Page 49 of Fall Into Me

Too late, he realized that sounded like an invitation for a phone call—the one he’d just talked himself out of offering. His stomach knotted as he made his way into the kitchen and opened the dishwasher. He’d just flipped the water on when Cass’s text came through.

Cass (12:37 a.m.): Rain check? I still have to get up early. Just about five hours now :(

An uncomfortable mix of relief and guilt made Ash sway on his feet. And underneath it all was a flicker of something different, something that didn’t mesh at all with those other two emotions. It was warmer, maybe, and had an eagerness to it that he didn’t really understand. He shook his head, not wanting to dwell on any of those emotions at the moment.

Ash (12:37 a.m.): Of course

Ash (12:37 a.m.): So I’ll just leave the dishes in the sink and wait until you can keep me company to do them

Ash (12:38 a.m.): I like that idea

Almost as soon as he sent the message, his phone began to vibrate with a ring, and Cass’s name popped up on the screen. And despite the uncertainty weighing on his shoulders and the echoed thought that he was in no shape to be offering support to anyone when he couldn’t even really take care of himself, that odd, eager warmth rose up into his cheeks again. He closed his eyes and frowned. Then he let out a sharp breath, looked back down at his phone, and answered the call.

“I was kidding, you know,” Ash said quickly, skipping over any sort of greeting as he shifted the phone up to balance it between his shoulder and ear. “I’m actually starting the dishes right now. See?” He pulled one of the plates out from under another, deliberately clinking them together loudly enough that he assumed Cass would be able to hear.

Cass’s smooth, deep laugh rumbled through the phone speaker. “Well, that’s good, then.” There was another laugh, quieter this time, and a small smile grew on Ash’s lips as Cass continued talking. “I just realized that I’m going to be busy almost all day tomorrow, and it would be awful if you left the dishes, expecting me to keep you company, only to have another day go by.”

“Oh yeah, what an awful thing that would be,” Ash agreed, his grin now brighter in some weird way that he could feel. He leaned over to stick a plate into the bottom rack of the dishwasher. “I’m not proud to admit I do have a stash of paper plates and plastic utensils that I saved from when I’ve ordered takeout, just in case.”

“Oh, we do too. A whole drawer full of them, actually. Though most of the plastic packages only have knives left in them at this point. Well, knives and a napkin and those little salt and pepper packets.”

Ash snorted a laugh and almost dropped the phone. He wiped his hand dry and then reached up and repositioned the phone between his shoulder and ear. “You never know when you’ll need a tiny amount of salt,” he teased.

“Or a napkin and a knife.”

Ash snickered again. “Actually, funny story . . .” He paused only long enough to stick another plate in the dishwasher. Then he continued, glad this particular story wasn’t about his sister. “So one time, when I was a kid, maybe, I dunno, ten or eleven, I had some friends over, and my mom ordered us takeout. I forget exactly what she ordered, but it was something we were all going to share. Probably pizza and salad or something. Anyway, my mom asked the restaurant for extra utensils, and when the delivery came, no kidding, there was an entire bag filled with just plastic knives. Around thirty or forty individually wrapped plastic knives. Nothing else, either. No forks or spoons or even napkins. Just knives.”

Cass was laughing on the other end of the line, and something about the sound felt good.

“What did you do with all of them?”

“Well, we did what any respectable ten- or eleven-year-old boys would do.” Ash stopped loading the dishwasher and turned around to lean against the counter, grinning.

“Which was?”

“We pretended they were swords and used them to play fight with each other. Then, when we were done with that, we taped them all together into one life-sized sword and went out in the backyard to see how many times we could whack the tree with it before the ‘sword’ broke.”

“Oh, of course. That’s the logical thing to do with them,” Cass teased.

Ash huffed another laugh and turned back to the sink to finish up the dishes. They continued chatting about random things while he worked. When he was finished, he almost didn’t want to admit it, because that would mean hanging up the phone, Cass’s “duty” to keep him company while he did the dishes officially fulfilled.

Cass was still talking, telling Ash about the walk he’d gone on with his mother a couple of days before, when Ash closed and started the dishwasher and then leaned back against the counter and shut his eyes. He tried to picture the scene Cass was setting—the quiet trail flat and wide enough for his mom’s wheelchair, the gentle babbling of the river and playful chirping of the birds, trees just starting to bud and some early flowers starting to bloom. He smiled.

“. . . She was feeling good enough that we were able to make it out to this spot she really loves. There’s a picnic bench there, overlooking the river, and she wanted to stop there for a bit, so we did.”

“That sounds so peaceful.”

“It was.”

“How often do you go?” Ash opened his eyes and frowned when he saw the banana peel he’d left on the counter earlier. He straightened up and pushed himself away from the sink to clean up his mess.

“If she’s feeling good and if the weather is nice, we’ll go once a week or maybe twice. But it’s kinda hit-or-miss.”

Cass yawned through the phone, and Ash grimaced as he glanced at the clock on the microwave. 1:08 a.m.

He tossed the banana peel into the trash. “Sorry to keep you up so late, though you’ll be proud to know the dishwasher is full and running and”—he opened the topmost drawer on the left side of the counter and swept his free hand across the solid white quartz, dumping all of the papers, bills, and other junk into the drawer—“the kitchen is clean . . . ish.”

“My job here is done, then,” Cass said through a quiet laugh.