Page 103 of Hard to Judge

Astor’s words stay with me as I pack some of my things from Arlo’s house, our house, including Plinko and his cat things, and move into Hota’s condo.

He hadn’t confessed what tore at him so deeply yesterday. Not being able to help him hurt worse than watching him fall apart. I’d wanted to rip my shirt off and show him how I feel, but it wouldn’t have helped. I fear it would have made him question everything more.

I place Plink’s stuff in the guest room but put my things in Hota’s closet and bathroom next to the things Arlo moved this morning before work.

My fingers toy with one of his suits, and I let my hand roam over one of Hota’s. I pull them to my nose and bury my face in the fabric. The combination is lethal. If this doesn’t work, I’ll never recover.

None of us will.

Emotion constricts my throat. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with their scents.

A faint voice filters into the closet. It’s pleading and high-pitched.

I straighten and hurry out the closet and down the hallway. The closer I get, the higher the voice pitches.

“No, it’s okay, buddy. Just please, back up, okay?”

When I round the corner, I find Hota with both palms out toward Plink. He’s backing toward the coffee table and warding off my gray cat like he’s a hobgoblin. I mean, he does look like the world chewed him up and spat him out.

Plink meows and advances his fluffy self as though he has an open invitation to spread his cat hair absolutely everywhere he pleases. At my condo and at Arlo’s house, he does.

Hota climbs onto the low coffee table. Like that’ll help.

I bite my smile and stifle the laugh bubbling up in my throat.

“You have pretty eyes, like your mommy.” He croons as he shimmies across the stone table.

He’s right. I’ve never really put two and two together. We both have green eyes. But that’s not what hits me square in the chest. Nope. Not at all.

“Where is she?” he practically whines. “Should we call her? You want to call your mommy?”

Mommy. Fuck!

I can imagine him having this conversation with a little one, our little one, someday. Hopefully, there’s less fear on his part. From the fear and hope in his eyes the other day, I think there will be nothing but love and devotion.

He fumbles with his phone, keeping an eye on the ever-advancing Plink.

Before he falls off the table and breaks something, I round the wall and saunter over. “Mommy’s right here.”

I give him a weighty wink, then lean over and scoop up my lump of fur.

“Hey. Hi.” He shoves a hand through his hair, causing part of it to fall from the neat bun. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“My purse and phone on the entryway table didn’t give it away?” I can’t hide my grin any longer.

“I was distracted.” He points at the cat in my arms.

“Hotaru, this is Plinko or Plink, if you’d like.” I was sure he’d seen Plink at Arlo’s, but the little guy has a way of making himself scarce when people arrive.

“Charmed.” He waves from the tabletop.

“You can come down now.” I offer him my free hand.

“Don’t cats eat your ankles?” He ignores my hand, probably because it’s close to Plink, and steps down from the coffee table. “I mean, I never had a pet growing up. I don’t know, but I’ve heard stories.”

“When I first got him, he was a terror, but he’s come a long way. Worked through his hang-ups.”

“Of course he did.” He steps a little closer. “He’s your cat.”

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