“I miss Cat Stevens,” I admit after Deiss tells me he used to have a dog. He’s been trying to describe his old pet as well as the pictures would if we were allowed to use our phones, and there’s something about his attention to detail that’s squeezed at my heart. “I know it’s silly—he barely tolerated me when he was living rent-free in my home—but I still look for him every time we walk to the shop, like he’s out there somewhere, searching for me.”
“Maybe we should go check some shelters and see if he’s shown up at one of them.”
“I’ve emailed them all his picture,” I say, keeping my eyes firmly on the road in case the stinging in them means they’re getting red. We’ve just entered my hometown, which doesn’t help with my nostalgia.
“You have?”
I nod. “Surprisingly, not one of them ignored my message. They were nice enough to respond, but none of them have seen him.”
“I’m sorry, Liv.”
“It’s fine. He’s probably happier being on his own.”
“Maybe,” he says agreeably. “I mean, I’m sure he misses you, but I’ve heard cats can be . . .”
“What?” I glance over, amused to discover how awkward he suddenly looks. “Skittish? Haughty?”
“Assholes.” He lifts his hands unapologetically. “I didn’t say it.”
“You repeated it, though,” I say with a laugh. “So, what? You hate cats?”
“I don’t hate them,” he says. “They just remind me of squirrels.”
“And what’s your issue with squirrels?”
He grimaces. “They remind me of rats.”
“Gross.”
“Exactly.”
On impulse, I turn toward the animal shelter in town. “I can change your mind.”
“About cats? Trust me, you can’t,” he says confidently. “But if you want to try your powers of persuasion, feel free. If it helps, I can tell you that I’m easily influenced by naked body parts.”
“Do you really think I’m going to use my breasts to convince you to like cats?”
“Maybe?” He grins. “I like to imagine breasts could appear at any time. It gets me out the door in the morning.”
I roll my eyes, and ten minutes later, we’re sitting on a concrete floor, surrounded by cats. The air reeks of litter and pet food, and the meows compete with the barking of dogs from another room. A tiny white kitten is nestled against Deiss’s chest, but it’s the big ball of fur batting at the hem of my skirt that’s making us laugh.
“Have you wronged her in some way we’re unaware of?” Deiss asks. “Is that why she’s waging war on you?”
“I think your friends were right,” I say. “She’s just an asshole.”
“You love her, though.” He pets the kitten, his hand larger than her body, and I can tell by the softness in his eyes that he feels it, too.
“I do.” I scoop the feral little cat up and press my cheek into her fur. For a moment, she stills, but then she wriggles around and swipes at my face. “She’s perfect.”
“I’m naming mine Baby Squirrel,” he says, peering down at the tiny purring creature. “What are you naming yours?”
“Fluff Daddy.” I put her in my lap, and she tries to bite my finger. “If she were nicer, I’d do as she asked and call her F. Diddy.”
“Way to assert your dominance,” Deiss says. “It’s important to establish yourself as the alpha.”
“I think that’s dogs.” I squint at him. “And if that’s what you’re trying to do, you’ll need to try a lot harder. Baby Squirrel clearly has you wrapped around her little finger.”
“I can’t help it,” he says. “She’s so sweet.”
I resist the urge to inform him I was just thinking the same thing about him.
* * *
—
Deiss slips his hand around mine as we leave the car for the house I grew up in. It’s early afternoon. Clouds have slipped over the sun, turning the day hazy. The lawn is more dirt than grass, and the grass that has survived is brittle and yellowed. The house itself seems smaller than I remember it, likely because I’m viewing it through Deiss’s eyes. Before we reach the door, my mom throws it open, cheerleader-clapping with excitement. She looks beautiful, if a little faded. Her makeup has been so well applied, I can’t see the lines around her eyes until she’s close enough to wrap her arms around me.