Well, that was a lovely preview of what my life is going to be like from now on. If the guy who has apparently been stuck on me for the last decade and a half can’t even wrap his head around my past, how is the rest of the world going to react?
I sit on the sofa for a long time after he leaves. I can’t seem to make myself move. But then I hear a thudding noise at the back door. It’s the cat again. Probably desperately hungry.
Although the last time I tried to feed her, she wasn’t there.
I finally get up off the couch and walk to the back door. I hold my breath as I press my ear against the door. And then I hear it. A gentle meowing sound.
It’s the damn cat. Thank God.
I go to the cupboard and get a can of cat food. I open the back door, and that black cat is waiting there for me, looking up hopefully at my face. Well, at leastshewon’t judge me. She has no idea who Aaron Nierling is. And shecouldn’t care less.
Wonderful. A stray cat is my only friend.
I peel off the lid to the can and dump it in her bowl. She laps at the food eagerly. Cats have it so good. All they care about is where their next meal is coming from. They don’t worry about stupid things like their career or the fact that the only guy they’ve liked in the last decade is now afraid of them.
I reach out and run my hand over her black fur. It’s comforting.
The cat lifts her head from the bowl and rubs her face against my hand, like she sometimes does. I scratch her underneath her chin and she purrs. Then, to my complete surprise, she pushes past me and darts into the house.
“Hey!” I yell. “You’re not allowed in here!”
But that cat does not care that she’s not allowed in here. She sprints through my kitchen, then into my living room, and then jumps up onto my sofa. Then she curls up in a happy little ball on the cushion.
“Hey!” I yell again. “Cat!”
Great. This stupid cat probably has fleas all over her, and now I’m going to have fleas on my sofa. Could this night get any worse?
I step across the living room to where the cat has curled up. I swear to God, she better not pee on my sofa. I glare at her, looking completely cozy and like she’s not planning on going anywhere in the near future. Yeah, we’ll see about that.
I reach out with my hands to grab her, intending to pick her up and bring her outside. But as my fingers wraparound her torso, I feel the bones of her rib cage under my palms. They’re so fragile compared to human ribs.
They would snap so easily.
My stomach turns. I yank my hands away and back off from the cat, my head spinning. I stare at that cat, wishing to God she would just get out of my house. I can’t have a cat. It’s not safe for me to have a cat. This cat needs to leaveright now.
What am I supposed to do? I can’t pick her up and throw her out. Every time I think about it, I get that sick feeling again. Should I call animal control? Will they just laugh at me that I can’t seem to get rid of a little tiny stray cat?
I grab my phone from the pocket of my scrubs. I scroll through my contacts, which are almost entirely work colleagues. The hospital, the office, all the doctors that I trade call with. How did my life get to the point where I have zero friends? It didn’t used to be that way.
Or maybe it was. Maybe I’ve always been this way.
My thumb hovers over the name Philip Corey. Yes, he’s a work friend, but he’s a friend. Sort of. Close enough. I certainly know him long enough.
Before I can second-guess myself, I click on Philip’s name. There’s at least an eighty-percent chance he’s out with some girl right now. Hopefully not Harper.
After a few rings, I hear the familiar voice on the other line: “Nora? What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I frown at my phone. “You sound like you think I’m about to die.”
“You have to admit,” Philip says, “you never call meunless you have some sort of dire emergency.”
“That’s not true.” It is absolutely true.
“So what’s up?”
“I…” I clear my throat. “Are you busy?”
“I’ve been busier. Why?”
