Go Your Own Way
Six years later
"You are sixteen going on seventeen, frightened of things beyond your ken..." Morgan sang tunelessly to herself, before mumbling to her teddy bear, making the teddy bear reply back in a high-pitched voice, the sound grating painfully on Cassandra's ears.
"Baby, can you keep the noise down?" she pleaded, Morgan muttering mutinously in return, only to then thankfully oblige.
But her relief was misplaced, Cassandra pulling the pillow over her head as Karen and Scott's raised voices came through the wall on cue, signalling the start of another row. She and Morgan had been here for a week, and every morning without fail had begun with the sound of her sister and brother-in-law arguing, their pale faces and overly pleasant pleasantries belying the lie at the breakfast table afterwards. Whilst Claire bailed on family down-time in favour of advancing her career, Cassandra spent alternate Christmas and summer vacations at Karen's house, but now she wished she had just stayed at home this year.
"Mommy?" Morgan whispered, making Cassandra glance down. "Auntie Karen and Uncle Scott are yelling at each other again."
"I know, baby," Cassandra whispered back, reaching out and smoothing back Morgan's dark hair.
"It makes Gray cry."
"I know, I know," Cassandra said again, burying her face into the pillow, trying to rid herself of reality.
"Can we have pancakes for breakfast, Mommy?"
"Maybe," Cassandra said, her voice muffled. "If I feel like it."
"Mommy," Morgan whined, clambering on top of her, "I'm hungry."
"When aren't you, kiddo."
~*~
Some people wear their history like a map on their face
And Joey was an artist just living out of case
But his best word was his letters home...
Cassandra tucked her pencil behind her ear, tilting her head to the side as she eyed her sketch critically. It was a rough drawing of Morgan asleep, her dark hair fanning around her head, her eyes crinkled shut. She intended to blur Morgan's outline when she redid the sketch in chalks, focusing on the elements of shape and colour to evoke the moment she had captured, always doing this whenever she used Morgan as a model, having never liked the idea of her daughter's image hanging in strangers' homes.
Sighing heavily, she then flung the sketchbook down onto the kitchen table, where it landed with a dull thud. What had once been a hobby had become a way to keep the wolf from the door, allowing Cassandra to turn what she loved into a living. It had started from selling her work on Etsy, to art galleries exhibiting her paintings and selling limited edition prints, Cassandra also licensing her art to be reproduced in different formats. Her signature style focused on capturing the special moments between mothers and children, and her name was becoming increasingly well regarded in this field, Cassandra always careful to avoid cloying sentimentality.
Surprisingly though, her most popular painting, Distant Horizon, had been the result of breaking the boundaries she usually set her inspiration, a world away from her usual domestic fare. It depicted an old man with weather-beaten skin and silver hair standing on the shore, cutting a lonely figure amidst the wild landscape, his yearning to be out on the water painfully palpable. She had worked on the painting for the duration of her pregnancy, giving birth the day after she had finally finished it.
In the end, she'd hidden the canvas in her garage, no longer having the time to indulge in art beyond what helped pay the bills, but Karen had found it one evening whilst looking for items to donate to a charity yard sale, her sister instantly seeing it was out of the ordinary. Karen had then secretly entered Distant Horizon into a prestigious art contest, where it had taken first prize, raising Cassandra's profile to a whole new level, winning the praise of art critics and the public alike. In a fit of philanthropy, Cassandra had donated it as a prize for a charity auction, wherein the winning buyer had bided their time and then sold it on for an enormous personal profit, something that still made Cassandra writhe even now.
"What's with the long face, kiddo?"
Cassandra glanced up, startled, only to see Karen standing in the kitchen doorway, phone in hand. "Don't call me 'kiddo'," she complained, getting up from her seat, "that's what I call Morgan."
"And that's what I call you, kiddo," Karen said as she came into the kitchen, typing something into her phone as she moved, brow furrowing.
Cassandra rolled her eyes. "What's up?" she asked abruptly, craning her neck as she tried to read Karen's phone upside down, seeing a slew of words that made no sense. "Has Morgan hit Zach over the head again with the remote?"
"Nope," Karen said, coming over, hurriedly slipping her phone into her jean pocket. "Just dropping by to see if inspiration burns."
"It does indeed," Cassandra said, curious about what Karen was hiding on her phone, "well, sort of."
"Can I see?"
Cassandra wordlessly slid the sketchbook over, Karen catching it just in time before it scooted off the edge of the table. As Karen flicked through the pages, Cassandra studied her sister, noting the way the morning sun caught the gold hidden in her hair. The Dearing sisters had inherited varying shades of ginger hair from their father; Cassandra's being a deep copper whilst Claire's was a rich red, Karen's pale auburn hair almost bordering on blonde in certain lights.
"They're beautiful," Karen said sincerely, carefully putting the sketchbook back down, "honestly, you're extraordinarily talented, Cass. Mom shouldn't have been a downer on you applying for that art scholarship. You would have been a shoo-in."
"Well, what did she used to call Dad?" Cass said, striking a thoughtful pose. "A commonplace dauber?"
Karen smiled, amused against her will. "How could I forget?" she said, her gaze becoming thoughtful as she studied her sister. "But I'm glad you took up your art again. The divorce... the redundancy... they were blessings in disguise, Cass. They helped set you free."
Cassandra looked at Karen, taken aback. "I never thought of it like that," she then said slowly, pushing the hair out of her eyes, "but I suppose you're... right."
"Of course, I'm right," Karen grinned, elbowing her, "I'm your big sister and big sisters are always right, right?"
~*~
"You can't wear that, Cass!"
Cassandra whirled around from where she'd been studying Karen's wall display of paintings, which were a mixture of Cassandra's own work and reproductions of Karen's favourite Pre-Raphaelite and Impressionist pieces. "Wear what that?" she said stupidly, smoothing down her denim shirt and jeans.
"You can't double-denim on a double-date," Karen snapped. "So get upstairs and now!"
"Double-date what!?" Cassandra said in disbelief.
"Wear that velvet dress you bought last week," Karen said, ignoring her. "It's cold out and the blue brings out your eyes. I forever bless the day you discovered contacts."
Cassandra rolled her eyes at Karen's comical contempt for spectacles, having not been more than a little emotionally attached to her own before she'd finally shed them. "The dress you forced me to buy," she corrected Karen, making her sister roll her own eyes.
"Just get ready, will you?"
"Karen, have you set me up again with one of Scott's numerous redneck cousins?" Cassandra demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Isn't that bordering on incest?"
"They're not rednecks, they're just... a little rough around the edges."
"More a little racist around the edges, actually."
"Cass, please."
"I'm not doing it, Karen."
"He's not a cousin, he's a work friend of Scott's, and he's a really lovely guy," Karen said persuasively, "and, listen to this, he's a single dad too."
"Do I look like I care?"
"It's been six years, Cass."
Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Is Claire coming down for Christmas?" she said abruptly, turning back to the wall. "I want to finish that painting of us for Mom. I just need her to sit for it and then I'm done. Well, once I varnish it and stuff, obviously."
Karen exhaled sharply. "When does Claire ever come down for Christmas?" she then said, her voice cracking. "Or summer or Thanksgiving or anything?"
"Well, we usually see her at the family funerals, don't we?"
"Cassandra!"
"Look, she calls sometimes, doesn't she?" Cassandra pointed out. "Well, once in a blue moon, but it's better than nothing, I suppose."
"I guess we should be grateful for small mercies, then," Karen retorted, "usually it's straight to voicemail with Claire."
Cassandra studied her sister's hurt face, the sight making her shift uncomfortably on the spot. She didn't have a problem per se with Claire's prolonged absences, being closer to Karen than Claire, but it always sucked to have one sister upsetting the other, Cassandra caught in the middle as ever. "Have you got a pair of heels I can borrow?" she said even more abruptly. "I didn't pack any."
"Heels for what?"
"This double-date you were talking about with Single Dad of The Year."
Karen clapped her hands, her face lighting up. "I do," she squealed, doing a crazy little dance on the spot. "I have just the perfect pair!" She clapped her hands again before rushing up the stairs, all thoughts of Claire forgotten, even as Cassandra silently cursed Claire until kingdom come.