Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 47287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Cassidy waved her off. "It’ll be a good distraction."
Rest, she was right, was the only thing that could ameliorate his symptoms—if however slightly—but rest was also the thing that gave him a chance to concentrate on them. On how his body felt, how it should feel, and the vast, ungovernable space between. Besides, he’d just get zapped by the fluorescents the next two days anyway.
No, resting wasn’t on Cassidy’s to-do list until Craftmas was over. Then he could nurse the postdrome in a haze of NyQuil and solitude because no one would need him. No one would be depending on him. He wouldn’t have to try and hide his misery for the comfort of the people who loved him.
They’d made candle holders until Nora’s fingertips blistered and the box that held vertebrae was empty, and then made a sign with a scannable QR code that led to a page on Nora’s website where they would direct people to place orders in case they sold out again.
Now, as the doors opened and the second day of Craftmas began, Cassidy flipped the switch in his brain that relegated his physical discomfort to a background sensation by way of accepting that he had to be here and there was no way out of his pain. Cassidy had learned a long time ago that necessity was the mother of dissociation and, much like his own mother, could not be reasoned with, so he didn’t try.
From the moment the doors opened, the energy was electric. Day one of Craftmas was for first timers, casual enthusiasts, and locals. But day two was the make or break—the day when people who scouted the booths on day one were now ready to buy; the day groups of friends who’d attended for years came in unique DIY costumes or matching Christmas shirts found on Etsy or Target or Walmart or Amazon and therefore identical to everyone else’s.
There were bachelorette party-style tiaras and sashes with rhinestone announcements on them, jingle bells attached to every imaginable surface, sweaters and scarves and hats that made Cassidy felt overly warm just by looking at them.
These groups insisted on taking pictures with the crafts, costumes, and people they liked, which was how Cassidy found himself the unofficial photographer of The Dirt Road Cat Shelter’s adoptable cats whenever he wasn’t telling people about his work.
He took pictures of so many people with the cats that he started to get annoyed that they were treating living creatures like props. But River didn’t seem to mind as long as the cats didn’t. As Cassidy would hand back the cell phones, they would tell people to tag the shelter when they posted the pictures on their socials.
"You never know what will make someone fall in love," they said after a couple in coordinated Santa and Mrs. Claus sweatshirts that announced, respectively, I Do it for the Ho’s (which Cassidy was pretty sure wasn’t grammatically correct), and Santa’s Favorite, walked away in search of their next photo op.
They did not adopt the cat they took a picture with, an adorable black cat with a white band at its throat, named Priest. But a little boy who’d been watching them from a few feet away approached in their wake.
"Can I pet him?" the kid asked, and River, who was still holding Priest, crouched down so the kid could reach for the cat.
The kid held Priest tenderly to his chest and shivered with glee when Priest put a small paw on his shoulder.
"He likes you," River murmured.
The kid’s face transformed into the face of someone who is liked, and something behind Cassidy’s rib cage fluttered perplexingly. Before he had a chance to banish the feeling, much less figure out what it meant, two things happened: the loudspeaker screamed with feedback and the kid startled.
In that moment of distraction, Priest darted out of his grasp and disappeared into the sea of red and green.
The boy looked up at River, utterly horrified, and River returned the expression.
"I’m sorry," he said as an adult came over and put a hand on his shoulder.
"It’s not your fault," River managed, but their wide eyes were panicked.
River peered into the crowd and took off in the direction Priest had gone. Cassidy took off after River.
"I’ll help you," he offered.
River nodded absently, barely looking up as they stalked through the corridors, stooped and desperate, scanning.
"Have you seen a black cat?" Cassidy asked people. None of them had.
"Maybe he’ll come back," Cassidy offered, placing a gentle hand on River’s shoulder. River shrugged him off and kept walking.
Just then, Cassidy saw a tiny black fluffball dart between a display of Krampus ornaments and a busy fudge counter.
"There!"
He pointed and took off, River close on his heels. But within seconds the cat had disappeared once more into the crowd. River swore and spun around in a circle, looking.