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“Don’t doubt it for a second,” I say.
And I don’t. As long as I’m with Jess, everything is good stuff.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jess
It’s not weird to be holding hands with an old friend.
Old friends hold hands all the time!
I can’t actually remember any friends I’vepersonallyheld hands with, or occasions when I’ve witnessed people I know to be just friends with their fingers entwined, but that’s probably because I wasn’t paying attention.
Humans are notorious for only seeing what we’re expecting to see. Confirmation bias—subconsciously latching on to things that support our world view while failing to notice things that don’t—is probably one of the biggest problems facing humanity’s evolution.
If we aren’t even absorbing all the data available in a given situation, how can we ever hope to evaluate it fairly and come to logical conclusions?
I say as much to Sam, who has several interesting things to add involving a study on confirmation bias in parliament members in the Netherlands, reminding me why I loved hanging out with him so much when we were kids.
He’s the only person I’ve ever met who hordes knowledge the way I do. And not because he’s trying to impress anyone or training to win a million bucks on Jeopardy. He’s just curious, like I am, and invested in doing this whole “being human” thing better than it’s been done thus far.
I ask him what he thinks about dark matter and the ensuing debate about what all the invisible mass clogging the universe might actually be—and what its purpose and function is within the still largely mysterious ecosystem of space—carries us all the way to the sunny concrete patio outside the Brooklyn Library. There, all the furry, purry darlings a girl could want are roaming a plastic-paneled enclosure filled with cat towers, balls, fluffy beds, and several dishes of water and dry food.
Biting back an excited squeal at the sight of at least four kittens mixed in with the older cats, I drop Sam’s hand and pull my application from my bag, starting for the line at the potential foster-parent check-in desk with a bounce in my step.
When he sees where I’m headed, Sam laughs. “You’re finally pulling the trigger on your Cat Lady fantasy, huh? Should I be worried?”
“Worried about what?” I ask, sliding my sunglasses atop my head in the shade of the tent covering the desk. “That I’ll form a loving interspecies bond with a precious fur baby who will fill the holes in my heart with snuggles, joy, and cat hair?”
“No, just concerned you might have a hard time working from home with a new fur baby around,” he says, his expression sobering as he adds, “But if you have holes in your heart, you should definitely try to fill them. I’ll support that any day.”
“I was joking,” I say, even though I’m not entirely sure I was.
I try not to think about my heart too often—illogical things like hearts aren’t my realm of natural expertise—but when I do think about it, there always seems to be an ache there these days. Maybe it’s the fact that all my best friends are falling in love, moving on, and soon, moving out, while I stay stuck in the same routines I’ve had since high school. Maybe it’s just the bad work environment hangover from my garbage job making me feel odd and incapable.
But whatever it is, I don’t intend to discuss it with Sam. I intend to enjoy Sam’s company and thenenjoy Sam’s company.Touchy-feely discussions and conversations about my Swiss cheese heart aren’t part of that equation.
“And don’t worry, I’m not adopting today,” I add, pushing up on tiptoes to peek over the woman in front of me, wrinkling my nose as I see her filling out the paperwork. I filled mine out ahead of time, as the volunteer website requested. Turning back to Sam, I explain, “This event is for people who want to foster animals until there’s room for them at a no-kill shelter in the area. You get all the fun of a fur baby and none of the commitment. It’s perfect for someone in between jobs.”
“As long as you don’t get attached,” he says, a warning in his tone.
“No worries there, I don’t get attached,” I say, a different kind of warning in mine.
Making a mental note not to hold Sam’s hand again or give him any other reason to believe I’ve changed my mind about our “one and done” agreement, I step forward, handing my paperwork to the now-free volunteer. “Jessica Cho. I think we might have spoken on the phone. Are you Amy?”
The pink-cheeked redhead’s face lights up. “Yes, we did, and I am! So great to meet you. And I’m so glad you came early. We’re here until eight, but Mallory is picking up the kittens in about an hour. They’re too young to be out in the sun all afternoon, even if it is a cool day. And I know you were interested in a kitten.”
“I am,” I say, barely biting back a squeal. “I’m so excited, I might have to take a time-out in the cat pen. With all the cats. Hopefully crawling and purring all over me.”
Laughing, she stands, motioning for me to follow her over to the enclosure. “Of course! Four people can go in at a time. Things are pretty slow right now, so I won’t put you two on a timer. I’ll let you visit until we have another person ready for a meet and greet and give you a five-minute heads-up.” She opens the sliding plastic gate, granting Sam and I access into a little fenced-in entry area where we wait until she closes the gate behind us, ensuring no furry friends will escape when Sam and I open the smaller gate into the main play area. “Have fun and don’t fall in love with more than two. We have a two-cat limit for new foster parents.”
“Got it,” I say, giving her a thumbs-up. I play it cool until she turns to go. Then, I turn to Sam, my eyes going round as I whisper, “Two! I didn’t know I could have two. Should I warn Evie and Harlow that I’m bringing home two instead of one or should I just haul the carriers back to the apartment on pickup day next week and surprise them? I mean, forgiveness is easier than permission, right?”
“Why don’t you wait and see if two speak to you,” he says as we step into the larger space. “And make a decision then.”
“Two are definitely going to speak to me,” I say, sinking into a squat with a coo as a fat orange cat with a notch in his ear and only one front fang comes strolling up to me with a grin on his face. “Oh my goodness, hello there, handsome. Aren’t you the most beautiful boy ever to set foot on the earth.” He begins to purr in response to my neck scratches and my heart melts into a happy, future-cat-lady puddle in my chest. “This is it. He’s the one. One of two,” I whisper as Sam crouches down beside me and Handsome immediately swings his chubby butt over so Sam can pet him, too.
“He’s a beauty all right,” Sam says, running a hand gently over the cat’s arched back. His giant man hands make even Mr. Chubs look tiny in comparison, and I experience an odd flutter between my hips in response to watching Sam love on my new foster cat.
