Graceless - Page 61

Savannah stared at Lane, her face intense with what looked like a fireball of emotions. It looked like she was on the verge of a total explosion.

“We need to get you some help,” Lane told her, their voice suddenly calm. “Because you’re not okay.”

There was some kind of silent stand-off, Lane and Savannah staring at each other, neither of them budging an inch, Emmeline’s screaming intensifying. Then Savannah grabbed her daughter off her shoulder and thrust her at Cassidy. She clutched her tiny niece tightly, watching as her sister all but crumbled to the floor, curling up with her back against the cabinets, her face pressed into her arms, weeping.

Cassidy and Lane looked at each other, both clearly struggling not to freak out. Then Lane nodded and they both moved at once. Cassidy found the formula and made a bottle. Lane sat on the floor next to Savannah and held her hand. As soon as the bottle found Emmeline’s lips, she quieted.

“I’m gonna call Rosalie,” Lane said to Savannah after a few minutes, squeezing her hand in their own, and without lifting her head, she nodded.

By the time Brynn came down, Rosalie and Savannah were tucked up on the couch together, their heads close, speaking in soft voices. Brynn’s face crumpled with relief. She gave them another half hour to talk, then went over to join them. Savannah pressed her face into her wife’s shoulder and cried and cried and cried.

Rosalie had been the right call to make. Within twenty-four hours Savannah was set up with a doctor – a psychiatrist that specialized in postpartum depression – as well as a counselor. A second nanny was brought on temporarily to help out at night. There was a lactation specialist and a pediatrician dropping by. Brynn’s mom flew back, using her terrifying senior doctor voice to wrangle everyone into shape, like she could keep Savannah safe purely by creating a forcefield of organisation and fierce love around her. Within a week, things seemed – if not better – at least under control.

A week after that, Savannah came downstairs and wrapped her arms around Cassidy.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry. And thank you. Thank you for looking after me and Emmeline. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Cross me again and I’ll cut you,” Cassidy told her, hugging her tightly back, and for the first time in weeks, Savannah laughed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The last couple of months had slowly created somewhat of a necessary thaw between Cassidy and Lane. There was no flirting, no lingering gazes, no hot meeting of mouths or fingers slipping beneath clothing; there wasn’t even real conversation, exactly. But somehow, phrases like can you hold this baby a sec, and I think Savannah’s asleep became questions like, do you need some help and are you doing okay? Eventually they morphed slightly further, into almost social interactions like can I get you a coffee and,

“What are you watching?”

Cassidy looked up from where she was curled up on the couch in front of the television. It was early afternoon and the rest of the family were upstairs, spending time together in relative peace and calm. Cassidy finally felt okay enough about the state of her sister to actually relax, though she figured she’d stay close by, just in case. With the exhaustion of the last few months of her life leaving her a little emotionally drained, she’d sunk down into the couch cushions to let her imagination drift.

“Dark Victory,” she replied. “It’s a Bette Davis marathon.” Lane drifted closer.

“You like classic cinema?” they asked. Cassidy examined their face for signs they were mocking her – the backwoods, uneducated country girl – but they looked more intrigued than anything else, which after the last few months of mutually ignoring each other, made her chest tighten slightly.

“Well, yeah,” was all she could give them. To her surprise, Lane sank down on the other end of the couch, their eyes glued to the black-and-white screen.

“What’s happening?” they asked after a couple of minutes. They had been looking adorably confused, a little furrow between their soft brows, which Cassidy knew despite trying her hardest not to look at them at all.

“She’s this party girl, and she’s dying, but everyone is trying to hide that from her,” she explained. “She finds out, though, and has to figure out how to live what’s left of her life.”

“Huh.”

They watched the film together in silence, Lane slowly starting to sprawl out, Cassidy eventually slipping sideways to lie down, her head on her arms, pretending not to cry as the darkness descended on Bette, who was both completely amazing and chewing the scenery wildly. As the credits rolled and the music soared, she waited for Lane to leave, but they didn’t.

The next film started, but Cassidy was only semi-conscious of it, lulled on the way to sleep by the gently hypnotic sounds of 1930s dialogue and the comforting proximity of Lane’s presence. She dozed into a soft cozy dream in which she told Lane that it was, in fact, a super young Marlon Brando they reminded her of sometimes, and Lane reached out and gently stroked her hair just once.

It might have been minutes later, or maybe hours, when the soaring score of Now, Voyager punctured her subconscious. Her eyelashes flickered briefly to see the screen and she realized she was now practically snuggled against Lane’s side, the top of her head pressed against their firm thigh. She closed her eyes again, hoping that by pretending to still sleep, she might actually fall asleep again, thus avoiding both the embarrassment and the loss of their warmth.

She was just about dozing again when she heard Brynn’s voice sounding soft and amused from behind them.

“Watch out,” she murmured. “If she’s anything like her sister, you’re definitely about to get drooled on.”

“Hey!” Savannah chastised her, but there was a teasing warmth back in her voice that made Cassidy feel immensely happy somewhere under the fog.

Suddenly, Tucker flung themself into the middle of the couch, excited for a cuddle pile with two of his favorite humans. Cassidy, no longer able to feign or hope for sleep, pushed herself upright so her nephew could snuggle in with her, the little boy already demanding a channel change. She knew her face was probably flushed and creased and she carefully avoided Lane’s eyes until later, after Brynn had arrived with popcorn, tugging her wife down beside her and wrapping her arm around her shoulders, and the whole family – minus Emmeline who was actually asleep in her bassinet for once – bunkered down for a movie night.

Cassidy flicked her eyes over, just once, and caught Lane looking at her. Their gaze darted away almost immediately, but in the one second their eyes met, Cassidy saw a softness that made her chest ache.

A week after that, it was Cassidy’s birthday. It was a subdued affair, and yet simultaneously the best birthday she could ever remember.

Coral was the only other guest. Together with the family, they all ate dinner outside in the warm evening air, Savannah at the head of the table with some actual color back in her cheeks, Emmeline fast asleep against Brynn’s chest in a baby wrap. Everyone sipped champagne, except Tucker and Brynn, even Annabelle giving her a silent approving toast from her own glass as she moved back and forth from the kitchen.