1
Natalia
I accidentally ranover my date’s cat. Why wouldn’tthat happen? Obviously, I should’ve been on the lookout for a cat darting in front of my car as I dropped Harrison Galloway off after our first date. It doesn’t matter that he is six-foot-three, tall, dark, and handsome. And it definitely doesn’t matter that he is a pediatric nurse. Or that I’ve dreamt about him bending me over the fancy washer in the Malibu beach house we’ll eventually cosign together.
The first part of the date had gone amazingly well. After chatting for weeks in the dating app, we’d finally agreed to meet. My mind held on to the tiny speck of hope that maybe, just maybe, he wasthe oneand we would get married, and I would bear him six kids, all while maintaining Gisele Bündchen’s physique. I’m not a romantic in any sense of the word, and I wasn’t sold on the kids thing, but Harrison was set to convert me. I would run away in three-inch heels, and he would chase me, catching me and dipping me as we kissed in the rain. We’d overcome my adversity together and laugh at my quirks like all the Lifetime movies did.
As I pulled into his driveway after a phenomenal date, I expected a hand on my bare thigh and sweet nothings whispered into my ear. Maybe a hand up the shirt I’d spent hours searching for—something that said I was a professional adult during the day, and a little sex psycho at night. Instead, I heard a thud, followed immediately by a cat’s pained yowl.
Which brings me to the present: sitting beneath fluorescent lights in the waiting room of the vet as Harrison sobs next to me. I never knew a person could cry so loudly. When he blows his nose, it literally shakes the walls. I’m not a very sympathetic person, and I have the unfortunate habit of wanting to laugh whenever someone cries, so all I can think to do is sit next to him awkwardly as we wait for the surgery to finish—because of course his cat needed surgery. I don’t understand medical lingoat all,but a broken femur was mentioned by the veterinarian.
Harrison shows me pictures of Shirley the cat as we wait, and then he whispers about how she found him during the darkest period of his life.
Yeah. This can’t end well.
“Mr. Galloway?” One of the vet techs calls Harrison over from the doorway.
“Please tell me she’s okay,” Harrison begs, his eyes welling up. He blows his nose again. An elderly couple sitting a few chairs away levitate a few inches in shock.
“Shirley’s fine. She needed some staples in her left femur. She has a concussion so we’re keeping her overnight for monitoring.”
“Oh, thank god,” Harrison blubbers.
I inhale and look away, relieved.Yes, thank god.I definitely do not need the death of a cat on my hands. Besides, it’s not that I don’t like cats. I do. I’m just still in shock.
I discreetly pay for the visit while Harrison uses the restroom. Did you know cat surgery can cost fourthousanddollars? Yeah, me neither. At least he says thank you.
As we walk back to my car, I try to think of a way to broach the elephant in the room. We didn’t exactly have time after I ran the cat over, seeing as Harrison hysterically scooped Shirley up and shouted directions to the pet emergency room a couple of miles away. Is there ever a good way to apologize for almost killing your date’s cat? Luckily, Harrison doesn’t give me time to overthink.
“I’ll take a cab,” he says, his voice curt. He glances at me for the first time since we pulled up to his driveway, his face pinched with distaste—which exacerbates his red, swollen eyes.
There won’t be a second date. I mean,duh.
Nodding, I awkwardly thank him for dinner and walk to my car solo.
I’m not sure who I pissed off in romancelandia, but this is generally how my love life goes. I swear off men, have a couple sexy flings, decide watching reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer would be more fun with someone other than my twin brother, Luca, so I slowly creep back into the dating pool… only to be double-whammied with an almost dead cat. Or, like my last date, a good accidental kick to the crotch. And the date before? Well, he turned out to be a total freak and proposed to me on the first date. It’s like I attract disaster.
As I turn into the driveway of the duplex I share with my roommate, Kira, I park my car and turn off the ignition, enjoying the dark silence. Pulling my phone out, I delete every single dating app I have installed. While I’m at it, I delete Facebook and Instagram too. Why tempt myself? I chuck my phone into my purse and head inside.
Kira is lying across the couch with the lights off, TV on, and a bowl of popcorn on her chest. We’re not friends per se, but she’s a great roommate. We watch the same shows, we’re both early risers, neither of us believes in diet culture, and we attempt to exercise together every few months, only to fail miserably. But at least we failtogether.And I can appreciate that.
“How was the date?” she asks, shoveling a heap of popcorn into her mouth. “You were out late,” she adds, wiggling her eyebrows as she gives me a once over. “That’s a good sign, right?”
I laugh. And then I laugh some more, doubling over. “I ran over his cat.”
We both fall into a fit of hysterics. She sits up and pats the spot on the couch next to her. I slip my booties off and shrug my jacket onto the floor.
“Want a beer?” she asks, standing and brushing herself off.
“I would love a beer.”
And this is why I love living with her. Because she doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t want to ruminate on what happened. She laughs with me and then brings me alcohol. It’s a win-win, especially on nights like tonight when I really don’t want to talk about what happened. Besides, she probably doesn’t want to hear the gruesome retelling of what happened…
As she sits next to me and hits play onBuffy the Vampire Slayer, we both kick our feet up onto the ottoman and sip our beers. I glance at her during one of the commercials, but she’s on her phone, balancing her beer between her chin and her arm.
I ignore the tireless, lonely gloom starting to creep into my mind. It’s better if things stay the way they are—enjoying each other’s company on the surface. Never delving into deep topics. I don’t need her to reassure me that I won’t be alone forever—that maybe my luck will change one day. I take a large sip of beer, swallowing the persistent, nagging feeling of aloneness.
“I’m giving up on love,” I say casually, gobbling some popcorn in one bite.
