Page 18 of Kitten

“I’m sorry.” He fiddled with the bedsheet. “It’s the kind of thing I’d prefer not to know before meeting someone, I guess.”

I burrowed deeper into Silver. Layered beneath the perfume of her fur, close to her pale pink skin, was a nuttier, more animal smell. “Do you think it’s weird that you’re older than me?”

“No, I don’t think so. And it doesn’t matter what Julia thinks.”

“You just said she’s like your second mother.”

“Well, she’s not in our relationship. And she’s judging you based on shallow things.”

I grew alarmed. “Like my eye?”

“What? No, not at all. Work, for example.”

“Work.” I felt a wave of anger. “Why’d you have to bring up my collections?”

“Because I think you’re very artistic.”

“It made me come across like a total loser.”

“You’re so mean to yourself. You’re good at art. You could seriously pursue it if you wanted to. Isabelle knows some people, I’m sure she could connect you.”

This was not a new discussion topic. I resented how often James insisted on my ability to make a profession out of my art. Just because I was good at something didn’t mean I wanted to, or could, keep doing it.

Anytime I thought about jobs, or building a career, my chest felt overstuffed and empty at the same time. My mother and I never discussed what my life would look like outside of home, and in high school, when my counselor suggested I apply to a few out-of-state colleges, I actively hid the paperwork. Lou liked to say I waslucky.“You’re probably the only person in this school whose parents don’t care what their future looks like,” she said.

It was true that I’d gotten lucky in life. My English teacher offered to read over my college essays, and my counselor told me about my financial aid application the night before it was due. But maybe my luck wasn’t good.Maybe I wasn’t meant to have the things I got, because I didn’t know what to do after getting them.

James talked constantly about the significance of making choices, but outside of leaving Little Rock, I hadn’t chosen anything. I went to my university because it gave me the most money. I majored in communications because it was popular, easy, and so general as to not really constitute a choice. And I lived with Lou after graduation because I couldn’t afford anything else. Probably the only significant choice I made was inviting James back to my place when we first met, but I was blackout drunk. Besides, he would’ve never let someone in that state travel home alone.

James took my hand. Even if I had the energy to explain what I was feeling, I wasn’t sure I could find the right words. Mrs. Hartley’s voice resounded through my head:What do you think, Katie?Maybe she wasn’t trying to be cruel. Maybe I was too sensitive. I recalled Isabelle’s pained restraint, the poise with which she suffered each of her mother’s jabs. In comparison, my outburst felt insipid, shallow. I smushed my face into Silver’s fur again and wondered if I was self-possessed enough to suffocate myself.

“Please don’t feel bad.” James pulled my shoulder. “Isabelle adores you, she texted me saying as much.” He raised Silver in the air with one hand and used his other to wave her paw at me, like she was a puppet. In a squeaky voice that did not suit Silver at all, he said, “I think you’re great, Katie!”

I took her from James and let myself weep into her fragrant body. James stroked my hair and made shushing noises. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re okay.”

Silver’s eyes closed. Soon her breathing slowed, and she fell asleep. I let my eyes close, too, but not before looking at James one last time. Why was he with me? Mrs. Hartley’s instincts seemed correct: there was something imbalanced about our relationship. Every day, even now, I was taking something from him, his sincerity a vulnerability most people didn’t have. This I pictured as a downy patch of fur nestled deep between the folds of his heart, my finger poking through the dark, stroking until it became matted.

6

I was mildly hungover the next day. James said his beach run would only take thirty minutes, but an hour later, he was still out. Meanwhile, yesterday’s conversation with Mrs. Hartley replayed in my mind. James had said she cared about “work.” Like Lou, Mrs. Hartley was bothered by my lack of interest in the direction of my life.

In the living room, I sat with my knees crossed on the stiff lap of the couch and scrolled through job listings. Even scanning the descriptions made me nervous. There were so many different skills and abilities in the world. Did people really do all these things? I closed the tab. Then I emailed the payroll lady to chase my paycheck. After it sent, my inbox lit with an automatic reply. She was on vacation.

Sometimes, when Lou wanted to put off work, she scrolled through housing websites with the listings arranged by price, in order of high to low. This was her idea of motivation; she even uploaded screenshots of her favorite listings to Pinterest. I wasn’t as moved by the images of the nice houses as I was by their descriptions, plucked, it seemed, from synopses of romance films of a bygone era: an“intimate prewar loft antiquated with charm,” populated with characters like an “Italian live-in chef” and “twenty-four-hour doormen.” It touched me to imagine the restraint these twenty-four-hour doormen must possess, painfully chivalrous in matching clothes.

I went on Lou’s favorite housing website. Now that she was moving out, I wasn’t sure Anna would continue to rent me the room for cheap. I arranged the listings to appear in order of low price to high. The lowest price was a very high number. I closed the tab and returned reluctantly to the jobs website.

Silver pawed at my leg, the first time I’d seen her all day.Food,she seemed to say.

I can’t give you food, I thought, I have to make a life for myself.

She pawed harder.

“Shush.” I turned to her. “Can’t you just wait a second?”

Then she released a whine, low and tremulous like the air squeezing out of a balloon, the sound so pitiful it turned the whole room sad, and I felt so sorry for her I shoved my laptop aside and encased her in my arms. She shook against me, a furry heart. “Shh, shh,” I whispered. “What’s the matter with you?”

She looked at me, her eyes glistening.Food.