No Angels (Willow Creek Christmas)

10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Bianca

Mom’s oncologist pulls me aside while she’s still under.

“You have a very worried look on your face, Bianca. I promise I have welcome news, this time.”

I relax a little, because Dr. Shumaker has always been open and honest about my mom’s prognosis and what we should expect. I take a deep breath. “Lay it on me.”

“The cellular degradation is slowing down, and I think the chemo’s working. I have every confidence your mom will beat it this time too.”

“So she’ll go into remission again?”

She gives a soft smile and nods. Tears pool in my eyes and I grab her hand. “This is welcome news.”

I’ve been preparing myself to say goodbye. I’ve been regretting all the years I wasted and all the times I let her convince me she didn’t need me here.

Me: I think I might stay in Willow Creek.

The bubbles pop up then disappear, and I can tell my best friend is typing something. Even though she moved back to Ohio seven years ago, we text or talk almost every day.

Cheri: I need to see your face while you’re telling me this.

Me: So Facetime?

As soon as I send it, my phone starts ringing. When I connect, she’s there. She still has stage make-up on, her cheeks bright red and her eyeliner a dark smear across the tops of her cheeks. There’s a glass of red wine in her hand.

“Are you sure you want to stay there? You used to complain about it all the time.”

“That was almost twenty years ago. It’s nothing like I remembered.”

“What about him? Is he anything like you remembered.”

I try to be nonchalant. “Yep. Just bigger.”

“And hotter too. He’s all over the town’s Instagram page.”

“You stalked him?”

“Duh. Someone has to watch out for you. What if your old flame turned into a serial killer?”

“The things I want now are very different from the things I wanted back then. But thanks for always having my back.”

She takes a gulp of wine. “Especially Mike Callihan, right?”

I sigh. “Yeah. He’s always been something I wanted. I just didn’t always think he’d be good for me.”

“So you think he’d be good for you now?”

I blush. “Maybe.”

Her eyes widen. “So that’s what changed your mind. Spill, Bee.”

“I’m not ready to tell you everything, yet. Give me some time. I called to talk about something else.”

“Something more fascinating than a reunion?”

“So the town is buying the old theater in the middle of town. They want to turn it into a playhouse and a performing arts hub.”

She takes another swig and drains her glass. “What’s that have to do with you?”

“The town’s marketing director asked if I’d be interested in running it.”

She carefully sets down her glass on the table beside her before giving me a stern look. “What about your comeback?”

“I don’t know if I still want it.”

“Deep down there has to be some part of you that still wants it. Even if it’s the teensy-weensy part that wants revenge on Amelia.”

Amelia was my understudy and she convinced our director I wasn’t going to recover my voice in time for opening night. I had the chance to finally play the character I’ve always wanted in the Off-Broadway revival of My Fair Lady , and the kid I always thought of as my mentee stomped all over it and took my place. It was that Bette Davis movie All About Eve come to life.

I brush my hair behind my ears. “What she did was underhanded. But I don’t know if getting my revenge is worth leaving mom here by herself again.”

Cheri’s expression darkens. “You don’t think she’s going to beat it this time?”

“It’s not that. There’s a good chance she will. And I don’t want to squander any time we have left.”

“You know I won’t judge you. That’s why I came back here. I just didn’t have a Mike Callihan pining after me.”

“Am I crazy for considering the offer? You keep telling me community theater is a thankless job.”

“You’re not crazy. I love it, so I would never call you crazy. But it is thankless.”

“I’ll let you know what I decide. I might need a crash course.”

“You’d better let me know soon – because I need details about your love life since it’s like the Sahara Desert over here. The same seven guys keep popping up on my Tinder and Bumble apps.”

“None you’d consider dating?”

“Are you kidding, me? Hell no. I’m pretty sure one of them is half my age. One is my old science teacher and he wasn’t appealing then. I can tell from his picture that his ear hair is out of control. The other ones aren’t much better. No thank you. I’ll just live vicariously through you.”

After we hang up I feel better about the possibility of staying in Willow Creek.

Mike knows Mom had her last treatment yesterday and she’ll still be weak, so he left room for us to pull up right in front of his parents’ house. He’s opening the passenger door before I even manage to get out of my seat, and my heart swells when I see him on one side and a little boy on the other side I assume is Brady.

My new boyfriend flashes a wink and a grin over his shoulder as he and his son help my mom up the stairs. I trail behind them, bemused but unsurprised. He knew taking care of her first would mean the most to me.

I’m sitting on the porch with a glass of cranberry punch while Mom watches the parade when Brady comes outside.

“Can I sit beside you? I think the floats are weird and I need somebody to talk to.”

“What about our dad and your uncle?”

“They’re talking about work stuff.”

Brady isn’t what I expected. He’s a smart alecky eight-year-old who has his dad’s dimple and ornery grin.

“You can sit beside me. Hand me your drink so you don’t spill it.” He hands over his plastic cup.

Once he’s settled, he peers up at me. “Are you the girl my dad painted all over the ceiling? You kind of look like her.” He asks with a wrinkled nose.

I hold back my blush because it’ll be a dead giveaway. “I don’t think so. Your dad and I knew each other a long time ago, but I just moved back to Willow Creek.”

Brady looks skeptical. “So the pictures could be of you. My mom calls this place podunk and says she doesn’t understand why anyone wants to live here. My uncle Derek says she’s just bitter because he gave her a speeding ticket.”

“Sometimes people that didn’t grow up in small towns don’t appreciate them.”

“So it’s kind of like some of the gross stuff my nana makes for Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Your nana is an excellent cook. I’m sure nothing she makes is gross.”

Brady scoffs and wrinkles his nose again. “You haven’t tried her weird stuffing. My mom makes the cornbread kind that comes in a box. Nana makes hers from scratch and she uses oysters .”

“There are lots of people who make oyster stuffing. But if you really don’t like it, you should tell your nan. I bet she’d make some cornbread stuffing too.”

He sighs. “I don’t wanna hurt her feelings. So I pretend to like it and feed it to Fred when no one’s looking.”

“Who’s Fred?”

“He’s Nana and Pop’s really old bulldog. He’ll eat anything.”

I smile, because Mike’s dad has always had a bulldog for a pet. He always said he was obligated because he was from Georgia. “How do you know he’ll eat anything?”

“He eats everything I give him off my plate.”

I smile, because I bet Mike did the same thing. The screen door creaks open, and he strolls out. Like his ears were burning because I was thinking about him.

“Did you teach your son to give the stuff he doesn’t like on his plate to the family pet?”

He grins sheepishly. “I would never do something like that.”

I shake my head at the two of them. “It’d be much easier to tell her when you don’t like something.”

Mike and Brady share a smile. “We’d never do anything to hurt her feelings.”

“The two of you are hopeless. That’s exactly what your son said. You know that she probably knows you’re sneaking stuff to Fred, right?”

“No, she doesn’t notice.”

“It may not seem like she notices, but trust me. She notices. Moms and nanas have a sixth sense about that kind of thing.”

Brady’s face falls. “I’d better go apologize and tell her the truth.”

Mike ruffles his hair. “She won’t hold it against you, bud. She loves you.”

After he scampers off, Mike takes the vacant seat and throws his arm around my shoulders.

The trees in the distance are in full color, and even though the air is brisk, it’s not unbearable. I snuggle into my fleece jacket and nestle my head against his shoulder.

“This is nice,” he murmurs against my hair. “Almost as nice as waking up with you.”

“It is nice,” I agree. The weight of his arm around my shoulders feels like home, and I like how I can feel the seam of his jeans against mine when he pushes us off and our legs brush together.

“So tell me what you’re thinking, Cassidy.”

“That I should have known it would be like this.”

His lips brush the crown of my head again. “Like what?”

“Like this. Easy and flawless and belonging.”

“Belonging? You mean like all the pranks we played and the crap we put each other through when we were kids was all leading up to this? Yeah. I always knew this is how it would be. Belonging.”

Mike’s dad steps onto the porch, and I’m seeing the man sitting beside me twenty years from now. Jim Callihan’s head of hair is still mostly dark, and his beard has an equal amount of salt and pepper. His broad shoulders are covered in a green flannel shirt, just like the one Mike’s wearing.

I turn to Mike. “Did your mom make all of you wear matching shirts?”

I can’t hide my delight, and he rolls his eyes. “Yep. Brady refused to put his on until we actually get ready to take the annual family picture for the holiday cards. And Derek will be here when his shift is over at four. He knows better than to show up wearing anything but what Mom picked out.”

Jim shakes his head. “My wife is a force to be reckoned with. Just as I suspect you are, Bianca Cassidy. You were a holy terror when the two of you were kids in each other’s back pockets and I bet you haven’t changed much.”

I shouldn’t be surprised his dad remembers me. He bore the brunt of our pranks enough times, and got us out of some scrapes without telling our moms. I smile over at him. “Not on the inside I haven’t.”

He smiles back. “Don’t let this knucklehead keep you away so long next time.”

Mike chuckles. “Knucklehead. Really, Dad? How do you know I was the one keeping her away?”

Mr. Callihan shoves his hands in his front pockets and rocks on his heels. “Son, you should know by now that things like that are aways our fault. I’d let the two of you finish catching up, but your mom sent me out here to tell you the meal’s ready.”

Mike stands and tugs me into his arms. We hug for a minute before we follow his dad inside.

Mom gives me a pointed look when she sees our clasped hands. I want to shake my finger at her, because I can tell she’s plotting something. Her smile gets even bigger when he pulls me under the mistletoe and kisses me like I'm all he's ever wanted for Christmas. There are a lot of oohs and ahs, and Brady's commentary, "Ooh, gross Dad."