Page 50 of From Nowhere

“We’d love to,” Lola says. I roll my eyes at her, speaking for us like I have no say. “What kind of cat do you have?”

“I’m not sure. It was a stray cat,” Maren says.

Lola’s lower lip makes its debut. “My dad killed that kitten on the trail.”

“I did not.”

“You abandoned it. What do you think happened to it? Even Dakota said he probably died.”

“I think you and Dakota should take a break from talking to each other.”

Lola ignores me. “What’s your cat’s name?”

“Bandit.”

“I like that name. I was going to name my kitten Mouse because Dakota has a fish named Shark. But now the kitten’s dead, so it doesn’t matter.”

Jesus Christ . . .

“Mouse is a great name,” Maren says. “Had I thought of it, I would have named my cat Mouse. But he’s already used to his name, so I’d better keep it as Bandit.”

“His middle name could be Mouse. What’s your last name?” Lola asks.

“Bernabe.”

“Bandit Mouse Bernabe.” Lola shoves food into her mouth, then snorts, spitting a little into the bowl.

I shake my head.

“I ...” Lola giggles. “I like that name.”

“Then that’s settled. Bandit’s middle name is Mouse.” Maren gives Lola a resolute nod.

I think Lola might explode with excitement. She’s gripping her fork so hard that her hand is shaking. All this over a middle name. She’s going to lose herself when she sees Bandit.

“I have to use the bathroom.” Lola hops off the stool. This seems right since she looked ready to wet herself with excitement upon hearing the kitten news.

“Let me check it.” I follow her to the single-stall bathroom for a quick peek. “Don’t forget to lock the door.” I close it behind me and return to the table, where I can still see the door.

Maren starts to say something, but I grab her face and kiss her because Ineedto kiss her.

My daughter already adores her, which makes me like her more than I did Saturday night, which was a hell of a lot.

I smile, releasing her face and sitting on my stool.

She rubs her lips together. “You’re killing me, Ozzy.”

“How so?” I start eating my food again.

“You’re a slow burn.”

“In your line of work, isn’t a slow burn a good thing?”

“Yes, but I don’t fuel the fire. You ...” She stirs her water with the straw.

“I what?”

“Nothing.” Her cheeks redden.

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