Page 74 of Gin and Bear It

He parks next to me and gets out. Like me, he’s wearing our light blue Stryker Liquors volunteer day T-shirt and jeans. But he’s volunteering somewhere else with the rest of the leadership team.

“Morning,” he says, sipping from his water bottle. “Wes told me you went off on a guy at the bar while you were working.”

A small thing I appreciate about JD is his willingness to keep niceties to a minimum. There’s no dancing around this.

“Yeah. He was being shitty to Jada. And just a dick.” I tuck my hands into my pockets and avoid his gaze.

“Mm.” He sips his water again and looks past my head. “We get a lot of assholes in the bar. You have to learn to manage your emotions when you’re working.”

His tone stings, like I’m a child being chastised. My defenses go up right away, and like a reflex, I start to speak. But he holds his hand up.

“But if someone were attacking Katrina, I’d have trouble keeping a lid on it, too,” he says. “Relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

No, I’m not. I’ve seen the way he looks at Katrina. Like she’s literally the only person that exists, and she’s perfect. Comparing how he feels about her with how I feel about Jada makes me want to get into my car and drive off. It’s not the same. Is it?

“No, you’re not,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You were about to say something. But I’m saying that while I don’t condone it, I see where you were coming from. Just don’t do it again. You can ask someone to leave if they’re stepping out of line. I’ve had to do it many times.”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“Just don’t do it again.” He checks his watch. “That’s it, I guess.”

“You had me come fifteen minutes early for a three-minute conversation?” I ask.

“I always put in buffer time for everything.” He glances at the building behind us. “Any questions so far about your job? You’ll be moving into the office soon.”

“Uh, not right now.” I run a hand through my hair.

“Aside from the incident, how have things been at the bar?”

“Fine. Good.” I shrug, feeling awkward in a way I can’t clearly define. “I like it, but I’m looking forward to seeing what life in the office is like.”

“Good.” He opens his car door. “See you in the office soon. And have a good day at the shelter.”

“Thanks.” I nod and step back so he can pull out.

I lean against my car door, trying to sort through my feelings. I expected a lecture, the kind of thing he’d have to give me back in high school when he was forced to drive me home after school. He’d needle on one point—mostly that he was annoyed he had to wait around for me to be out of detention to take me home, even though he just did his homework while he waited, or that I was going down the “wrong path.” Then that led to him basically implying that I was a useless dumbass.

But this was reasonable. And he didn’t make me feel like shit.

He related to me. He got me, for maybe one of the first times in our lives.

How unsettling.

I head inside before I’m late. The bartenders and the distillery team have been assigned to the shelter, so we’re crowded into the lobby. Eventually, a volunteer coordinator appears in a bright purple shirt, holding a clipboard.

“Hello, hello!” the woman, who might be around fifty, says. “We’re so excited y’all are here. Today, we’re going to be doing a mix of socializing with our animals and general shelter maintenance. We have both cats and dogs, so we’ll split you up into our cat folks and our dog folks, just to avoid smells crossing between the two.”

I want to hang out with the dogs because I miss Lady, but I get assigned to the cats. Another volunteer coordinator guides us to the cat side of the shelter. The space is a large room, with smaller rooms with glass doors adjacent to it. Crates line the walls, each with a cat inside. Some are meowing and moving around, but a lot of them are passed out asleep.

“Okay, these are our cats,” the coordinator says. “We’ve put info cards for each on the doors of their cages. The cards will tell you which cats are a little more sociable than others. But they’re all wonderful—this is just to help you gauge how you approach them so they’re happy. Let me get three or four of you first to help with the regular cleaning. The rest of you can visit with the cats, but please don’t remove any of them from their spaces until I give the go ahead.”

A few people step forward, and they disappear into one of the other rooms. It’s just me and some guys from the distillery now. I glance around at the cats, most of whom don’t give a shit that we’re here. Some kittens, who are housed together, meow and vie for our attention, so I squat down and let them sniff my fingers.

Then, I hear a meow that I can only describe as gravelly and look up.

It’s the cat that crashed through Jada’s ceiling, looking down at me. He really does look like Pip’s clone. But now that I know Pip better, I can see the differences—namely, that this cat has clearly seen some shit, wherever he came from. He’s not dirty, but the look in his eye is a little wary. Like he’s expecting me to pull a knife on him, which he’d immediately block with a swipe of his paws.