Page 29 of Trevor Takes Care

Trevor let his smile show. “What’s the cat’s name?”

“Miss Delilah,” G.G. revealed in the tenderest voice imaginable.

“Incredible,” Trevor told him sincerely. “Do you and my grandmother think alike? I love it, by the way. A purrrfect name.”

G.G. stopped, leaving poor Miss Delilah hanging. He looked up to observe Trevor judgmentally before resuming petting his cat with a slow stroke down her back.

Bad wordplay like that was probably not at all the thing G.G. was used to from his… overly concerned neighbors.

“I can’t even blame lockdown for that one,” Trevor admitted. “That joke was all me.”

G.G.’s stare told him nothing. “Miss Delilah,” he began abruptly before Trevor could destroy whatever was left of his appeal with another terrible joke, “this is Trevor.”

Trevor knew a cue when he heard one and came forward to kneel down and be sniffed. He ventured a long, sweeping pet down Miss Delilah’s fluffy back, which was graciously permitted before Miss Delilah abandoned dignity to bump her head into Trevor’s hand and beg for more.

“She’s a little lonely,” G.G. said apologetically, as though Trevor minded.

Trevor looked up. “I’m sorry about your other cat.” He kept his voice low. “Was it recent?”

G.G. blinked several times, clearly caught off guard by the question, then turned his head.

“I’m sorry.” If Trevor had made G.G. cry, he’d never forgive himself. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s fine,” G.G. said, although it obviously wasn’t. “I didn’t expect…. People don’t think about cats that way. You can mourn dogs. Dead cats are a punchline.”

“Not to me.” Trevor put a hand on G.G.’s knee, then pulled it back. “Not to anyone who grew up with pets or has a heart. How long did you have… them?”

“Pumpkin.” G.G. pulled in a breath in a way that Trevor had last seen someone do in a hospital waiting room before going to deal with paperwork, containing his grief even though he didn’t have paperwork that had to get done. “Thirteen years.” G.G. was steadier than Trevor would have been if he’d lost Ellie after that many years. Fuck, if Trevor lost Ellienow, he’d be a wreck. “It was me and the cats through a lot. More than lockdown,” G.G. added. “That’s probably why I’m like this about it.”

Like this. Trevor didn’t echo that part out loud. But anyone should be allowed to be a mess about their dead pet if they wanted. He put his hand back on G.G.’s knee.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “We would have brought you something if we’d known.”

G.G. turned toward him. He was red-faced again, splotches instead of a cute blush.

Trevor didn’t let him look away. “Thirteen years is a long time. I’ve seen marriages fail after three.” He paused to frown thoughtfully. “More than one marriage actually. Wow. Anyway,” he tried a smile, “I’m sure you’ll be very loving to another kitty whenever you’re ready.”

He splayed his fingers to give G.G. the only comforting touch he dared, then got to his feet and cleared his throat. “So, for dinner, you have meatloaf with garlic mashed potatoes. The meatloaf is made with all kinds of herbs and things, including a mirepoix that I was in charge of today.” He tapped the lid of the casserole dish. “You can put the whole thing in the oven if you want.” G.G. probably knew that, but Trevor kept speaking anyway. “Less work to try to manage with one hand.”

“Oh,” he went on as he realized what had probably been going on with G.G. washing those dishes, and getting dressed, and trying to clean under his fingernails, “Have you been overusing your left hand? I do that when I’m trying to spare my dominant hand, and I end up with two hands and wrists out of commission instead of one. It’s better to not use it.”

G.G.’s cheeks were still splotchy, but he frowned with a hint of frustration. “What else am I supposed to do?”

Come to me for help, Trevor thought immediately, like fifty shades of creep.

He coughed. “Well, only what needs doing, for a start. Urgently, I mean. Only do that, at least for the next few days. It’ll be annoying. Things will start to pile up but… no one else will see but you and me, and I won’t tell anyone. You know,” he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he reluctantly unrolled his sleeves and rebuttoned the cuffs, “our DM—that’s my… my friend Sky says that accidents sometimes happen when we need a break.” Trevor reconsidered his phrasing. “Not like, as a sign from above, although I guess you could take it that way. But more just, you’re overwhelmed withsomething, work, or emotions, or family, or whatever, and your body—your body means your brain too—so your brain checks out at a crucial moment in a way thatisan accident but is also deliberate because you need a break. I don’t know if that is exactly true, but whenever I’ve given myself too many projects and deadlines,” or was frustrated by life and his family, “I do tend to also push my wrist or hand too far. Then I have to stop whether I want to or not. I try to catch Sky before that happens to him though.”

G.G. regarded Trevor steadily, not volunteering a thing. They were back to that.

“Obviously, I’m not a therapist,” Trevor went on, “but Sky is a genius and sees connections way before I do, so his thoughts are always wise to consider. He can’t spot it whenhe’soverwhelmed, but that’s because he focuses on everything but himself. I have to make him.”

G.G. sighed, long and wistful.

Trevor’s pulse kicked up. G.G. glanced away but his gaze came right back to meet Trevor’s.

“So,” Trevor began in a steady voice, “maybe you need a break or a change and this is your chance.”

The moment was interrupted by the fluff of a cat’s tail hitting G.G. in the chest as his cat jumped into his lap.

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