I wander downstairs again, my legs carrying me over to the kitchen where I'm greeted by the smell of cinnamon and chocolate. I sniff the air tentatively.
Valerie is standing at the counter, rolling out some sort of dough. I don't know the first thing about baking, but if it smells good, I'll eat it.
I creep up on her, but she doesn't even flinch when she senses my presence. I plop my behind on the counter next to her, watching as she cuts shapes into the dough.
"Where's my dad?" I ask to break the silence.
"He had some work to do, but will be back in time for dinner," Valerie explains. She dusts her hands with a sprinkling of flour as I watch her, intrigued by her actions.
"Why'd you do that?" I ask, reaching for the dough to take a piece, but she slaps my hand away with a spatula. For some reason, it makes me smile.
"So the dough doesn't stick to the surface," she explains, pointing her spatula at me like some wicked witch. "Don't eat that stuff, it'll make you sick."
"But I'm hungry," I complain, feeling annoyed.
"Then you better help me with dinner," Valerie suggests. I ponder her words for a little while, realizing I have nothing better to do.
We put the cookies in the oven and she explains what we'll be making – chicken parmesan with linguine. It all sounds foreign to me. My mom doesn't cook at home – we usually end up getting takeout or just eating out. She's too busy to do stuff like this.
But as we start cooking, I kind of find myself liking the process. And Valerie doesn't push me to do anything, either. It's kind of nice talking to her, and by the time we've finished, I've told her about Susie and some of the other girls at the beach.
"She got them for her eighteenth," I smile. "Can you believe that?"
Valerie shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips. "I hope she isn't giving you any ideas." She gives me a scrutinizing look, which is so serious it makes me laugh.
I point at my own boobs. They've grown a lot in the past year – I went from being a barely-there A-cup to an overflowing C. "Do I need to get these babies resized?" I ask, winking at Valerie, who laughs out loud, shaking her head.
She hands me a spoon and I try the sauce, giving her a thumbs-up to say I like it. We set the table, and pretty soon, I hear a key turning in the lock and Daddy strolls into the kitchen.
As soon as he sees me and Valerie together, he stops in his tracks and gives me a strange look. Always full of suspicion. "What?" My voice is defensive.
"Cassidy is helping me cook," Valerie is quick to explain, and I like the way she winks at me. Makes me feel like I can trust her.
Dad raises his eyebrows when he pecks me on the cheek, but he doesn't say another word. He excuses himself to get ready for dinner and in about ten minutes, all of us are sitting down at the table, getting ready to dig in.
All of us, except for Dom, that is.
We've all dug into our food when he strolls into the room, bursting into laughter when he spots me. I shoot him an evil glare.
"You look like a human strawberry," he points out, and because I am a kid, I poke my tongue out at him.
Sitting down with the rest of us, he digs into his dinner too, and comments how good it is. That makes me grin, and Valerie winks at me across the table, knowing I had a hand in that. Not that Dom's compliment was meant for me, anyway.
"Did you hear there's a band in town?" Daddy asks between bites.
"Which band?" I ask, already bored. I'm sure no one good would come to this small town, anyway.
"I think they're called Lovely Heart?" Dad asks, scratching his head, and I'm already on my feet, screeching.
"Lonely Hearts? Lonely Hearts, Daddy?" I yell at the top of my voice as the three of them stare at me in wonder.
Okay, I get it – I'm always one for big reactions. But we're talking Lonely Hearts, my all-time favorite band. And if they're playing somewhere nearby, I'd give up a kidney to go see them.
"Yeah, I guess so. Are they any good?" Daddy asks, intrigued by my jumping up and down. He steadies me with a hand and I sit back down, still feeling giddy.
"They're the best!" I gush. "They're kind of a mix of indie and rock and a bit of electronic… Oh, I just love them so much!"
Dom snorts on the other side of the table and I glare at him. "What?"
"You're such a fan girl," he shakes his head. "They're a goddamned boy band that twelve-year-olds listen to. Oh, I guess it makes sense that you like them, then." He gives me an evil smile.