Loving Cassie

Bonus: Like My Mother Does

Wylie

Standing before the buffet I stared off into the sky, watching as storm clouds began to gather, blocking out the bright rays of the sun. The smell of Daddy's barbecued chicken hung heavily in the air, mixed with the scent of impending summer heat. It was a wonderful day for Walker's graduation party and I was thrilled to see that he was enjoying himself. I smiled softly as I caught sight of him cuddled up to a fussy Cammie and a relieved looking Nila. Oh, that devil. My brother was so much like daddy that it wasn't even funny -- it was like God decided that my life wasn't difficult enough with just one dad. I wandered over to the food table, hoping to nab a few of Aunt Cheryl's famous sausage balls before Uncle Harlow got to them. As I bent to grab the small snack plates Mama had laid out, a figure caught my attention out of the corner of my eye.

"You're definitely Carrie's child," the voice whispered reverently, sending chills dancing down my spine, "I can't even believe my eyes." I knew the man speaking, but I wasn't supposed to, so I did what I knew best and played dumb. If my parents (who were more than likely currently watching me like hawks) knew that I had found this man three months ago in a drunken stupor in a bar, they'd have my head. For one, I was eighteen, two I was their baby, and three, I was supposed to be at school when I found him. He had been covered in his own vomit, barely conscious as the bartender yelled at him to take it outside -- he couldn't manage to stumble out on his own, so I had helped him, wondering why I had even bothered. I had always thought my biological father had run off to do something bigger and better, and somehow I was satisfied to see that he was here -- soiling himself in his own sickness at noon in a bar. A pathetic man, weak and disgusting. Maybe it shouldn't have given me satisfaction, but it did. And when I dropped him against the cool pavement, I had walked away, not caring what happened after that. Just like he had done to me. But now? I couldn't look at him or the guilt of walking away would eat me alive and I knew I would end up putting my foot in my mouth.

"Hello, sir." My eyes didn't stray from their position on the table of goods in front of me. Why was he here? Who had invited him? I wondered if mama had, one of her moments of kindness that tended to bring about trouble. She was too nice, too good to people.

"I, you --" he fumbled over his words, "you were so tiny the last time I saw you." These were said softly, almost as if they were a prayer meant for only God's ears. Still, I didn't look up and had to bite down quite literally on my tongue to keep from voicing my opinion on his words. They were not nice things, and likely would never be. I knew the truth of both he and my birth mother. It wasn't an easy pill to swallow, but after two years, I had learnt to accept it. Why? Because of my parents Ward and Cassie Montgomery. While the people who created me hadn't wanted me, my parents had never balked once at the responsibility -- no matter how much hell I raised, how many fits I threw or how much trouble I caused they were always there to support and love me. They weren't mad that I was almost nineteen and hadn't enrolled in college, that I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. They just told me I would figure it out in due time.

"I didn't think I would ever see you again, ya know? Not that your parents would've barred me from seeing y-" I couldn't help but blurt out the words poised on the tip of my tongue, cutting him off from his mindless rambles.

"Why didn't you try, then? Why'd you let another man raise your children? How could you walk away from babies and feel nothing at all? Didn't you hurt? Didn't you feel the guilt eating you? Did you even care?" I knew how these words sounded as soon as they fell out of my mouth but one look in my parents' direction ('cause they were where I figured they'd be) let me know that they definitely understood. Daddy was by no means hurt by my questions. It was a relief -- a weight off of my shoulders. Turning back to the dumbfounded man in front of me, I waited. And waited. Until his face flushed red and he seemed not to be breathing anymore. Before he finally squeaked out two words that only served to deflate the anger that had risen inside of me like a hot air balloon: "I'm sorry." Then he continued with: "I feel like Carrie is standing before me again, Wylie. You're so much like your mother."

And this I knew to be true. Because I was like my mother. I strived to be like my mother. His sadness was evident, the regret in his eyes apparent. But that didn't change anything, only made the anger dissolve into disappointment.

And gratitude.

If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be the woman I was becoming. I was bright and determined, kind and caring, I was going places in life. I was all of theses things because of Cassie. Because of the woman who raised me, because she loved me enough to be my mother. And if Carrie had kept me for her own greedy reasons, or if Dalton had stayed, who knew what kind of person I would be?

"I am like my mother, and thank God for that." His confusion was clear but in response all I did was shake my head and take my leave, not sparing a glance in the direction of a man who would never occupy another thought in my mind.