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“Hey Cass,” Brenda starts, collapsing into the chair across from Cass. “Wanna come over to mine and bake together on Sunday? I have it off.” She’s smiling kindly, confident and assured.
Cass thinks about saying that she’s busy, that her current plan for Sunday is to sleep through nightmares all day and patrol all night.
Suddenly it doesn’t seem so enticing.
“Okay,” she says instead and takes a sip of her boba.
Brenda beams. “Great.”
Sunday comes and it’s snowing hard— blizzarding, the weather person said. Cass tries it out and likes how the Z’s feel in her mouth, calls to memory blitz, lizard, and bastard. Where does a blizzard come from? Where does it go? How does it end?
Cass walks into the storm without a jacket because sometimes she can notice when things feel bad and choose to stop them, but most of the time—this time—she doesn’t. Her body won’t tell her things since it’s so used to being ignored, but that doesn’t mean it should be, Onyx says. It’s harder than anyone thinks.
Cass wiggles her toes in now-sopping sneakers as she walks and thinks, Next time.
Brenda had given her a note with her address written down, but it’s unneeded. Cass only needs to recalls days of worry and surveillance— mostly just small moments she can spare, checking to see if Brenda’s lights are on, but sometimes longer than she should spend and nosier than she should be. It’s good to be invited for once.
The apartment dings when Cass presses the doorbell and jingles as the door opens, reminiscent (like remember, like recall) of Christmas songs.
“Cass, hey!” Brenda greets, hugging before even looking at her. She pulls back with a laugh, front side of her soaked, and a curious, confused look on her face. “What happened to you?”
Cass wiggles her wet toes again. “Sorry.” She can barely feel them.
Brenda doesn’t look mad, though. She’s always so… optimistic? Or, um… something more than kind— giving? Community-oriented? Whatever it is, she lets Cass in immediately without worrying for a moment about her carpets.
She’s a… whirlwind, swaddling Cass in five blankets and a change of clothes, offering hot cocoa and a barstool, the fireplace blazing, TV playing Christmas Hallmark set to low volume and baking supplies set on the counter already. Cass searches for the cold dampness she was feeling a moment before but finds none.
“Thank you,” she whispers as Brenda re-enters the kitchen.
“Don’t mention it. Ready to bake?”
They start. Cass is offered an apron and then the sourdough-bread-baking commences (come, mince, common?).
“Okay, this recipe should make… two loaves? Yeah, two loaves. Oh, here, lemme get that for you!”
Cass’ hands lift up by her sides, rendered unexpectedly useless as Brenda gently ties the apron strands for her. The house smells of soft candle smoke and, as Brenda gets closer, Cass notes her hair’s scent of cinnamon. She looks up after her deft hands finish tying.
“There. Better?” she whispers, face very close.
Without input from her mind, Cass’ lips quirk up. The cold from before is definitely, definitely gone. “Better.”
They start making the sourdough. It taken fifteen minutes to knead and Cass is just about done it with it.
“Nope, try not to rip it,” Brenda corrects her. It’s clear she’s laughing at her misery.
“Ugh. Why does it take so long?”
Brenda giggles. “You think this takes long?”
“Why?” Cass asks suspiciously. “How long is this supposed to take?”
Her face does a funny little dance, trying to stifle a laugh, humor and anticipation gleaming in her eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Brenda!”
Eventually, though— after ten more minutes— they do finish kneading, going away to let the dough rise. Brenda gathers the blankets she left on a bar stool and they settle comfortably next to each other on the couch— no, smaller than a couch… loveseat, it’s called. There isn’t much room, so Brenda has her arm along Cass’ shoulder and her head rested against Cass’. Cass likes it. She’s happy.
They turn the bad Hallmark movie’s volume back up, and it’s even more enjoyable for having missed the first third of it. One of the actors is terrible by Brenda’s standards yet earnest and fine to Cass, while the other lead is the opposite.
“You think he’s a good actor?” Brenda asks incredulously after the main guy forgets his line again.
“Doesn’t have to be a good actor. He is, uh… a good liar. He… gets in the mind of… Hallmark guy. Thinks like he would. Has intentions like he’d have.”
“And the girl? I think she’s amazing.”
“Distracted. Mind… all over the place. Her movements aren’t what she wants to be doing. She thinks she can do them better than she’s supposed to.”
Brenda looks at her with the strangest expression. Fondness is the only thing Cass can understand from it, but it’s among a much bigger mix. “Well, I think that shows she’s a better actor, if anything.”
“Maybe,” Cass shrugs. “In another movie.”
A beep-beep-beep from Brenda’s phone interrupts her. Brenda quickly turns it off, but starts to shed her blankets and get up. “Guess what’s next?” she asks mischievously.
“Put it in the oven?”
“More kneading.”
Cass groans as Brenda laughs.
After a few more rounds of kneading and kneading, waiting and waiting, and judging bad Hallmark movies, the sourdough is actually ready for the oven. They add cheddar, garlic, and rosemary to one, blueberries to the other, and Brenda renews their hot chocolates with a candy cane hanging off each cup.
On the loveseat together, nestled in their blanket cocoon, Cass can hear Brenda’s heartbeat clearly. The hearth (meaning fireplace, archaic, similar to home, similar to heart?) flames dance over her hair and its rusty color shines as bright as copper. She’s beautiful. She’s alive.
“Do you celebrate Christmas?” she asks.
It’s almost hard to get her mouth to cooperate when all Cass wants to do is snuggle in further and go to sleep. Nonetheless, her body knows better than to disobey. “Maybe,” she shrugs softly against Brenda’s chest. “I didn’t, growing up. Some of my family does. My… um… my guardian now doesn’t, but sometimes him and his cousins get together to celebrate… Han…”
“Hanukkah?”
“Yes. I like both. The food is good and the presents are nice.”
“Any plans this year?”
“I don’t… know. I don’t think so. A… bad thing happened. Everyone is mad at each other.”
“Well,” Brenda starts. She never gets very nervous because despite everything, she’s really very confident, but, still, she hesitates on these words. “You’re invited to celebrate here, if you want. There won’t be many people but my brother still convinced me to plan a party.”
“Yes.” Cass looks up at Brenda’s fiery hair and nervous-not-nervous eyes. “That’d be nice.”
Brenda’s smile is like the rising sun.
“Okay.”
It does, eventually, start to get late enough that Cass should start patrolling. She makes an excuse that she can hardly remember, now, and Brenda leads her to the door.
“I’m still wearing your clothes.”
“Keep them. They look better on you, anyway.”
Cass looks up when the door’s bells jingle and spots something she didn’t, before. “Mistletoe?”
Brenda looks up. She’s pink. “Yeah. Do…”
Her body is telling Cass, Please.
“Yes,” Cass says, and leans in.
It’s quick and sweet. It makes Cass think of the movies they’ve been watching all night.
Brenda’s hands are still on her as they regretfully separate. She seems breathless.
“Goodnight, Cass. See you tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow. Goodnight.”
Cass walks— for once, in the appropriate amount of clothing for a snow storm, and warm and happy inside— with a hand on her lips the whole way home.