Page 111 of Checking Out the Librarian

Without a roll of tape, he managed to fold the flaps underneath each other into a semblance of closed and heave the box back on the stack from whence it came.

Note to future Jonathan: don’t unpack old shit before finding that new therapist.

Kitten could keep using the cozy little box from the library.

An hour later, he took a bite of the stir fry he’d made from leftover rice, eggs, the liquid at the bottom of a jar of kimchi, and part of a bag of mixed frozen peas and carrots that he couldn’t remember buying, let alone opening. It was adequate. Cooked rice was good indefinitely, he was certain.

Connor would have used fresh carrots, made the egg both better and more authentic, and probably pulled green onions from his garden and something randomly delicious like cashews out of his cupboard if tasked to create a dish from simple leftovers. At least Jonathan had used soy sauce, jarred garlic, and ginger paste. He was unskilled, but not bland.

For fuck’s sake, his cooking was as basic as Connor’s skin care. Not the worst it could be, because he hadn’t microwaved the rice in a plastic container, drizzled soy sauce directly onto it, and eaten it standing at the sink. But he’d grown accustomed to eating at Connor’s, doing the prep Connor directed him to do, and tonight, alone, was…not that.

Kitten was offline sleeping, and not an available distraction.

What had he done for dinners last month before he’d started spending every available moment with Connor? The time before Connor felt like a different era, although it could be measured in a handful of weeks.

He would have sat at this same counter, on the same stool, with the same view, minus the kitten snoozing in a box on the floor. And he would have maybe had an expired newspaper that he’d snagged from the library recycling, or a book, or his e-reader.

He would have been immersed in a world created by someone else, but tonight those were too large of a commitment for his brain.

Kitten could stare at Jonathan with his supernaturally large eyes, make Jonathan laugh, do a big stretch, and show his tummy, which were also all things that Jonathan appreciated about Connor, but Jonathan missed the more that he felt when he was around Connor. The teasing they shared, the touches, the whole-body attention that Connor gave, and Connor’s cooking.

He definitely missed that.

But he missed Connor more.

He didn’t even want his phone. He wanted to have Connor on the stool next to him, being big and occupying space with his laughter and shining light with his smile.

He looked at the furniture. With the exception of the reupholstered chaise, it wasn’t as nice as Connor’s. That was fine.

The white baseboards were dinged in places, he knew that, but it was a rented apartment. He’d started working three days after he’d moved in and he hadn’t had time to repaint. That had been a goal for this month, but then Connor happened.

Connor wouldn’t care about the baseboards. Neither would Lily. He could have one of them over. No one but Jonathan would even notice the baseboards.

His neck prickled where his hair touched it, and his chest felt tight, so he looked down into the box where Kitten slept. Its whole body rose and fell in time with its breathing. An ear twitched. The tip of its tail twitched.

Watching the kitten was like doing nothing and doing everything all at the same time.

He could ask Connor to come over. They could sit on the couch. Also, Jonathan had nice bedding, that was true. He’d have to scrub the shower first, though. Really scrub.

But having Connor over meant having Ribby over. They were a package, and he wasn’t ready for the big-mouthed, full-set-of-teeth Ribby to meet his baby cat. Good dogs were still dogs.

Kitten opened its big eyes and looked up at him, then wobbled to its feet. Bottle? Its little stretched out mew asked.

“I can get you a bottle. I can do that.”

In moments, they were on the couch, a towel across his lap while he supported Kitten and the bottle. He felt his breathing adjust to Kitten’s bottle noises.

When this was finished, he would ask. His apartment was good enough. It wasn’t perfect, but also, it wasn’t his subdivided sublet in New York, it was his, only his, and it was nice enough. It was.

They did the Kitten potty thing in the shower tub combo, because he could bleach the literal shit out of that white fiberglass five times a day if he had to. And then they went back to the couch to add to the day’s tally of cozy cuddles and texting.

Connor

What about Viscount of Pawsley?

Jonathan

What about no, not that.