Guess I did tell lies, after all.
I ushered her toward the door, but before I could close it behind her, she turned and tossed her arms around my neck. "Everything will be okay, Calvin." I patted her back with one hand while the other hung limply at my side. "And if it's not, we'll fuck up some bull riders until it is, you got me?"
She pulled back, crossing her arms and staring at me.
"Whatever you say, Tink."
I forced a smile while she assessed me for way too long to be comfortable before she broke the silence.
"You did it."
"Did what?"
"Grew on me"—she smirked—"like mold."
I stoodin the middle of the bedroom and looked at the duffel on the bed.
I looked at the duffel for a long time.
Then I started packing.
Muscle memory had me movin' before my brain caught up. Top drawer first—socks, panties, countless sports bras, and the sole cute bra I owned. Middle drawer—t-shirts and a couple hoodies. Bottom drawer—jeans, rolled not folded, the way I'd done it since I was eighteen and sleeping in my truck. Bathroom next. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Deodorant. The face wash Sassy convinced me to order because my skin would thank me one day.
My first ever online delivery.
Brody's flannel I always threw on after our more naked activities was hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I didn't touch it.
Told myself it was because it was his, which was true.
Told myself that was the whole reason, which wasn't.
Cat padded in from the hallway and sat down in the doorway. Looked at the bag. Looked at me. Looked at the bag.
I turned my back on her and crouched in front of the closet, pulling out the boots I'd been kicking off into the bottom of it for the last couple months. The ankle boots I'd worn to Colleen's. Nike sneakers Brody bought me—so we couldmatch. And the cowboy boots Sassy had loaned me in week two—real ones, broken in, the leather soft at the ankle from years of her wearin' them before me.
I'd never given them back.
I'd meant to.
Hadn't.
I paired them up with automatic fingers and tried not to think about how there were more pairs of shoes in this closet than I'd owned since I was twelve.
Cat meowed once.
Short.
Pointed.
I didn't turn around.
I heard her get up. Heard the soft pad of her paws on the old floorboards, the little skip she did when she was movin' fast. She wound around my ankles once, twice—that silk-warm circle that had undone me in a kitchen in the dark not that long ago. Pressed her little head against my shin.
I stared at the closet wall.
She head-butted me again. Harder. Like she was tryna get my attention through a door she didn't know was locked.
I swallowed past the knot in my throat.
