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“I think it was an orange cat.”
“Could’ve been her,” I said. “Orange and black look really similar in the dark.”
“If I had a choice between wearing a black shirt to bike aroundthe neighborhood at night, or wearing orange, I feel like one of those choices is smarter than the other.”
“Maybe save color theory for the art teacher,” I said, but then the cat emerged from under the car, scurrying back into the woods behind the house. “Okay, that catwasorange, though.”
Sam didn’t sayI told you so, which was to his credit. He just put his arm around me, drawing me closer to give me a quick kiss on the head, before releasing me again, as though he knew I was hit-or-miss on physical contact. The problem was, though, that with Sam I was pretty much alwayshit. I thought back to my conversation with Alison, the novel idea that if you wanted something sometimes all it took was toaskfor it. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“I feel like the worst cat owner on the planet,” I said instead. “Cat mom? I don’t know what to even call myself. Whatever it is, I’m the worst.”
“You’re not.”
“I buried my hamster in his little spite house,” I said. “Seriously, I shouldn’t have pets.”
Sam actually stumbled a little over a crack in the sidewalk. “Jesus,” he said. “Howoldwere you?”
“Maybe ten?” Then I saw Sam’s face, and saw the miscommunication that must’ve happened. “Oh god. The hamster was dead. I didn’t bury himalive.”
“You do have that thing with Edgar Allan Poe,” Sam said. “You can’t blame me for jumping to conclusions.”
“I’m just not cut out for this.” It was straight-up dark by now, and I worried we’d never find the damn cat. And sure, maybe she’d come back tomorrow, lying in front of my door flicking hertail, looking up at me like,What are you so upset for?But maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d get hit by a car, or attacked by a coyote, or get so lost she couldn’t find her way back. Maybe the brief domestication I’d foisted upon her was the worst possible thing I could’ve done, a way to dull her best street instincts just when she’d need them most.
“I can’t take care of something else,” I went on. “I can’t worry if she’s eating right, or if she needs to socialize with other cats, or whether I’m fulfilling her existential need to roam. I can’t watch her get older and wait to see what the vet has to say about the weird bump. Sam, if I take in this cat, I’m basically saying I am going to watch herdieone day. That is insane. My mom was totally right not to let me bring home that sick Russian blue, because that is some existential shit. It might even be for the best that she got out? Maybe she’s truly happier out here, and we were never meant to spend our lives together. It’s like one of those movies where at the end the two characters don’t end up with each other, and at first you’re like,the fuck?, but then you realize that it was literally in the title and the marketing and even the musical cues told you this was going to be a story about people who were in each other’s lives for a short time just to help them learn something about life or love or whatever—”
“Phoebe,” Sam said.
“I hate those movies. Especially when one of them dies in a truly freak accident. The fuck outta here with your emotionally manipulative shit.”
“Phoebe,”Sam said, with more emphasis this time, his hand on the small of my back as he pointed toward my house. We’d made a complete loop around the neighborhood and I’d been toowrapped up in my own thoughts to even effectively look for the cat I’d gone out to find.
But there she was, draped across my front step, licking her paw. She looked up at us with atook you long enoughexpression, as though this had been a game the whole time.
“She came back,” I said, and burst into tears.
?I CRIED Adisproportionate amount for a cat who’d been lost for a few hours, an amount that suggested that it probably wasn’t all about the cat. It all hit me at once—my dad dying and the years I’d lost with my brother and the way my friendship with Alison had ended and now this stupid cat, who immediately scurried to her place at the windowsill the moment we were in the house.
There was nowhere tositanymore, except my desk chair and my bed, so as if by mutual agreement Sam and I went into the bedroom, where he sat next to me on my narrow twin mattress.
“Hey,” Sam said, rubbing my back. “It’s okay. She’s here. She’s safe.”
I shook my head. I wanted to explain that it wasn’t just the cat, but I didn’t know how to put it all into words. My throat was tight and hot, and I swiped at my eyes, trying to will the tears to stop coming.
“Youarecut out for this,” Sam said. “You’re doing just fine. She got out. It happens. But you’ve already taken her to the vet and switched foods once because she didn’t seem to like the first food, and you obviously care about her.”
He was so close I could see the pulse in his throat, the way his overlong hair curled at the nape of his neck. It was wild, thatsomeone could be a complete stranger, and then just weeks later be one of the most important people in your life.
“I can hear your brain working,” Sam said, so softly it was almost a whisper.
I leaned forward to press my lips to that spot in his throat, the jump under his skin.
“I don’t want to think,” I said. “I just want tofeel.”
I pulled on the hem of his shirt, impatient until he lifted it over his head and tossed it on the floor, forgotten. He had such a great chest, warm and strong but not overly muscled; no protein powder for Sam. I splayed one hand over his heart, feeling the rhythmic beat beneath my fingertips.
Sam reached up, encircling my wrist with his hand, his thumb at the pulse point there, pressing my palm harder against his skin. “Phoebe,” he said, and there was something different in the way he said my name. He wasn’t telling me to stop, and he wasn’t telling me to go. It was more like he was telling me to stay right here, in this moment. Like there was something special about it.
Inexplicably, tears pricked the back of my eyes, but I was done crying. I didn’t want Sam to see me like this.Ididn’t want to see me like this. My gaze dropped to his mouth, almost hesitant, as if asking for permission. When I looked back up, his blue eyes were a definiteyes.They were his sexy bedroom eyes, dark and hungry, but there was more behind them than just sex. There was more to hisyesthan just this moment.
