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“So how is my Frances Furbottom?” I ask, cheery and bright.
He sets a hand on my upper back and rubs it affectionately. “We had a good visit. I can cat-sit anytime.”
With Donut at my feet, I follow Dad into the place I grew up, where he offers me an apple and an ear. As I eat the Cosmic Crisp, I tell him all the details about the festival, how it went, how I’m doing, and where I’m going to live. I tell him that Ivy got me into her old place, and she actually said I can move in right away.
“If you need any help let me know,” he says.
There is something I need since I have zero furniture. “Actually, do you have an air mattress?”
“That I do.” He’s always been glad to be useful.
After he brings me the air mattress in a box, he retrieves his grandcat, carrying her in his arms, stroking her tabby head and cooing to her. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. “Now you be a good girl with my daughter, okay? Don’t knock mugs off the counter like you did here. And don’t eat all the toilet paper.”
He’s fighting a losing battle.
Gently, he tucks her into her cat carrier, adding a little pink blanket. He walks me to the door, pauses, then says, “Those boys seemed…nice enough.”
“They really are.”
It’s not a blessing for a romance. But it doesn’t have to be. It’s enough that he likes my friends.
I head down the steps with my little pet family when something strikes me. I turn back to him. “Dad, you should really ask Clara out on a date.”
His lips twitch. He tries to rearrange his expression. Maybe to hide his feelings. “We’re just friends.”
I shake my head, standing my ground. “No, you’re not. And I’m pretty sure she’d say yes.”
He’s quiet for several seconds, then he gives a nod. “Maybe I will.”
“You’d better.”
I hop in my car with my fur babies, put on my shades, and blast my road-trip music.
I’m not that girl who’s singing at the top of her lungs because she’s exuberant. I’m singing at the top of my lungs so I don’t cry as I drive.
That night I lie down in a too quiet apartment, in a too small bed in my new home, wishing I weren’t so alone.
But at least there’s a cat draped over my head and a dog curled up against me.
In the morning, I do something about all this aloneness. I pick up my phone and send a text.
57
ALL HAIL THE QUEEN
Briar
I didn’t expect this reaction.
I’m at Doctor Insomnia’s on Fillmore Street, at a table in the back, finishing my story, when Trina makes the first move.
She pushes back in her chair. Stands, then bows down before me, we are not worthy style. Ivy abandons her vanilla latte to join her, like a supplicant. Aubrey goes next, setting down her mango smoothie with panache.
“All hail the queen,” Aubrey says.
I laugh. “Stop! Just stop!”
But they keep going, bowing and hailing to me. I flap my hands, urging them to their feet. “Get up. You’re in the middle of a coffee shop.”
