willnottake it out on me. I did nothing to cause this foul mood you've been in since you got home. You will not sit there and disrespect me, you hear?” All I can do is nod my head in response.
“Good. Now, here’s what we are going to do. You and I will make hot caramel apple cider, put on our comfiest clothes, and sit on the couch to talk. Something tells me your brain is going full speed and you need someone to help you slow it down.”
I simply nod, knowing there’s no sense in arguing with her. While picking out my favorite pair of sweats and band t-shirt, I mentally prepare myself for an emotionally exhausting conversation. Sharing my feelings with her shouldn’t be this intimidating. If I’m able to spill my guts to total strangers in rehab, I can do so with my damn grandmother. I remind myself that I’m no longer the kid who people used as a scapegoat for anything that went wrong. People can think I’m a troublemaker all they want, but my gram knows me probably better than I know myself.
Growing up being known as the addict’s kid, no one took me seriously. I was labeled a troublemaker before I could ever prove them wrong. Whenever something bad happened, I was the first one questioned about it, and there was no point in proving my innocence.
My nerves shake like branches on a tree in the middle of a storm.Deep breaths, CasMy heart races at the speed of light, but I still force myself to go downstairs. Look at me, doing things that make me uncomfortable. Will I like it? Probably not. Will it make me feel better? Probably.
I enter my living room to see Gram has set up a cozy little atmosphere. The lights in the living room are dim, with the only light coming from the candles that are always lit and the lamps on both sides of the couch. Today’s scent is Christmas tree farm, bathing the room in an evergreen, pine, and spruce scent. It’s as if I’ve been transported into a scene in a Hallmark movie where the main characters search for the perfect Christmas tree. Knowing my gram, she probably has all of those moviesrecorded so she can watch them at her leisure. Gram sits on our teal couch that has one too many fluffy decor pillows. While she’s focused on organizing the ciders on the serving tray, I’m standing in the entryway, feet superglued to the floor.
Gram smiles softly and without glancing up, acknowledges my presence. “Are you going to keep standing there? Or are you going to sit down next to me?”
I make my way to her at a sloth’s pace, my flight reaction ready to activate at the drop of a hat. Immediately after sitting down, Gram pulls me into a side hug and just rocks me back and forth like you would a newborn baby. I haven’t had this type of affection in ages. While I was using, no one could get through to me. No amount of hugs, loving words, or tenderness could break through my stubborn exterior. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed it so much that I don’t realize I’m balling until my gram whispers her reassurances that everything will be okay and to let it all out. I’m a shaking mess within her arms, but I have lost the will to care.
I let out years, decades of locked up emotions onto my gram’s shoulder, and the more I cry, the lighter I feel. My body begins to relax, and despite the raging headache that’s brewing behind my eyes, I’m ready to talk. Before I can stop myself, I’m spilling everything that happened. She listens, letting me talk without interruption as I recount everything that happened. My anger and frustrations from earlier slam into me like a freight train.
Gram lets out a soft humming sound, but I wasn’t expecting what she said next. “Remember when you and Avery first met?” She strokes my hair as I let out a watery chuckle to our first meeting.
“Yeah, she was a firecracker, even then.” I laugh. I had moved in with my maternal grandparents’ house when I was eight, after various attempts to get me out of the hellhole I was living in. Living in the house with my dad was a complete nightmare. I was told he wasn’t always the asshole he is today. Him and my mom were high school sweethearts and had gotten married right out of high school. They ended up getting pregnant after about their third or fourth try. Everything went smoothly with the pregnancy, but my birth is a different story. I guess she ended up hemorrhaging enough that she passed away shortly after having me. My dad never got over her death, often blaming me for killing her.
The final straw was when my dad took me to a drug deal that went south, and instead of coming back for me, he fled, leaving me in the car. I don’t know how I knew to get out of the car and run, but instincts took over and I fled. The cops found me walking alongside one of the busiest roads and took me into the station and called my grandparents.
I was a very shy, reserved eight-year-old, but that didn’t stop Avery from marching over to me and demanding we would be friends. I believe her words were, “Hi, I’m Avery. You and I are friends now,” before grabbing my hand and dragging me over to the dock behind our houses.
