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“Oh, well yes, I can totally understand that.” Mom smiles when Prince Francis trots over and winds himself around her legs, meows, and flops over on his side, showing her his belly. “What a flirt you are.” She crouches and gives him a chin rub before she sets a small dessert cup in front of him containing flaked tuna.
The three of us watch as he gobbles it up. I bring the rest of his gear into the house and set his litter box up in the basement. The cat door from when we had Smokey still works, so I show Prince Francis how to use it and let him sniff around, checking out his new surroundings room by room.
Eventually I take him upstairs to my bedroom, where he explores for a few seconds before trotting off down the hall. Hattie steps into my room, wearing a ridiculous grin.
“Why are you so excited about this?” I can feel my face flushing. I wish my embarrassment could stay in my head and not be so obvious.
“You have a boyfriend, and based on how much you’re blushing, he’s not a disappointment in the sack, and now we have a cat to take care of! This is like a day made of awesome! Let’s go shopping for cat sweaters.”
I grab my purse and Hattie grabs hers, and we head downstairs. Mom is sitting in the living room with Prince Francis curled up in her lap, looking like she won the lottery.
“What does Miles do for a living again? Does he have his own place?” Hattie asks as we drive toward the strip mall on the other side of town.
“He’s a data analyst for the NHL, and yes, he has his own place. He lives in an apartment in the city, which is good, because I obviously can’t bring him home for the night unless I want it to be all kinds of awkward in the morning.” The thought of having Miles stay the night in my bedroom, which hasn’t changed much since high school, is mortifying. “I need to redecorate my room.”
“Or you could move out? Get an apartment? Unless the cat care business isn’t cutting it for you moneywise?” Hattie asks.
“It’s not that. I mean, obviously I’m not going to get rich taking care of other people’s pets, but it pays the bills. Plus I have a few sponsors now, so that keeps costs down and raises my bottom line. And I have some money saved.” A good chunk actually.
“You just don’t want to spend the money on rent?” Hattie presses. “That’s why I went to college close to home instead of living in the city. I want to avoid debt as much as possible.”
“Living at home might not be a party, but it’s financially responsible.” I did the same thing.
“Exactly.” Hattie gives me a small, uncertain smile. “And I know that you’ve stuck around to help Mom with the finances, but the house is paid for, and my college is paid for. You don’t have to keep putting your life on hold to make sure everyone else is okay indefinitely, Kitty.”
Our parents put money aside for our education. Not quite enough to cover tuition fully, especially after Dad died, but with part-time jobs, grants, and scholarships, both Hattie and I were able to walk out of college mostly debt-free, which is huge. And one of the reasons I stayed in the house, even after I graduated. My mom didn’t want us to walk out of school and into life with loans hanging over our heads.
It means that everything that hasn’t gone into my business start-up has gone in the bank. I have a decent amount of money set aside. It would be tight, but I could probably carry a mortgage on my own. My own place would mean being able to expand my business. “I just . . . I know the internship you have next semester is in the city. And I’m sure it will turn into a job offer.”
“What does that have to do with your own plans?”
“I don’t want to leave Mom on her own.”
Hattie pulls into the strip mall parking lot and finds a spot near the Pet Emporium. They sell everything from food to litter, and they also have an adorable boutique shop with specialty treats and pet apparel. She shifts the car into park and looks at me, still gripping the steering wheel. “Can I say something?”
“I have a feeling I already know what you want to say.” I clutch my purse, which happens to have a cat face on it.
“Want me to say it anyway?”
“Sure.”
“Is it really about not wanting to leave Mom on her own, or about you being afraid to leave?”
“Probably a bit of both, with a stronger lean toward being afraid.” I sigh. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Ever since I started sitting for Prince Francis. I look at Miles’s mom’s house and see parallels with ours. His brother has been gone for almost two decades, and his room has never changed. It’s the same as it was when he died. Just like our house is the same. And for a while it felt comfortable, like if nothing changed, then maybe it would be easier to stay close to Dad, even though he’s gone. But now . . . I don’t know. Instead of preserving his memory, I’m stuck in the past and too afraid of the future to live in the present.”
