Page 68 of Hold the Pickle
I realized earlier that with the bed against the wall, I could sleep with them on the inside, and the kittens weren’t in danger of falling.
But I simply say, “I guess so.”
I don’t miss how he swallows hard, even though he hadn’t taken a bite. He’s thinking about it, all of us in the bed.
I am, too.
We finish half the pizza and put the rest away, then warm a round of kitten formula and each take two kittens to feed. Soon, we won’t need this routine. The kittens can start solid foods now that they aren’t so weak. Then Mama Cat can really recover.
They’re going to be fine.
Dalton showers as I pick up the formula from the feeding. When he comes out, I go in, deciding a quick shower would be good for me, too, since we will be in such close proximity.
The room smells of him. The herbal shampoo, a woodsy body wash. I close my eyes, letting the water wash over me, cocooned in the warmth of where he just was.
Naked.
And now I’m here.
Naked.
An ache spreads through me. I haven’t dated anyone seriously in two years. I had a boyfriend in college. When I graduated and left to get my MBA, we tried staying together as a long-distance relationship.
But the time apart revealed how little we had in common when we couldn’t Netflix and chill the night away. Our phone conversations became texts. Then those became fewer. We didn’t break up so much as stop talking, until one day he said it seemed like we were done, and I agreed.
Not bad, as far as endings go.
We haven’t talked since, although every once in a while I feel this twinge of having known someone so well, so intimately, and now I don’t know them at all. I couldn’t tell you where he lives. What he’s doing.
I don’t remember what he puts on pizza.
I’ve dallied longer than I intended. Dalton may already be asleep.
For some reason, this upsets me, so I hurriedly turn off the water and towel dry.
I had pinned my hair up rather than wash it, but I let it fall, soft and damp on the edges. I brush my teeth, wondering if he’s awake. If he’s anticipating me sleeping on the bed with him.
Or if the darn cats have finally decided to curl up in their own bed and I’m not needed.
That would suck.
I shouldn’t have worried on any count. When I leave the bathroom, the small kitchen light is on, but the rest of the room is bathed in darkness. It’s been a good compromise since we have been getting up to feed the kittens.
I can see the form of Dalton on the bed. I peer into the crate.
His voice is low. “They’re all up here. Ferris has already tried to tumble off twice.”
My belly quivers as I approach the bed. “Ferris is the wiliest of them all.”
“I concur.”
My eyes adjust. Dalton lies against the wall, all six cats dead center on the bed.
“I can be on the edge,” he says.
“I like it over here.”
“Then we officially have sides,” he says.
