The Wedding Agreement (12 page)

Noise Complaint

Alex dipped a fry into some cheese and popped it into his mouth. “Too bad the music's not as good as the food,” he said. “And their food isn't really all that good.” His expression remained serious, but Cass recognized the hint of humor in his voice.

“Would you stop being a grump and give it a chance? This is just the opening band anyway.” Cass took a sip of her Corona Light and put it down on the cardboard coaster. Though she was quick to defend the music, part of her was slightly worried. Alex was right. These guys sounded like a high school garage band.

“Do you think they take requests?” Alex asked, pointing toward the stage.

“Probably. What did you want to request?”

Alex set his drink down. “Silence,” he said without cracking a smile. “I hope the band we're here to see is better.”

“You're an ass,” Cass joked. “And Simone swore they were good. She went to college with the drummer. She's heard them play a thousand times.”

Alex looked unconvinced. “After the last band Simone dragged us to, I'm not sure I trust her taste in music. How come you've never seen them before?”

Good question.
Cass shrugged. “Not sure. But Cockfeather plays weddings all the time. I'm sure they'll will be fine for a party.”

Alex nearly spit out his drink. “Cockfeather?”

Guess I forgot to tell him the name.

“There's no way we're hiring a band named Cockfeather. Even for a party to celebrate a fake wedding.” Alex laughed. “We have to maintain
some
standards.”

“What's wrong with their name?” Cass asked, like she didn't know why Alex had an issue.

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Cass. You're not going to sit there and try to convince me that they named themselves after a rooster's plumage or something, are you?”

Cass stared back at Alex, trying her best to keep a straight face. “Doesn't that seem more plausible than it referring to the other meaning? Out of all the penises I've seen, I have yet to come across one with feathers on it.”

Alex looked slightly disgusted. But he didn't argue. Obviously he knew she had a point.

“Besides,” she said, “don't judge a book by its cover. The lead singer won a bronze medal in archery at the Olympics years ago. A cock feather is one of those colored feathers on an arrow. They just combined the words because they thought a one-word name looked better on T-shirts.”

“Stop,” Alex said. “You're making that up. No way there's something called a cock feather.”

Cass took out her phone and immediately began Googling. “One of these days you'll learn never to doubt me.” She thrust the phone at Alex, and then leaned back against the booth as he read silently. His eyes widened. “I had the same reaction you did when Simone told me about them. I was actually disappointed that their name came from something so innocuous.”

“No shit?” Alex said, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

“Go ahead. Read it out loud.” Cass loved being right almost as much as she loved hearing Alex say the word “cock.”

“‘Cock feather,'” he began, and Cass had to hold in a laugh. “‘The colored feathers on the shaft of an arrow at right angles to the nock. Also called a shaft feather.'” Alex burst out laughing, and Cass joined him. “I feel like ‘shaft feather' sounds even worse.”

“It definitely does.” Cass took one more bite of her burger before deciding she was done. She had to admit, Alex was right about one thing; the food wasn't that good.

*   *   *

The current band played one more song before Cockfeather came out to the small stage located in the corner of the bar. Alex eyed the band, an eclectic mix of humans. He did his best to shut off his tendency to analyze people, but it was part of his nature—and his job—to do so. Cockfeather had four members, and it shouldn't have surprised him that the person with the shortest hair was also the only woman. She had the physique he was beginning to associate with all lead singers: an emaciated look that he guessed served two purposes: one, it allowed her to survive
off ramen noodles and flaxseed while she lived out of her van; and two, it gave some credence to the whole starving-artist thing.

Two of the guys had longer hair; one had his pulled back in a ponytail, and the other wore it down in front of his shoulders. But the third guy was the deal breaker. No way Alex's buddies would ever let him live it down if he hired a band that included a member who thought a pink Mohawk and a shirt that said
CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF T
ITTIES
was a solid fashion statement.

But despite Alex's initial judgement, he had to admit that the band knew how to play. Much of the previously disinterested crowd had now gotten on to the small dance floor in front of the stage. Cockfeather played a mix of covers, from “Boys of Summer” to “Tainted Love” and their own spin on Taylor Swift's “Bad Blood.” He could definitely see their appeal. Cass had been subtly dancing in her seat for at least ten minutes, and even Alex found himself nodding to the beat. And it wasn't long before his whole body wanted to move. “You want to dance?” Alex asked, gesturing toward the crowd.

Cass put a hand to her chest and rose from the booth, smiling. “I thought you'd never ask.”

Alex stood, leading her by the hand through the maze of tables toward the stage, until he found a place on the dance floor where they had some space. He wasn't much of a dancer, at least not before a few drinks. But something about being near Cass, her body swaying to the beat, made him
want
to dance. Or maybe it was just that he wanted to dance with
her
.

The two moved in time to the rhythm, or at least Cass did. Alex wasn't so sure about himself. But for
some reason it didn't bother him. “So, the lead singer really went to the Olympics for archery?” he yelled over the music.

“Yeah, that's what Simone said. I may be creative, but the truth is definitely better than fiction this time.”

“That's impressive. And I'm sure this makes me sound sexist, but I pictured a man when you told me that,” Alex said, glancing up at the frail woman whose mouth was pressed so close to the microphone, he was sure she'd probably licked it a few times.

“Me too,” Cass replied. “Then I found out her name was Slim and all I could picture was Jennifer Lopez from that movie
Enough
.” Alex's expression must have revealed his confusion, so Cass continued. “She plays this woman who's a victim of domestic violence. She runs away with her daughter to escape her ex. But when she realizes he won't stop coming after her until she's dead, she takes a self-defense class and comes up with an elaborate plan to kill him before he gets to her and her little girl.”

“Wait, I'm still confused. So Jennifer Lopez's name is Slim in the movie?”

“Oh yeah,” Cass said on a laugh. “Sorry. Guess I never said that. She's a complete badass in that movie. We should watch it.”

The song came to an end, and Slim said something into the microphone about CDs being for sale after the show.

“I mean, it's no
Billy Madison
,” Cass joked, “but I think you'll like it.”

And Alex had no doubt that was true. He enjoyed spending time with Cass, no matter what they were doing. Her carefree nature was a good balance to Alex's serious side—which had been making an
appearance less often lately. But when he heard the first few chords to “Simple Man,” one of his all-time favorite songs, he felt that part of himself emerging again. “I love this song,” he said, pulling Cass in close to him. Her chest pressed against his, and his body responded immediately. But his reaction was more visceral than sexual. He could feel her breathing change. The rapid breaths she'd been taking as they danced to the faster songs had slowed considerably to match the song's rhythm. He looked down at her, Cass' eyes meeting his as he moved some stray hairs from her face and tucked them behind her ear. “My mom used to sing it to me when I was a kid.”

Cass gave him a small smile, one that made him feel a sense of comfort he hadn't felt in a long time. “Tell me about her,” she said.

*   *   *

Cass took another bite of ice cream and brought both her legs onto the couch, crossing them so she could face Alex fully. When she'd asked about his mother, the comment had just kind of left her mouth before she'd had a chance to fully think about what she was saying.

He could have said no to sharing something so personal with her. But instead he'd just said he'd rather have the conversation in a more private location. And it had been Cass' idea to pick up the ice cream on the way to Alex's house. No emotional purge would be complete without it.

So now here they were, sitting in Alex's family room with a half-gallon of mint chocolate chip and two spoons between them. He'd told her about his mom—how she used to bake peanut butter cookies every Christmas, and she'd always let Alex put the Hershey's Kisses on the top. And how she could
never stay angry with him for more than fifteen minutes. How she always stood up for her children—defended them—even if they weren't always deserving of her defense. “She could do anything.” Alex smiled. “Or at least it seemed that way when I was a kid. We always had the best jack-o'-lantern in the neighborhood because she had one of those books that showed how to do carvings of famous people. She'd do most of the work, but she'd let me and Christina take the credit for it.”

Cass could see why Alex was so good with Nina. He'd had a good teacher. “She sounds sweet.”

“She was,” Alex said. Then he let out a soft laugh. “Most of the time. But she had a way of keeping us in line that even my dad didn't have. It was weird. I was a little afraid to get in trouble with my dad, but I just didn't want to disappoint my mom. She never gave long lectures or yelled or anything like that. Christina and I just kind of knew her thoughts without her having to say them.”

Cass knew exactly what Alex meant. “My dad was the one who was like that with us. I remember one time in eighth grade . . . the first time I tried smoking.” Cass chuckled at the memory. “I guess it was also the
last
time I tried it. My friends and I were hanging out in front of a convenience store a few blocks away from our middle school, and this girl Joanna had gotten some guy to buy cigarettes for us. Joanna smoked already, and I'd said I'd try it. She gave me a lit cigarette, but even though I only took a small drag from it, I started coughing immediately.” Cass realized that she'd accidentally shifted the conversation from Alex to herself, but he didn't seem to mind. He was looking at her with rapt attention as he put a bite of ice cream in his mouth. So she continued.
“Joanna and Lauren—the Lauren you know—told me to try it again and inhale this time. So I put the cigarette up to my mouth and tried again. Then I heard Laur yell, ‘Cass, your dad!' The phrase had its intended effect because I breathed in quickly and then let the smoke out easily. It was a trick that people in my school used to do to get their friends to inhale, so I didn't think anything of it. I just smiled proudly until I heard my dad say, ‘Get in the car, Cassidy.' I looked over my shoulder, and he was in the parking lot.”

“Oh man. Seriously?”

Cass raised her eyebrows. “Seriously.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing. It's what he didn't do that had the biggest effect on me. The ride home was silent. He didn't yell, he didn't talk to me, he didn't even look at me. He just drove me home, turned off the ignition, and sighed before going inside.”

“He didn't punish you?”

“He didn't ground me if that's what you mean. But I got my punishment. Letting him down was enough. Smoking was the one thing that I knew my dad would never tolerate. His father died of lung cancer when my dad was a teenager.” Cass bit her bottom lip. “He wasn't mad; he was hurt, and the guilt I felt was worse than any punishment he could've given me.” Cass shook her head. “Sorry. This wasn't supposed to be about me.”

Alex gave her a warm smile and reached out to rub her knee. “Don't be sorry,” he said. “I like hearing stuff like that. I just need it in small doses, because the father in me wants to put Nina in some sort of cocoon and freeze her there indefinitely. I don't know how any man raises three girls.”

“Well, if it helps, I think you have a while before Nina starts packing a miniskirt in her backpack so you don't see her leave the house in it.”

Alex's eyes widened in what Cass identified as horror. “Do girls really do that?”

Cass swallowed. “Would it help if I said not
all
girls do it?”

Alex stared at her, his expression blank as he shook his head slowly.

“So tell me about the song,” Cass said, hoping to bring the subject back to the reason for their conversation. “‘Simple Man.' Did she sing it to you as a baby?”

Alex remained quiet for a moment. “She sang it to me for as long as I can remember, but I'm not sure when it actually began,” he said. “I just know when it ended.” Alex dropped his gaze to the spoon in his hand and began moving it over the ice cream in the carton without picking any up. “My entire life I heard how all she wanted was for me to grow up to be happy and have a family of my own. But she died before she got to see either of those things. And the worst part is, I wasn't even there for her.” Cass narrowed her eyes in confusion, and Alex continued. “I was up at school when she relapsed.” Now Alex fixed his stare on Cass while he spoke. “I could've come home, taken the semester off. She'd been in remission. I knew the cancer might come back, but I chose to enroll in a school hours away from home.”

Cass' heart went out to him when she realized the guilt he must have felt—the guilt he must
still
be feeling. “You were a kid.”