Cassie was just stepping out of the shower when Mom came home. “Oh good, you’re awake!” Cassie leaned over the banister, toweling off her hair, and watched her mother bustle from the car to the kitchen twice more, clutching at grocery bags. “I know you already grabbed beans, sweetheart,” she called, “but we need to celebrate! I got some champagne, and some cheese and crackers. And ingredients for an apple cake!” Her voice disappeared into the kitchen and whatever she said next was lost. She was probably outlining plans to cook enough food for a dozen people.
“Thanks, Mom!” Cassie yelled. “I’ll be down in a minute!”
Cassie alternated between helping prepare too much food, replying to the congratulatory texts of her colleagues, and composing her resignation letter. Mom turned on the radio and sang snatches of whatever lyrics she could recall, humming the rest. Tyler arrived shortly after dark, but by that point Cassie had worked her way through half of the first bottle of champagne and had little trouble deliberately missing the backhandedness of his compliments. By the time Matt had arrived—late, and uncharacteristically reserved—Cassie was sashaying across the kitchen and serenading her taco in tune with the radio, which she had turned up. Mom was grilling Tyler about matching twin quilts, forcing him to repeatedly consult his wife via text. Matt leaned over Dad’s empty chair, nursing his single glass of champagne, and asked Cassie about her fieldwork plans. She didn’t stop dancing as she answered.
The apple cake needed time to cool in the pan, so, at their mother’s behest, the three siblings ambled around the house digesting their tacos, looking for things they might like to take to their own homes when she moved out. Matt and Tyler had already worked through the ties and cufflinks and other assorted paternal items; now all three laid claim to the communal ones. Cassie picked two guest quilts, a framed photograph, and three mugs. Matt took seven mugs (“Look, I drink a LOT of coffee at the office, okay?”) and a potted snakeplant (Sansevieria cylindrica). Tyler cleared out half the linen closet.
It wasn’t so bad to do it this way, Cassie thought, cloaking herself in one of the quilts, flush with champagne and success. But Dad’s chair was still empty when they reconvened at the table for dessert.
And then Tyler made it worse.
“So.” Tyler squashed apple cake crumbs with the back of his fork. “Linda says she has a potential buyer. For the house.”
Matt, Cassie, and Mom all stared at him. “I don’t understand,” Mom said, just as Cassie spluttered, “The house isn’t even on the market yet!” Matt frowned but said nothing.
“They can pay cash.”
Cassie and Mom both looked to Matt for elucidation. His frown deepened. “That’s good for them, but makes no difference for us,” he said slowly. “We’re not in a hurry. We shouldn’t accept an offer without allowing the opportunity for competitive bids.”
Tyler made a derisive noise. “Yeah, if you want to sit around waiting to clear escrow. Or not.”
“Why are you in such a hurry?” Cassie demanded. She ignored her mother’s imploring look. The champagne had turned in her stomach and was running sour through her veins. “You obviously need money. Why?”
“Well some of us have to work for a living, Cass,” Tyler sneered. “We can’t all get taxpayer money to run around conducting little science experiments.”
“Tyler!” Mom barked, but she was drowned out by a sudden explosive thump. Plates and glasses and cutlery all jumped, tinkling. Everyone around the table jumped, too—except Matt. He had slammed his two massive fists onto the table, flushed with rage.
“How dare you!” he thundered. Tyler flinched away so hard his chair wobbled. “How dare you belittle Cassie’s accomplishments!”
“She—” Tyler started.
“No!” Matt bellowed. “Shut up! Shut up! This is not about Cassie. This is about you! You and your fragile fucking ego!” If Mom lodged an objection to the language, it was lost in Matt’s tirade. “Just because you got passed over for that promotion does not give you the right to shit all over everybody else’s successes. And you know what? Small wonder they did! I wouldn’t want you to be my manager, and it sounds like everybody else agrees! Because you make people feel bad about themselves! And furthermore—” Matt paused to take a deep breath, “you always have! As far back as I can remember, you have gone out of your way to boss people around and hassle them when they object, or even just choose something different for themselves than what you would have chosen. Remember when I wanted the rainbow bicycle? Or, shit, when I wanted to major in philosophy? I don’t even get why. You’ve got a great life. Loving wife, buncha kids, nice car. You don’t always get to have everything. Jesus. Just exist in your own fucking lane and be happy when other people enjoy theirs.”
Matt clenched and unclenched his fists, breathing hard. Tyler muttered something inaudible about the bicycle—why he had latched onto that single point in particular, Cassie had no idea—prompting Matt to thump the table again and roar, “NOBODY WOULD HAVE CALLED ME GAY EXCEPT YOU, TYLER! And who cares if they had? Fuck your homophobia!”
He stood up roughly, juddering the chair back, and turned to Cassie. “Congratulations on your grant. Sorry I ruined your party. Mom, the cake was delicious. I’m going now. Goodbye.” And he grabbed his satchel, yanked his coat from the back of the chair, and stormed out of the house.
Cassie turned to Tyler as the door slammed. “For the record,” she said, “Matt didn’t ruin the party. You did.”
“Fuck off,” Tyler snapped, shoving himself away from the table. He gathered his keys and phone with a shaking hand. “I’ll tell Linda the cash deal is off,” he said to Mom, “but we’ve still got to talk about scheduling the hardscapers and the inspector. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He didn’t look at either of them before stalking out after his brother.
Cassie concentrated on breathing in and out while her mother stared into space with bags under her eyes. “Where did I go wrong?” Mom asked finally.
“You didn’t,” Cassie replied at once. “You’re a great mom. Tyler is nobody’s fault but his own. I suppose I’m my own fault, too.”
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Mom sat in her chair, looking defeated, then put her face in her hands. “You never fought like this when your father was alive.”
“Oh, Mom.” Cassie scraped her chair over the linoleum and pulled her mother into a hug. “We did, actually,” she controverted apologetically, patting her mother’s back. “All the time. Just not usually in front of you or Dad. A lot worse than that sometimes. Poor Matt always tried to mediate. I guess he’d had enough.”
Mom snorted. “You know, when he said he wanted to be a lawyer, I couldn’t believe it at first. Even if he wasn’t going to be a trial lawyer, I just could not imagine him… defending a position. Without compromise. I mean, I presume compromise is still a large part of his job, but… I guess I don’t have to imagine any more.”
“No, I guess not.” Cassie straightened up. “He probably swears less at work though.”
“Well I certainly hope so.”
A new blackberry circlet was waiting in the dark on Cassie’s desk when she ascended to her room, all but the faintest buzz of champagne worn off. She marveled at Rubus’ stealth; she had only left the window open the barest sliver, and she had neither heard nor seen any hint of him all evening. Perhaps it really was a bird courier, or maybe a squirrel. Or—if she were being honest—more likely, a rat. Cassie made sure to close her bedroom door softly before padding over to look.
The new circlet was larger than the one hanging over the corner of her headboard, both in diameter and thickness of the interwoven strands. It was heavier, too. She wondered when she would have the chance to give it to Matt. After everything that had happened tonight, it might be a while. Cassie hung it over the spine of her gooseneck lamp, pushed the window open a little wider, and went to bed.
When she awoke in the morning, there were two new drawings laid on her desk, corners tipping lazily, like the wings of a butterfly at rest, from an intermittent breeze threading in through the window. Cassie rolled out of bed to seize them eagerly before she was fully awake.
One was an abstract watercolor experiment, daubs of ombre green and brown and black punctuated by fine-tip pen and negative space, with the barest hints of pink… Cassie’s sleepy eyes focused, and a blush crept across her face. It wasn’t abstract; it was an impression of her, as seen from above, naked among the leaves and exuding an air of supreme relaxation and contentment. Cassie set it aside to hide with the others—it was about as subtle as The Ecstasy of St. Theresa—wondering how many attempts it had taken Rubus to be satisfied with the results, and turned to the next work of art.
It was a graphite drawing of Matt, fists clenched on the table, yelling at Tyler, as seen through the kitchen door. Cassie picked it up in surprise and admired the force of it; it had clearly been hastily sketched to capture the scene before receiving later refinement from eraser and smudger. Scribbled below, the handwriting clumsy but determined: Matthew Harris. Tyler Harris. And little arrows connecting each name to its owner. Cassie laughed out loud.
She moved to set the drawing on top of the watercolor, then hesitated. Instead, she put the watercolor away by itself and rested the pencil sketch against the base of the lamp, under Matt’s blackberry circlet. Then she turned away, opened her laptop, and, after one final read-through, quit her job.
Well, put in her notice, at least. She couldn’t just leave her labmates in the lurch. But she still felt lighter. Cassie spent the rest of the morning shopping online for a new pair of hiking boots.
Lunch was leftover cheese and apple cake, followed by plant care arrangement: texts to her neighbor requesting a refill of her automated watering system for the short-term, and working out an adoption plan with Mom for the long. As expected, Mom agreed to take them all, sight unseen; Cassie had to remind her it might depend on the available space in her new apartment. “Oh I’m sure I can work it out,” came the reply. Cassie didn’t argue; another stake in the ground for a nicer apartment was not something she would object to, in case Tyler pushed again.
Tyler was late for dinner. Cassie didn’t realize he was the one who had parked outside until the front door slammed open and he stomped in; it was a different car. Mom did the same double-take as she straightened up from pouring batter into the muffin pan. “What happened to your car?” she asked.
“In the shop,” Tyler muttered repressively, and attacked the plate of spaghetti Mom had left for him on the table. Cassie reminded herself yet again that, no matter how unpleasant Tyler became, she needed to stay and advocate on Mom’s behalf. Matt wasn’t here. She was glad she’d already eaten, because Tyler’s furious meatball assault was truly offputting. She scrolled around on her phone to keep from having to watch.
“So.” Cassie looked up. Tyler took a long drink of water and made a visible attempt to compose himself. A baby sock statically clung to the underside of his right sleeve. Cassie wondered if it had been there all day, and felt a rare pang of compassion. Three kids, going on five. Jesus.
“So,” he said again, sounding calmer. “We’ve got two big things left to do before we put the house on the market: the inspection and the hardscaping...” Tyler launched into an explanation of the inspection that Cassie was fairly sure Mom already knew, but she held her tongue. If they made it through this evening with nothing worse than a little mansplaining, she’d count it a success. The inspector would come by the next day; it all sounded unremarkable and aboveboard. Just as Tyler moved on to the hardscaping and Mom pulled the muffins out of the oven, Cassie’s phone buzzed: Caller Unknown.
Cassie hesitated. She did not want to leave her mother defenseless, but she was expecting a call from the American Society of Plant Biologists about her grant. It buzzed again. She could make this quick. Cassie scurried out to the living room. “Hello?”
“Hello. We’ve been trying to reach you regarding your car’s extended warranty–”
Stupid. Of course a federal institution wouldn’t be calling this late. Cassie immediately hung up.
When she returned to the kitchen, Tyler was wolfing down a blackberry muffin fresh from the oven while Mom chattered brightly about differentiating newborn twins with nail polish. Cassie had missed the entire conversation. It must have been very short.
Tyler grunted heedless affirmatives to Mom’s string of rhetorical inquiries around the too-hot muffin in his mouth while gathering himself to leave. When he caught sight of Cassie standing in the doorway, he paused. He swallowed his bite, very deliberately, and turned to their mother. “This blackberry muffin is delicious, Mom, thank you,” he said clearly, an odd gleam in his eye. “Mind if I take another one for the road?”
“Not at all, honey. Here, take two.”
Tyler was obviously winding up for something, with all the subtlety of a rhino, but Cassie couldn’t see what yet. She waited stoically for the other shoe to drop. He took the muffin bag from Mom and kissed her, then headed out the door.
“Last call for blackberries,” he shot. And then he was gone.
Cassie stood rigidly in the doorway, suddenly cold. “What about the blackberries?”
“Oh,” Mom said, setting the remaining muffins on a cooling rack, “the hardscapers are going to put up a new fence at the correct property line, and they’re removing that ugly old chain-link first. The whole blackberry bush has to come out; they’ll be by in three days for that.”
Cassie’s stomach dropped into another universe, and there was a ringing in her ears. “What?”
“Remember the surveyors? Apparently, the entire bramble is on our property here—it needs to be removed to get the old fence out and the new one in.”
“No.” Cassie’s voice sounded as far away as her stomach felt.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know it’s frustrating; we just spent all that effort trimming it.” When the anguished expression on Cassie’s face didn’t diminish, Mom frowned in confusion. “Is—is anything left of your old fort in there?” she asked hesitantly.
Cassie couldn’t breathe. “I have to go.”
“Go?” Mom repeated, bewildered. “Go where?”
“On a walk,” Cassie lied. “I need to think.”
“At night?” Mom asked incredulously.
But Cassie was already on her way out the front door.