Thanks, cat.
I just needed to act normal. Get dressed. Walk out like we’d simply eaten dinner and then I’d gone to bed like a civil adult. No big deal.
I followed the sound of his meowing, stomach in knots, head full of practiced excuses.
But I needn’t have worried.
The place was empty.
My clothes were folded neatly on the kitchen table. My phone rested beside them, and on top of it all was a note. Just a simple, square slip of paper.
Had to run.
Made coffee.
Just pull the door for it to lock.
–J.
I stared at it.
That was it?
No “Hope you slept well.” No “Sorry about last night.” Not even a cheekysee you around.
Just three clipped lines and a clear message:Show yourself out.
Understood.
I leaned against the table, unlocked my phone. The screen flared to life—thank Bowie.
Otis had sent a flurry of messages full of exclamation marks, winky faces, and entirely too many eggplant emojis.
Mom had texted.Just checking in—which meantCall me immediately.
But from John? Nothing.
Which was... fine.
It was.
Totally, utterly, fine.
I got dressed, filled a cup to the brim with John’s annoyingly perfect coffee, and called Otis.
“Has someone died?” Otis answered, no hello.
I sipped.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you hate calling.”
He wasn’t wrong. I never called him. But something about today made me crave his voice—warm, familiar, grounding. I wanted to tell him everything. How I’d almost kissed John. Like some lovesick schoolgirl dying to spill secrets about her crush to her bestie. It was pathetic. I had to rein it in.
“Just…missed you.”
“Haha, sure.” He clearly didn’t believe a word. “Where are you? I’ll pick you up for brunch.”
