Page 56 of Forget Me

Breaking our stare, I yanked myself back to the here and now. I nodded and exclaimed at all the right parts of the dog story. I praised Tara when she finished.

Just when I thought she’d take her book to the next pet, she asked, “Does Mrs. Butternut live with you?”

“No. I’m allergic. Dogs and cats make me sneeze.”

“Who does she live with?”

“She lives at the animal shelter.”

Tara’s face crumpled.

I rushed to add, “I’m sure it’s a very nice shelter. She’s not in a cage all the time.” I hoped not, anyway.

But that was the wrong thing to say. “She lives in acage?Is she all alone? Does she have parents? Or toys?”

“I—I don’t…” I’d never been to the shelter, not once. My eyes would swell shut.

Mateo leaned over. “Mrs. Butternut can come out to the playroom where there are toys. And she’s old enough that she doesn’t need her parents anymore. She’s grown up. She can watch out for the little ones like Roger here.” He held up the sleeping black kitten in one huge hand.

Did he know these things? Had he been to the shelter? I hoped so. I hoped the tale he was spinning for Tara was true.

“Roger doesn’t live with his parents?”

Uh-oh. Tara’s voice had risen to a squeaky register that sounded like the clarinet Ben used to play in middle school.

“No. That’s why he’s looking for a family to adopt him.” Mateo’s eyes had gone sad.

Mateo had lost his parents, too. First his mother when he was young. Then his father. Was that why he worked for his cousin? Why he protected his aunt? For the connection to family?

Tara reached out a finger to stroke Roger between his ears. He purred in his sleep.

“I know! I’ll ask my mom and dad if we can adopt him!”

Fantastic. The problem that had felt like splinters under my fingernails would go away.

“That would be perfect,” I said. “Why don’t you go ask your parents right now? Here”—I scooped the kitten out of Mateo’s hand and set him into Tara’s cupped hands—“hold him carefully while you walk over there. Walk!” I called after her as she skipped away.

“Problem solved.” I turned to Mateo. But he frowned. “What?”

“I’m not sure you can solve it that easily. Roger is a living creature who will become a member of someone’s family. And families don’t always come together as easily as the numbers in your budget. You know what they say about black cats. Unlucky. Unwanted.” He stared at a spot on the carpet.

“That’s just superstition.” Why were we talking about a cat when my memories from that night had come crashing back? “Let me give Mrs. Butternut back to her handler. Then you can walk me home?”

He roused himself to grin, showing his movie-star teeth, straight and white and just a tiny bit imperfect. Though something still shaded the usual brightness in his blue eyes. “It would be my pleasure.”

* * *

All the wayback to my apartment, I thought of a dozen ways to ask him about that night at the bar. And then discarded every one. Why hadn’t he reminded me of our conversation, our connection? Why had he let me treat him like a stranger, and an annoying one at that? Why had he taken everything I’d hurled at him in stride?

I hadn’t yet found my courage by the time we reached my building, and I couldn’t send him on his way without saying anything. “Come up for a minute?”

Surprise flashed across his face. “Sure,” he said. He held the door open, then shut it securely behind us. Silently, he followed me upstairs.

I’d meant to invite him inside, offer him a beer, then find a way to talk to him about what I remembered, but as soon as I fit my key into my door’s lock, my mind flooded with memories of that morning after the bachelorette party—his sudden appearance with the bakery sack, hunting for prickly pear, the spilled coffee, and my ruined presentation.

Sure, he’d been clumsy, but he was only trying to be nice. And I’d been a bully. No hangover, not even a ripped pie chart, justified that.

The words burst out of me. “Why? Why did you let me get away with it?”

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