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Cassie's very hard to say no to.
Everyone's hard to say no to when you're 20. Victoria's heard it explained to her this way before by older people in her life, mainly by the cousins five years her senior. Something about how you want to 'impress everyone, leave no stone left unturned.' You don't have a shell of defense forged out of years of rejection and mistake—and sometimes, triumph—to use to filter out the bullshit.
Of course, this applies to other 20 year olds. Not her. She's not afraid to admit when she isn't above something, but she is above this.
At least, she doesn't think that Cassie falls into this category of people she's trying to please for their approval. Cassie (or, Dr. McKay, but every time she's tried calling her that outside of work, or even in the lounge, the other woman sharply but kindly insists: Cassie.) is not someone she needs to impress. It doesn't feel like that. It's more intense, actually. The urge to be seen in Cassie's eyes as someone worth knowing, worth talking to and getting to understand on a level deeper than 'what's your favorite movie?' It boils in her guts with a kind of intensity she's never felt towards someone. Celebrities, sure. But never a real person. One that she could touch. Has touched. Hugged.
Anyway, Cassie. She's hard to say no to. Victoria should have said no. Not just because it would be the professional thing to do—setting a boundary—but because she's never been a very good babysitter. She never knows whether to be a stand-in mom or friend (both seem wrong; like there's some secret third dynamic she should be in pursuit of). She doesn't really know how to cook anything beyond grilled cheese and anything that can be torn out of freezer-safe cardboard and thrown in the microwave. Plus, Cassie had brought it up so casually it made it feel like this was something she was so comfortable asking Victoria to do for her. It didn't feel like a favor to be done in exchange for another, but instead a kind of mutual aid promised between people who had trust coat their relationship, like moss on a rock.
"Honestly, I don't even know if Harrison even needs a babysitter anymore," Cassie muttered after asking, rubbing the back of her neck. It's nearly time for both of them to go home. "He just needs someone to remind him to go to bed at a regular hour." She tips her head up towards Victoria, war weary look on her face. "Sometimes, I worry about being one of those moms that just lets him be on his iPad all night, but he reads on it—like, real books." Cassie seemed to be trying to extract an answer to all of this out of Victoria, as if her age somehow gave her a deeper understanding about the close relationship kids had to their electronics (it kind of did, in a weird way). "But if you want to split a frozen pizza with him and make sure he's asleep by the time I get home, I'll… give you forty bucks." Victoria rushed to answer but Cassie stepped on her words; another sidebar. "Is that enough for a babysitter these days? I usually get my parents to pick him up for stuff like this."
Ok, so not mutual aid. Transactional. A favor. "Totally," Victoria spit out, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "I love frozen pizza." Not a total lie. Painfully awkward, but at least there was a crumb of truth to it. It made the embarrassment surrounding it land with a bit less of a thud.
So, it was that agreement—the one Victoria filed away under Cassie McKay is Very Hard to Say No To—that has Victoria in her mom's car driving an only-slightly illegal 60 in a 55 on her way across town to Cassie's house. She hates driving her mom's car. Not only is it bigger and more unwieldy than her Volvo, but it makes her feel like a zit on the skin of the highway. Big, loud, expensive. Not only that, but driving her mom's car to Cassie's house just feels embarrassing. Her car is in the shop for some maintenance thing (tire rotation?) lovingly scheduled by her dad, which she's told him to stop doing because she can handle getting that done by herself (doing that, of course, stops his loving but doting gesture of slipping her his credit card on her way to pick up the car, so.). Getting to use her mom's car only worked on a fluke and Victoria working up a lie so she could beg her; she had to keep a promise for a friend. Something about a study group.
"I promised her I would be there," she whined, knowing the show of loyalty would win over her hard-nosed mother. The discussion ended with Victoria being handed the keys to her mom's Porsche and a stern look that did a good job at instilling the fear of god in her should she bring back the car scratched, dented, or worse—smelling like Taco Bell.
She probably shouldn't be speeding in her mom's car, but she's running late. Victoria's sure that Cassie of all people isn't the type to get worked up over someone being five or ten minutes late, but it's the principle of the thing. She can't be late. It would make her get catalogued as Someone Who is Late, and she doesn't want to wear that label around Cassie.
Cassie. She thinks of Cassie all the time now. She's a permanent fixture in her subconscious. Sometimes, Victoria imagines her as the moose head on the wall in her brain, overseeing all of her thoughts and feelings. It's hard for her to find words that feel worthy of the feelings that plague her. They're new, sure. But they feel important, almost holy. A crush will do that.
She hasn't admitted that it's a crush out loud to anyone yet, especially herself. The word will float into her periphery sometimes and she'll try to catch it, mainly just so she can finally pin it down. That's what it feels like, though. The flushed cheeks, the inability to form a complete sentence when around her, the sensation that her brain is being put through the spin cycle over and over and over and over. Victoria hates it. The sensation, not the reason for it. That's how she knows it's a crush.
Cassie lives in a charming and modest row house in Bellevue, which automatically instills a sense of envy in Victoria. She winds around the neighborhood, following her phone's GPS to Cassie's, and fantasizes about how one day, she'll have an apartment of her own in a denser neighborhood like this one. One where she can walk to the grocery store and open her windows in the summer to hear the hum of her neighborhood instead of the boring ache of suburbia. She needs to loop the block a few times before finding a spot to park her mom's car that doesn't require her to parallel park it. She's really good at that—driving around until she can find a spot that allows her to slide her car into a resting spot instead of going to the trouble of parallel parking it and hoping that strangers don't catch her struggling to get the car flush with the curb.
By the time Victoria gets to Cassie's doorstep, the butterflies have made a home in her stomach yet again, face feeling the same way it does when she eats something too spicy. Everything that happens around her feels urgent, like the birds chirping in a nearby tree or a plane that hangs low, clearly airport-bound. She tries to form a clear thought in her head; words of self-encouragement. Before Victoria can think of something, the front door swings open.
"Hey!" Cassie greets her with teeth bared in a smile. Victoria feels her breath hitch in her chest, nervous energy shooting into her fingertips. She's not sure why she thought seeing Cassie at her house would somehow be a less intimidating situation to find herself in. It's like playing a soccer game, and Victoria's on the away team. Cassie's different on her home turf. No longer stuck under the harsh fluorescents of the emergency department, she glows a bit brighter, a lot warmer. She wears a denim jumpsuit that lacks both sleeves and a neckline, something Victoria notices immediately. She worries that her eyes linger too long on the newly exposed skin of Cassie's chest. Cassie stands in the open doorway, arm grabbing onto the frame. Victoria swears she notices her bicep flex. Her eyes flick away from Cassie's arm as soon as it happens. "Sorry, I lost track of time." Cassie makes some motion that signals to Victoria that it's okay to come inside, stepping back inside her house. "C'mon, come in."
Victoria does as she's told because she always has. She doesn't know anything else. It's more fun to do what you're told when the command comes from a beautiful woman with hair that always smells good instead of your mom.
Cassie's house looks exactly how Victoria's always imagined it—small, cluttered, but cozy. It feels lived in. Not like her parents' house at all. Her couch looks secondhand and sags, cloaked in mismatched blankets. Victoria interprets this as something being well-loved. She glances around, taking in the photos on the wall in mismatched frames, the TV cabinet with the swung open doors, the Tiffany lamp on the table next to the couch that Victoria imagines Cassie using to read by after a long night.
"I'm sorry about the mess," Cassie groans, snatching a kid's size sweater from the back of the couch and balling it up in her fist, clearly peeved by its presence. Victoria wants to say something to the effect of "don't worry about it," or "that's not a problem" to not only assure Cassie that she truly doesn't care, but to signal that she likes this; a textured life that is so different but so much warmer than her own, still curated by her meticulous parents. "Harrison is… outside, I think. In the hammock." Cassie cocks her head over her shoulder as to signal to the back door, visible from where they stand in the living room. It's swung open, screen door in its wake. Through it Victoria can spot one of those well worn crocheted hammocks, and within that, a child—feet dangling over the edge as it swings back and forth—with his face stuck staring at an iPad. Victoria forgets that Cassie allows Harrison to be an iPad kid. It was one of those things that surprised her about her when they were first getting to know each other, back when Victoria allowed her judgment to cloud her vision of who Cassie was outside of an ankle monitor and a single mother.
"That's really cute," Victoria mumbles, one of those thoughts that gets externalized faster and louder than she intends it to. So much so that it gets Cassie's attention, who smiles in response. She has the best smile.
"Yeah, he's… once it gets nice outside, he loves hanging out there and reading." She puts her hands on her hips, proudly admiring her son. Victoria stands slightly behind her and assumes the same position, feeling a small smile crack across her face. For a moment, it is enough to imagine what it would feel like to have a wife and child of her own, standing in the doorway of the house they share and bask in the quiet reverence they both have for their kid, their life, their love. "He's actually reading, by the way—" Cassie interjects, turning over her shoulder to tack on the addendum for Victoria. It almost feels like a defense of her parenting techniques. Fearful that she'll catch her mimicking her stance, Victoria awkwardly crumples into her normal posture. "He checks out e-books from the library like it's his job. It's so cute."
"Totally," Victoria says, words feeling garbled in her mouth. "I mean, as long as he's not watching, like, brainrot videos. He should be fine." Cassie looks at her, confused. She clearly doesn't know what 'brainrot' means. She decides to change the subject. "Um, does he need to have that taken away at some point, or—?"
"Normally around nine, I guess?" Cassie says, unsure in her answer. "I mean… he's reading. You can leave him like that all night if you want to. Plus, it's a Friday. And you're not his mom." Her smile is toothy and gives her away. Victoria admires this kind of parenting; it allows for Harrison to be a whole person. She doubts Cassie pressures him into following her same career path or will make him forgo social events in exchange for drilling geometry problems at the dining room table. He seems like he gets to live a normal life. She silently envies him for it.
"Oh," Cassie exclaims, Victoria watching as the light bulb materializes over her head. "Actually, I was hoping I could get your help with something." Cassie tears off around the corner, bare feet padding against her hardwood floors. Victoria, taken slightly aback, follows after her like she always does when Cassie takes off somewhere. Sometimes, she thinks that there's an invisible tether that sprouted on her first day at work and has yet to be severed. It tangles and extends and retracts but is always there, always connecting her to Cassie in some way across space and time. "I was hoping for your expertise," she explains, tossing her words over her shoulder as she leads Victoria upstairs. It takes Victoria's brain a moment to catch up and realize that she's leading her to her bedroom.
Cassie's bedroom is much more sparsely decorated than she imagined it would be. Victoria supposes that most adult bedrooms are. Somewhere along the line you reach a certain age and it's suddenly gauche to have magazine clippings and posters hanging from your walls with masking tape. You trade them in for family photos, maybe a poster from an art gallery exhibition, all in frames that cost more than the artwork itself. Victoria wonders if that's what adulthood is; trading in the things that make you happy for the things that make you feel secure. She often questions why they can't be one in the same.
"I was hoping you'd help me decide," Cassie trills, bringing Victoria back down to earth. Her eyes flick away from Cassie's bed and mismatched nightstands over to her dresser, where Cassie stands, holding two necklaces—one a chain that she's seen her wear before; she's been hypnotized by the way it sways underneath her when it falls out of her scrub top, and the other a chunky, beaded red necklace that seems out of character but still, somehow, unique to her. They hang off of Cassie's wrist like she's selling them on a street corner. "I feel like I need to wear a necklace with, y'know—" She pulls a funny face and gestures around the strip of naked chest exposed by her jumpsuit. The discomfort somehow neutralizes the butterflies that float in Victoria's stomach because of it. It's no longer just hot, but now something that endears her towards Cassie (it is still, however, incredibly hot). "Right? Otherwise you're just drawing attention to the space…" She turns towards a standing mirror that's been backed into the corner between her dresser and nightstand. Her brow furrows like Victoria's watched it do a thousand times before. She's grown to admire the creases and grooves that they form on her forehead and between her eyes, finding them at once attractive and admiring them as something she may grow on her own face one day, should she be so lucky.
"God, I feel like you could drive a truck between my tits," Cassie laments, fingers tracing the slice of skin that her jumpsuit allows in the mirror. Victoria swallows. She can see her reflection in the mirror behind Cassie, surprise worn rather plainly on her face. "Sorry," Cassie apologizes, laugh poking through her words. Victoria has noticed that Cassie does this often; this trading of feminine gripes likely under the impression that they're sisterly. God, my hands are looking old. I feel like I need to buy a new pair of scrubs every year. You could drive a truck between my tits. Victoria feels her face light up every time, sure that you could fry an egg on her forehead. She wonders if Cassie recognizes that she has this effect on her, or if it's just another complaint lodged between friends. It makes her wonder how lesbians do it. She'll have to ask Trinity one day (when she works up the courage to do so, of course).
"Anyway, which one do you think would look better?" Cassie holds both necklaces up to her collar.
"Oh, uh—I don't know," Victoria starts, but Cassie tsks her.
"C'mon, you're good at this," she soothes, her voice taking on a tone that lets Victoria know she means it. "You're always accessorizing at work… and I'm old." Cassie laughs at herself. "I don't know what I'm doing."
Victoria smiles. Well, since she asked. "I don't know," she starts again, looking at the necklaces. "I think… you wear the chain every day. You should probably switch it up a little." She feels a prickle across her face—should Cassie know that she knows she wears that chain every day? That she daydreams about what it must be like to not only pull her in by the chain for a kiss, but to have the confidence to do so? "I t-think the red would look pretty with the denim," she justifies. Cassie smiles.
"Well, you're going to have to help me with it." Victoria swallows again, a thicker lump in her throat this time. Cassie holds out the beaded red necklace (which, really, is the better choice) and offers it to Victoria. "I can't get the clasp." Instinctively, Cassie reaches for her wild red mane and holds it above her shoulders, giving Victoria access to her neck. Victoria wants to bend down and learn what it smells like at the base of her neck, right where sweat and carefully placed perfume intermingle. She's never smelled the back of someone's neck before, but she suddenly has an urge to; to have Cassie be the first one.
"Sure," Victoria says, hoping the shake in her voice is inaudible and doesn't manifest in her hands. She takes the necklace from Cassie and wraps it around her neck, taking care to pry open the clasp with her thumbnail. Cassie wasn't joking; the necklace is impossible to get clipped back together. When she finally does, her fingers trace against the back of Cassie's neck. She doesn't want to remove them.
"That tickles!" Cassie exclaims, giggle pushing through her lips. Again, it brings Victoria back to earth.
"Sorry," she apologizes, joining her in laughter. Cassie drops her hair and Victoria smooths it out, fingers tousling the waves that she's sure aren't styled, that simply are. The exchange makes Victoria feel the way a sparkler glows when it's freshly lit, not yet fizzling. Just aglow with energy and potential. They look at one another's reflections in Cassie's mirror. "You, uh, look great, Doctor McKay."
"Oh, you don't have to call me that outside of work," Cassie groans, Victoria detecting how much she truly dislikes the honorific. She wonders if Cassie feels as if it's unearned sometimes, like she does. "Cassie's fine. I prefer it, actually." She smiles at Victoria then, front teeth poking out from her top lip. It makes Victoria smile. "Thanks, Vic."
The nickname makes her heart skip. She's nearly a doctor now, so she knows how to identify these things as more than just little anomalies.
The two move back downstairs again, leaving Cassie's bedroom behind like a chapter in their lives. Victoria imagines herself sneaking up here again when it's time to put Harrison to bed, and because he's old enough to brush his teeth and get into his pajamas on his own, she'll encourage him to do so while traipsing through Cassie's bedroom, running fingers along perfume bottles and quietly opening her jewelry box to see what other necklaces or otherwise she could hypothetically dress her colleague in, one day. Maybe once Harrison is asleep, she'll put them on herself, the closest she'll ever get to her and Cassie becoming one.
When they get back downstairs, there's Harrison, having moved inside and now reading on the couch. He snacks from a bowl of what look like frozen peas.
"Harrison," Cassie begins, and he looks up from his tablet briefly to meet his mother's eyes. "You remember Vic, right?" He nods. "Can you say hello?"
"Hey," he says, voice still the small one of a child. "Mom, can we have pizza for dinner tonight?"
"That's the plan," she says, finding her shoes on a tray near the front door. Victoria glances down at them; chunky and strappy heels that look like something she would look completely out of place wearing. Cassie turns in towards Victoria then, voice lowering. "I've got a pizza in the freezer, and you can watch whatever on the TV," she explains. Victoria wonders if Cassie's assuredness comes from knowing that she has the judgment to know what to and not to watch in front of a young kid, or if because her tastes would never dare veer into that territory to begin with (they'll just watch K-Pop Demon Hunters). "Bedtime's around nine, iPad away maybe half an hour before then?" Victoria nods. "I should be home around ten-thirty."
"Okay," Victoria says, nodding. "Um, where are you going?"
"Speed dating," Cassie whispers, teeth bared in a grin. "Wish me luck."
By the time Victoria is able to process this, Cassie has kissed Harrison on the head goodbye, reminded Victoria of the emergency contacts on the fridge in the kitchen, and has headed out the door to her Prius that's parked on the street outside. Still filled with anxiety both surrounding him and his mom, Victoria sits on the couch next to Harrison, arms length away as he continues to read on his tablet.
"When do you want the pizza?" She asks, trying to show Harrison that she is, indeed, cool. Harrison shrugs.
"Whenever."
Victoria nods, feeling her neck tense. She lets herself melt into the couch and her head falls back, rolling to one side. As she takes in a deep breath, the smell that fills her nose is familiar and it revs her heart up like a wind-up toy—Cassie's perfume.