Page 21 of A Bittersweet Summer

“Still,” he says, refusing to meet my eyes. Gus pulls two containers from the bag and begins dishing up our meal. My stomach growls in response, but he doesn’t acknowledge it or make fun of me like he normally would.

“You don’t need to take care of me, Cassidy. I am fine.”

Embarrassment flushes my cheeks. It’s natural to worry—worrying is normal. The only problem is with Gus; everyone surrounding him worries all the time. I need to be a non-worrier. No worrying here.

“No, I know you are,” I say, my voice wobbling just slightly.

His jaw tenses, his teeth grinding together. It contradicts the way he’s plating up my dinner with such careful concentration. “Don’t suffocate me like, Mom, okay?”

My mouth snaps shut. Anything else I wanted to say suddenly flees at the insinuation that I’d beanythinglike our mother, the mother I hardly know.

Feelings worm their way from my stomach to my throat, leaking out when I talk. They’re bitter like black coffee, and wholly unpleasant. “Has she called you recently?”

I wish I were better at hiding my emotions. The years of practice certainly haven't served me well. I feel like an open book, most times.

“Only every day,” Gus says, and a deep well of sadness digs its way deeper into my chest.

It’s been three weeks since either of my parents has talked to me—just busy. In addition to that, I’ve always been the one they didn’t need to worry about.

And they don’t need to worry about me, but I sometimes wish they would.

Gus’s features smooth out, his voice softening. “I’m sorry,” he says, and I blink rapidly. “I can talk to them. Mom should reach out more. She always talks about how much she misses you.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. I wipe a small amount of moisture from the corner of my eye, smearing it on the back of my hand.

Gus is right there with a napkin, caring for me in only the way that he can.

He’s had the most difficult life out of all of us, but nothing could rip the compassion out of my brother—that’s for sure.

“I really am sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s okay.”

Gus hands me my bowl, and we descend into laughter as we watch an episode we’ve seen no less than twenty times.

I talk about the farm, and Gus tells me about his job at the bank. I greatly appreciate the detailed descriptions of forbidden romance happening in the office.

When my eyes start drooping, I force myself to stand from my curled-up position on the couch. “I should get going,” I say.

Gus starts cleaning up our mess and pulls out his phone. Sending a text before retreating to the kitchen.

I intentionally leave the box of crocheted decor on the floor—hoping he will at least look at it and think of me fondly.

“Cass?”

I turn from my spot at the door, one hand pausing on the handle to find Gus leaning against the wall by the kitchen.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Thanks for not asking,” he says, his arms folded as he looks down at the floor, avoiding my gaze.

I shake my head. “Asking what?”

Gus sighs. “For not asking about doctors or appointments or how things are.” He runs a hand down his face. “I have a procedure in a couple of months to put new stents in or whatever. Which you should obviously know, but just… thank you.”

Something tugs at my chest.

“You’re one of the only people who makes me feel normal, and I appreciate that. I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier.”