Page 49 of Kitty Season
Weaving through the modest crowd, we pass the pool, the beer pong table and cross the threshold hand in hand. Exactly what I’m going to say to Troye remains a mystery. Yes he’sdecided to do the decent thing and make an appearance, but only after hours of stressing me out.
Should I go with relief? Vitriol? Violence?
Then again, what if he was in the accident that held everyone else up and has only just been released from hospital. Maybe some other poetic tragedy delayed him. He could have been trapped in an elevator. Locked in the showers after practice. Accosted by a pack of wild dogs.
A myriad of hypothetical crises cross my mind, but none prove half as distressing as reality.
In a life littered with fuck ups, today as a whole, might have been my most monumental.
At midday I decided I needed a real gift for Quinn, just in case the threesome thing fell through, which it most likely would.
At one, I arrived at Tiffany’s wearing my best ripped jeans, biker jacket and of course, my piercing.
At twenty seconds past one, I was asked to leave, a decision that was reversed when I begged and dumped the entirety of my savings account, and the profits of hawking my three most prized Superman comics, on the crystal clear counter. “It has to be Tiffany’s.” I pleaded. “My girlfriend lost her shit, I mean, lost her mind over one of your boxes, and it was found in the trash and held a gag gift. She deserves a proper one, holding more than a name badge from the cafe where she works.”
At one forty-five I left the Tiffany’s, and headed to a florist. There, the last of my cash was spent on three red roses.
At two-ten, I jumped on the Green Line to head home. It was there, in the half empty carriage that smelled like cat pee, that I came face to face with the man whose abandonment of me was the only useful thing he ever did. He had no clue who I was, but even aged as they were, I recognized his eyes in an instant. Howcould I not when their exact replicas reflect contempt back at me every morning in the mirror.
Turns out it wasn’t cat pee. It was my dad’s. He reeked of it, amongst other things. As did the woman who once called herself my mom. She was asleep, tucked into his side, a scrap piece of cardboard with a crudely written note,
Veterans. Can you spare some change?
Propped against her stomach.
What a sick, disrespectful fucking joke. The only thing my parents are veterans at is using whatever and whoever they can, lying and ripping people off. Their deceit and dishonor to those that have served so bravely made me sick to the core. But because I’m the world’s biggest moron, I couldn’t stop myself from placing those three perfect roses in Mom’s lap, and the Tiffany’s box containing a pair of silver earrings molded into the freakishly suitable shape of two swallows, into the faded Red Sox hat resting in Dad’s.
Unable to stay a second longer, I jumped from the train three stops early, and the remainder of the day blurred into a pathetic montage of misery—walking home in the rain. Longing for a girl I’d mistreated for months to wrap her legs around me, and tell me I’m not the loser I know I am. Wallowing in bed, smiling, and listening to the woeful singing of another I’d treated like shit, with his stupid troll rolling between my fingers.
That God-awful music blasted through Skip’s headphones, caused Noah’s impatient knocking, and me leaving my solitude to rescue the front door from. Face to face with Noah and Lotte’s excited smiles, I directed them to Skip’s room, and did exactly what my DNA had programmed me to do, I lied. “I’ll meet you there soon. I just have to wrap Quinn’s present.”
I had no intention of going. Not when I needed Quinn and Skip more than I needed air.
All traces of dusk were long gone when my buzzing phone woke me, my last remaining Superman lying over my face, ruined by the treacherous tears that sleep prevented me from holding back.
Skip
You’re ruining her birthday, you knob.
Get here now or I swear to God I will end you.
As I read, I could picture that damn blush coloring his cheeks, his pouty frown. And could hear his voice cracking with his version of furiousness, a mere annoyance to most.
Yes I’m deserting her, but she has Brady, and Brady is ten times the man I am.
Again and again I reinforced those words, but something heavy and dark, deep within the pits of my gut nagged and thundered and tugged.
The idea of them hating me …
Like I hated my parents …
Like I hated myself …
“Thisisfortuitous timing.You’re going to be over four hours late and I will undoubtedly be unwanted. Maybe we can help dull each other’s wrath.”
Many, many, many thoughts cross my mind while leaning into the passenger side window, but I put them to the side ina bid to keep the surprise out of my voice. “Professor Plum. You’re?—”
“Out of my mind to accept Coach Harris’s invitation?”
