The Vocabulary of Love

by Alyssa Beatty

Cas sat at the kitchen table and ran her finger down a scar in the wood, wondering if she had caused it. There was a one-in-four chance that she had. She knew the mismatched tile above the stove was her fault; she’d been playing lacrosse in the house. Her father had gone to six stores trying to find a perfect match for the antique blue and finally settled for one that was two shades off. Their mother had covered her disappointment by laughing and naming it their lucky tile.

It was always like this when Cas came home; every object was a memory, making her feel unmoored in time, thirteen and thirty-five all at once.

Her family mobbed the kitchen. Brian leaned against the counter, blowing on his coffee, his arm slung over Theresa’s shoulders. Married fifteen years, and still he always needed to be touching her. Ben and his wife Marlene sat across from Cas, playing a desultory game of gin rummy. They gravitated to games that were best with two players, their secret language of quirked eyebrows and half-smiles uninterrupted by an outsider’s need for words. Voices, muted by the snow, floated in from the backyard: Brodie and Richard coming back from their daily walk.

Four days after Christmas, everyone should have fled home already; the blizzard had closed roads and grounded flights, so here they all still were. After the first day, the childish giddiness of an unplanned snow day faded. Brian grumbled constantly about the work piling up in his office, and Ben worried about whether their cat sitter was still coming around. Fiona, their mom, scooping coffee into the mammoth machine, looked frayed around the edges. As much as she said she needed the family together for the holiday since their dad died, Cas suspected she’d grown to see the value in solitude.

The kitchen door swung open, and Brodie blew in on a gust of wind and a swirl of snow. Richard came in after him, stomping his boots to get the snow off and laughing.

“You guys should have come out. It’s beautiful out there,” he said.

The family joke was that Brodie, who could only ever stand to be indoors for five minutes in the winter, would need to marry a snowman to be happy. Richard came close, with his dark smiling eyes and comfortably rounded body.

“Cas? Up for a walk? We found this amazing old wishing well up the hill.” Richard pulled off his hat, an orange monstrosity that Marlene had knitted as Christmas presents for everyone.

Ben stiffened and shot Cas a worried look. Brian cleared his throat loudly, which is what he did whenever he was uncomfortable. Cas had forgotten how grating it was.

“Let her be, Rich,” Brodie said gently.

“What? What did I say?” Richard, sensing the tension, looked around the room.

“Nothing,” Brian said, using his eldest-child peacemaker voice. It was no less annoying now than it had been when Cas was five, the eternally coddled baby in a family of boys. “Cas doesn’t like winter, that’s all.”

Cas turned her palms down onto the scored wood of the table. The scars on her wrists were just ghosts now, barely noticeable. But she knew for her family they blazed, vivid as stars.

“Who wants pancakes?” Fiona asked. She smiled brightly around the room, her gaze lingering on each of her sons, then landing on Cas. Cas didn’t miss the single crinkle on her forehead, a worry line that might as well have her name on it. It had been there every time she looked at her since Christmas Eve, when Cas came home with a single suitcase and told her she could remove Mark’s stocking from above the fireplace. No one asked, because that was how her family was—all so naturally inclined to happiness, they didn’t have the vocabulary for pain. Cas felt the weight of all the things they weren’t saying pressing down on her, the air crowded with unspoken words.

*

Cas leaned against the porch railing and considered the grey of her cigarette ash against the pristine white of the snow. Behind the steam-fogged kitchen window, Fiona’s voice was a warm murmur as she directed Brian and Theresa in the delicate art of washing dishes for an army. Cas closed her eyes and reached for the comfort of her mother’s voice, remembering goodnight stories and tearful late-night talks at the kitchen table.

The familiar squeak and slam of the front door, and Ben appeared beside her, holding out a mangled mass of orange wool.

“Thought you might want this,” Ben said.

Cas took the hat and slipped it on. It scratched at the skin on the back of her neck.

“It was nice of Marlene to make these,” she said.

Ben smiled, fondness for his wife in every line of his face. “I don’t have the heart to tell her how bad she is at knitting. It makes her happy.”

Marlene’s thwarted need for a family was an unacknowledged undercurrent. Brian and Brodie shared Cas’s attitude towards children—they liked other people’s fine but had no burning need for their own—but Marlene had always wanted to be a mother. Knitting was the latest in a long line of hobbies meant to distract her. They all had a collection of misshapen pots, blurry watercolor pet portraits, macrame plant holders.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said. “Mom told me that was your last round of IVF.”

Ben shrugged. “We have each other. We’ll be all right.”

Cas wondered what it was like, to say that and believe it. To not have the floor of your marriage suddenly disappear beneath you. To not feel–––under the shock and pain–––relief, that the thing you secretly always knew would happen finally had.

“I thought you quit.” He gestured to the cigarette Cas had been hiding cupped in her palm.

“It didn’t take.”

“So, Mark…?”

“That didn’t take either.” Cas ran her thumb over the lingering indentation on her ring finger. Maybe she should get herself another ring to fill the empty space. But maybe that would make it worse.

“Sorry.”

Ben put an arm around Cas’s shoulders and squeezed gently. It was always this way after what they all called one of Cas’s setbacks, her brothers holding their breath, waiting to see if she would break again.

Cas leaned away and blew smoke into the air.

“Mom’s going to lose it if this snow doesn’t stop soon. She didn’t plan on having us here all week,” she said.

“Are you kidding? She loves it.”

The door slammed open, and Brodie and Richard came out lugging a dented toboggan.

“Look what we found in the attic! Haven’t seen this thing for ages,” Brodie said. “Cas, you’re smoking again? Those things will kill you.”

“Not fast enough,” Cas said.

Ben and Brodie froze, Fiona’s single worried brow-wrinkle creasing both their faces. Cas hadn’t realized it was genetic. Richard shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

“Oh my god, you guys; it’s a joke. Go sledding, losers.” Cas flicked her cigarette off the porch and pushed past them back into the house.

The slam of the door behind her echoed back through the years. Cas was seven, crying because Brian buried her favorite stuffed bunny in the snow and he was gone forever (we’ll find it in the spring, calm down sweetie). She was thirteen, devastated because her best friend Ginger said she didn’t want to hang out anymore (she’s not worth all this fuss, honestly, Cassie, calm down). Eighteen, home early from college because her boyfriend Seth had dumped her and her heart was sliced into a million painful shards (well then, he doesn’t deserve you, it’s as simple as that). Thirty-five, about to be divorced, surrounded by effortlessly happy marriages.

*

Cas sat on the rug in front of the fire, cradling a mug of cocoa. Ben and Marlene played backgammon in matching armchairs by the window. The clunk of dice and click of checkers was the music of every Sunday morning of Cas’s childhood; their parents had a weekly game after breakfast while the kids cleaned the kitchen. They had played like Ben and Marlene did, in comfortable silence punctuated by an annoyed huff of breath or satisfied hum.

Brian lounged on the couch, Theresa on the floor in front of him, leaning on his legs and reading a battered copy of Ozma of Oz she’d found in the bookcase. Brian idly rubbed her neck with one hand while he flipped through an ancient Scientific American with the other.

Brodie came in, waving his phone over his head. “American Airlines just texted us. Our flight is on for tomorrow morning.”

“Thank God,” Brian said, throwing aside his magazine and reaching for his own phone. “If I missed any more work, I’d never catch up.”

Despite him having the same job for the last decade, and numerous lengthy lectures on the subject, Cas had only a vague understanding of what Brian’s work entailed. Something to do with the stock market, she thought.

“You needed the break,” Theresa said. “They work you too hard.”

“How’s your job, Cas?” Brian asked. “Everything good?”

“Fine,” she lied.

“The coffee shop, right?” Ben said.

“That was last year, honey,” Marlene said.

“Oh, right. It’s the museum, now?” Ben said.

“That’s where Mark works,” Marlene said.

Ben winced. “Shit. Sorry, Cas.”

“It’s fine. I won’t spontaneously combust if you mention his name.”

“You’re better off, anyway. I never liked him,” Brian said.

This was a blatant lie, but Cas let it slide.

Fiona came in, wiping her hands on a dish towel, followed by Richard carrying a steaming jug. “Who needs a refill?” she asked.

“Perfect timing,” Brodie said. “Mom, come sit down. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

“Yeah, Mom, come sit,” Ben said, getting up and gesturing to the armchair.

“I mean it, Cas. You’ll find someone better. Just give it time,” Brian said.

“Babe. Stop,” Theresa murmured.

“Yeah, let’s change the subject,” Brodie said.

“Guys. We can talk about it. I’m not going to go up the hill and slit my wrists again because my marriage fell apart. Okay?”

Cas didn’t know whether to laugh or scream at the way they all froze in place. The only sound was Fiona’s sharp intake of breath.

“Oh, honey,” Fiona said.

Cas levered herself up off the rug. “I’m going for a walk.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Brodie hissed at Brian. “We said we weren’t going to mention Mark.”

“I wasn’t talking about him. I was just saying she’ll find someone else,” Brian said.

Cas grabbed her boots and slammed the kitchen door behind her. The air was sharp with cold, the sky clear and blazing with stars now that the storm had stopped.

The snow squeak-crunched under her boots. Cas felt a spark of joy, almost banked under the weight of pain but still there, at the sight of her lone footprints in the unbroken field of white. She trudged up the hill, dragging her toes to make long furrows. Brodie had said if they disguised their tracks, their parents would never find them, and they could stay out in the snow all day. Cas thought now their parents probably treasured the quiet when they were all outside, shivering and giggling in a poorly built igloo that dripped freezing water down their necks.

Cas reached the well without realizing that was where she’d been going. She leaned against the low stone wall and looked down into the still water below. She knocked a fall of snow over. The flakes floated on the dark surface like stars in the firmament before dissolving into the black. How many coins were down there, she wondered. She dug into her coat pocket and found a penny, cupped it in her palm and let it fall, wishing…

…for a new bike that was not a hand-me-down, for her bunny to appear on her pillow where he belonged. For Ginger to like her again, for Seth to love her back, for her to stop being the misshapen puzzle piece that never quite fit between the smooth edges of her brothers. To somehow get back whatever piece of her was missing, that gave rest of her family the easy happiness that hovered around them, bright and loud …

Cas imagined that somewhere down there, mingled among the coins, floated long looping tendrils of her blood, curling around all those ungranted wishes.

Cas lit a cigarette, exhaled and watched the plume of her breath float up and away.

Boots crunched behind her. Cas lowered her head into her hands.

“I’m fine. I just want to be by myself for a little while.”

“I get that,” Fiona said. She leaned on the wall next to Cas and held out a thermos. “I love your brothers, but having all of them in the house again feels like being besieged.”

Cas flicked the cigarette into the snow. Fiona glanced at it and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Cas took the thermos and unscrewed the lid, letting the sweet warm smell of chocolate waft up.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t know why I said that, back there.”

“Maybe because your brothers have spent all week tiptoeing around you like you’re made of glass?”

“I know they mean well. They just…they’ve never really understood what it’s like. Everything comes so easily to them.”

“They have a knack for happiness. They got that from your dad, and I’m glad for it. Hurts just sort of slide right off them. Except for the one.”

Cas looked down into the water. “That night when I was eighteen. After Seth broke up with me.”

“Yes. That. I don’t know if you remember much. You lost a lot of blood. And the pills you took before…”

“Yeah. They knocked me out. I remember coming up here. And making the first cut. But not much after that.”

Fiona shook her head. “I’ll never forget it. Brodie had one arm, Brian had the other, Ben had your legs, and they came tearing down the hill screaming like the world was ending. Even though they were all grown then, or mostly, they looked like terrified little boys. They never got over it.”

“None of them ever talk about it.”

“They don’t have the words for that kind of pain.” Fiona put an arm around her and kissed her temple. “Cut them a bit of slack. Just because they can’t see your strength doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

Cas laughed, tasting bitterness in her mouth that had nothing to do with the cigarette. “I’m not strong, Mom. I’m a train wreck.”

“What happened? With Mark?”

Cas shrugged. She and Mark had looked up one day and realized they didn’t love each other anymore. But that sounded too innocuous to encompass the pain of disentangling the threads of their lives.

“The usual stuff, I guess,” she said.

When Cas didn’t elaborate, Fiona sighed.

“I know it’s terrible, and painful. But you’ll find your way through. You always do. You get that from me. No matter what, we just keep going.”

Cas remembered waking up in a hospital bed. Her mother hovered in the doorway, her eyes swollen and red against the pallor of her face. Her father stood next to her, his arm around her waist, holding her up.

“How have you been, Mom? Since Dad…”

Fiona lifted a mittened hand to wipe her eyes. “Honestly, Cas? It sucks. Most days I feel like my heart’s been drawn and quartered. But it gets a little easier every day. And having you all here has helped.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been better at keeping in touch.”

“You’re an adult. You have your own life. I’d rather die than be one of those mothers who demands a phone call every Sunday from her kids. We cut the umbilical cord for a reason, you know?”

Cas laughed. “I love you, Mom.”

“Oh, my girl. I love you too. Always and forever. Now, come back inside and let your brothers tell you how much they always hated Mark.”

“Brian loved him.”

“Yes, but he’ll lie, because he loves you more.”

Cas walked down the hill towards the light and warmth of the house, arm linked through Fiona’s. The wind lifted the snow and swirled it around them like the inside of a snow globe and…Cas was five, the wind chapping her cheeks red as Brodie pulled her on the toboggan.

She was eight, sitting in an igloo, warm on Ben’s lap while Brian recited the Snow Queen to her from memory.

She was eighteen, watching the snow fall from her hospital room, waiting to see which of her brothers was coming to visit her. They took turns. They cancelled their flights home, even though they all had lives to return to: Brodie senior year of college, Ben grad school, Brian a new job. Ben brought cards and taught her how to play gin. Brian carried in stacks of magazines and books, and they sat in the common room and read. His hand never left her shoulder for the entire visit, his thumb moving in slow, soothing circles. Brodie brought her chocolate and cookies and sat across from her, massaging her hands and pretending not to cry.

She was thirty-five, soon to be divorced, learning—bit by bit—the intricate vocabulary of love.