“I saw. Thanks.”
She’s avoiding the topic at hand, same as she’s done ever since I told her Mom’s diagnosis. Being the one always forced to lead the difficult conversations? Exhausting.
Finally, Cassidy returns to her seat, scrolling further down the site.
“I have to go sign some paperwork tomorrow afternoon,” I say. “If you want to come with, you can see it in person.”
“I have two interviews, but I’ll see if I can—holyshit. This place costseight grand? Amonth?”
I nod. “It’s considered one of the best facilities on the East Coast. Mom and I discussed it; she wanted to join their waiting list as soon as possible, so that’s what we did. It’s rare for them to have an opening.”
Cassidy leans back in her chair, propping her bare feet on a neighboring one. “Of course you planned ahead. So responsible.”
Responsible isn’t a dig. It’s not a compliment either. Mostly an acknowledgment—of how different we are.
“I can’t keep asking Lydia to come over. My season is about to start. I’ll be traveling soon, and you…”
Cassidy lifts her left eyebrow. “And I what?”
“Are you staying…for good?”
Cassidy drops eye contact, blowing on her steaming mug. “I-I’m not sure yet.” She slumps forward, cupping her chin in her palm. “I… It feels like I failed at leaving, and now I’m failing at being back too. I don’t want to keep moving Tommy around. Now that he’s old enough for school, that’s not fair to him. I want him to know Mom, before…and Dad. They’re his only grandparents. But I can’t keep living here, rent-free, draining my savings. I’m an adult, living in my childhood home.”
“So am I.”
“It’s different. You moved in to take care of Mom. And you’re, like, a local celebrity. Everyone I run into asks about you.”
I laugh. “I amnota local celebrity. And you and Tommy should stay. Once Mom moves… This house is way too big for one person.”
“You’re keeping the house?”
“You thought I was selling it?” I ask, confused.
Cassidy nods at my computer. “How else can Mom afford that?”
“She has savings.”
“Ninety-six thousand dollarsa yearkind of savings?”
“And income from her royalties. I’m handling it.”
“You mean, you’re paying for part of it. Mom wouldn’t want that.”
“Mom didn’t want a lot of things that are happening anyway. And…” I clear my throat. This is the first time I’m saying it aloud, and the words are harder to force out than I expected. “This is probably going to be my last season playing. Starting next winter, I should be making more?—”
“Why?” Cassidy interrupts.
“Why what?”
“Why are you quitting?”
I bristle at the unflattering phrasing. “I’mretiring.”
“Oh, please. You’re twenty-seven.”
“Sports have a very different timeline than?—”
“Mommy!”
