Chapter Twenty: Right Meow
chapter twenty
RIGHT MEOW
Kitty
D
espite me telling Miles I can meet him at his mother’s place in the morning, he insists on picking me up. But he gives me a window of time, between seven-forty-two and seven-fifty-five. Which is oddly specific.
Despite this, when the doorbells rings, I’m still struggling my way into my shirt—it’s a new one that Hattie picked out for me yesterday on our shopping expedition—as I rush down the hall to the stairs.
“That’s for me! I can get it!” I shout. But I’m stuck in my shirt, my head apparently in a sleeve and my arm through the neck hole. I slam into the wall and fall on my butt with an oomph.
“I’ve got it!” Mom calls from the main floor.
My voice is muffled by my shirt, and I’m still trying to figure out how to right this wrong when I hear my mother’s high-pitched greeting and Miles’s deep voice filter up the stairs. I finally get my head out of the sleeve and my arm out of the neck
hole, replacing one with the other. I smooth out my shirt and hop to my feet.
But I don’t take into account where I’ve ended up, which is at the top of the stairs. It also happens to be directly in line with the front door. And that means Miles has had a clear view of me struggling with my shirt. I’m about to take a step down, but Prince Francis appears between my legs, setting me off balance once again. He meows and launches himself down the steps. My heel hits the lip of the top stair. They’re polished hardwood and I’m wearing slippery socks, which means my heel slips out from under me and I don’t have time to grab the railing before I land on my ass and slide-bump my way down the entire flight. I land on the floor in a heap.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Miles rushes over to help me.
“She’s just excited to see you!” my mom offers.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, accepting Miles’s extended hand. “Only my dignity is bruised. And maybe my butt.”
“I can check that later for you,” Miles whispers in my ear.
I blink a few times, not sure if I heard that correctly. When I meet his gaze, I can tell that I did, because his cheeks are turning pink.
“Why don’t you come in, Miles? It’s so lovely to finally meet you. Kitty’s told us all about you, but she didn’t mention how handsome you are.”
I want to tell my mom to tone it down, but I can’t do that without embarrassing her. And I think that my embarrassment plus Miles’s embarrassment is enough to fill this entire room.
And then my sister appears at the top of the stairs. “What’s all the racket about?” She’s wearing a pair of sleep shorts and a T-shirt with a smiling donut on it. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and she has sleep lines on her face. Even half asleep, wearing jammies, my sister is runway ready.
“Kitty’s boyfriend is here!” Mom shouts joyously.
And the embarrassment keeps piling on.
I don’t even look at Miles, not wanting to see his expression right now.
Hattie’s eyes go wide, and she makes her oh-shit face, as her eyes dart from me to Miles and back to Mom. She must realize that she’s not dressed appropriately and shouts that she’ll be right back. I’m hoping we’ll be gone before that happens, so I can limit the amount of foot in mouth Miles is exposed to where my mother is concerned.
“We should probably go. Miles and I are going to set up his mother’s new apartment today so it’s ready when she moves in.” I try to get to the door, but my mother is standing directly in front of it.
“You could stay for coffee. You haven’t even had breakfast yet. I could make you something. Maybe some scrambled eggs? That would be nice, wouldn’t it? And maybe Miles wants a tour of the house and to see how Prince Francis is settling in.” She looks so excited about the prospect. And as much as I want to avoid any further embarrassment, I don’t want to wipe the smile off my mother’s face. It’s a real conundrum.
“Scrambled eggs would be great, thanks so much, Ms. Hart.”
“Oh, you can just call me Lucile, and it’s my pleasure. It’s just so nice to meet you.” She beams up at Miles. “I’ll get started on the eggs, and Kitty can show you around.”
She leaves us in the front foyer.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumble.
“Don’t be.” He winks. “Why don’t you give me that tour?”
I point to the stairs. “That’s where all the bedrooms are.”
He arches a brow. “You’re not going to show me yours?”
“Do you want to see it?” I haven’t even made my bed.
“Yes.”
I haven’t had a guy in my bedroom since high school. Anyone I’ve dated over the past few years, however brief, has had his own place, so we’d always go there. And maybe that’s a problem, because it’s made it easy for me to stay where I am. I haven’t had a long-term anything since college.
I lead the way, my stomach filling with butterflies and my mouth growing drier with every step. Maybe because of the conversation Hattie and I had last night. Maybe because the last time I was in a bedroom with Miles I was naked. Or because my mother called him my boyfriend and my bedroom will contain just the two of us, where he could potentially say something about that.
“That’s my mother’s room, and the linen closet, and that’s my sister’s room.” Hattie’s door has a chalkboard sign on it with her daily schedule and a “studying in progress/sleeping in progress” door hanger. “That’s the bathroom we share, and this is my room.” I push open the door and step inside.
I don’t have a chance to apologize for the mess, or the very
cat-tastic decor, because Miles closes the door behind him and flips the lock. He closes the gap between us and takes my face between his palms. He tips my head back and covers my mouth with his.
I let out a shocked gasp, and he strokes his tongue inside on a low groan. One hand leaves my face and wraps around my waist, pulling me to him. I feel him, hard and insistent against my stomach, as he deepens the kiss.
We’re interrupted by a low meow.
Miles breaks the kiss for half a second, then decides he doesn’t care and fuses our mouths again.
Something crashes to the floor by my dresser.
This time when he breaks the kiss, he doesn’t come back for another one.
We both turn toward the dresser where Prince Francis sits, glaring in annoyance. My alarm clock is on the floor. His tail bats back and forth a few times and he knocks over my jewelry tree, which scares the crap out of him and sends him skittering under the bed.
“Why is he such a cockblocker?” Miles grumbles.
“He doesn’t like to share.”
“That makes two of us.” He brushes his lips over mine. “I like your bedroom.”
“It’s a mess, and you haven’t even looked at it.”
“It smells like you, and that triggers all kinds of positive memory associations for me.” He sucks my bottom lip between his, then releases it.
“I’m sorry my mom called you my boyfriend. Hattie used the
word yesterday, and I know we haven’t had any kind of discussion about it. But I don’t want you to think that just because I’ve hugged your penis with my vagina that I automatically assume you want to be my boyfriend. I tried to say we were seeing each other, but my mom really latched on to the term
boyfriend
, apparently.”
Miles grins. “I don’t mind.”
“I’ll try to reiterate the whole being in the ‘seeing each other’ phase again when you’re not here, but I couldn’t call her out on it in front of you. No one needed to be more embarrassed than we already were. And there was the whole falling down the stairs piece.” I really wish I could stop drawing more attention to the embarrassing episodes.
“Do you want me to check for bruises?” He drags his tongue along his bottom lip, and his eyes darken.
I swallow thickly, thinking about the panties I’m currently wearing. “Maybe later.”
“Probably a good idea. Then I can do a very thorough examination.”
“That would be great.” I bite my bottom lip.
“We should probably leave your room before I try to get you out of your clothes and ruin your mother’s good impression of me.”
“That’s probably a smart idea. She really seems to like you.”
“And we definitely want to keep it that way.” He dips down to kiss me one last time, then rearranges himself in his pants before he unlocks the door. He stops abruptly, which means I bump into his back, and he has to grip the doorjamb so he doesn’t stumble forward.
“Oh hi, Hattie.” Miles’s voice is slightly pitchy as he lifts his hand in a wave, then turns sideways and motions for me to go ahead of him. “Ladies first.”
Hattie grins widely and I silently plead with my eyes for her not to mortify me more than my own mouth and Mom already have. “Miles. It’s nice to see you again.”
“I’m just giving him a tour of the house.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Mom’s making scrambled eggs.”
Hattie’s eyes widen and dart between me and Miles. “You should leave now unless you want to get sucked into staying for breakfast.”
“We already agreed to the eggs,” Miles says from behind me.
Hattie’s expression says more than I want it to. “Do you want to fake a cat emergency?”
Miles’s fingers rest on my hip. “We don’t need to do that. Do we?”
I glance over my shoulder. He looks like he’s trying to figure out whether Hattie is being dramatic or not.
I shrug. “I can make something up if the awkward level gets too high.”
“I’ll jump in if I need to,” Hattie offers.
Miles looks like he has a lot of questions. He and I follow Hattie downstairs, and my palms start to sweat as we approach the kitchen. I can’t remember the last time we had someone over for a meal. And now I’m worried about the empty spot where my dad used to sit being set.
When we reach the kitchen, I’m relieved to see four places set. Not five. The toaster pops, and Hattie steps in to butter the toast. I grab the orange juice, and Miles takes it from me, giving it a shake before he pours it into glasses. I add salt and pepper and ketchup to the table. My mom asks me to slice tomatoes, and again, Miles steps in to help.
I expect breakfast to be awkward. But when the food is ready, we all sit down, Miles taking the seat that’s usually empty.
My mom smiles and shakes her napkin open. “It’s lovely to have a full table.”
And of course, because Prince Francis doesn’t like to be left out of anything, he tries to jump up and join us. My mom’s arm shoots out to thwart his landing. His legs splay and his mouth opens wide when he realizes there’s a barricade. He does a flip midair and lands on his feet with a quiet thud. “No cats on the table, Prince Francis.”
“That was impressive.” Miles claps in appreciation.
“Our old cat Smokey used to try that move all the time. Usually, we’d keep a spray bottle nearby, and that would be enough to keep him on the floor, but it’s been a while since we’ve had a four-legged friend around.” My mom pushes away from the table and grabs a fluted dessert dish, the kind we usually use during holiday dinners for ice cream. She spoons a small portion of scrambled egg into the dish and sets it on the floor next to her seat, then takes her place at the table again.
Breakfast is . . . normal. Miles is adorably charming, and it’s clear that my mom is a fan. She must tell him half a dozen times
how nice it is to meet him. And that she hopes he’ll come for dinner sometime soon.
My phone pings with a message, and I use it as an excuse for us to get going.
Once we’re in his car I apologize again.
“When I picked you up, I knew I was going to meet your mother. I didn’t expect it to be a one-minute introduction,” he assures me.
“She really likes you.”
“Good, because I really like you, and having your mom’s seal of approval seems like it could be beneficial. Plus she makes great scrambled eggs.”
“I really need to think about moving out soon. My sister and I talked about it yesterday. When Hattie finishes school, she’ll probably move to the city, though, and then my mom will be alone in that house. It’s a lot for one person to take care of.” I voice some of the concerns I’ve been mulling over recently. Ironically, they coincide with meeting Miles.
“I’m sure she must realize you’re going to want to move out, too, at some point,” Miles says.
“Yeah. Probably. We’ve never talked about it.” I fiddle with the whiskers on the front of my purse. “I think . . . I feel like I owe it to her to stay.”
Miles glances my way and then refocuses on the road. “Why would you owe it to her to stay? I mean, I can understand wanting to stick around because you’re a pseudo second parent to your sister. And financially it would make sense. But owing her?”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. If anyone could understand, it’s Miles. “You know how I told you I found my dad?”
“Yeah, that must have been so hard for you. I can’t even imagine.”
I nod. “That’s not the whole story. My cat knew something was wrong, and he was trying to warn me, but I ignored him. When I finally gave in and followed him to the attic it was too late. I was too preoccupied with what I was doing to pay attention to the signs, and I lost my dad because of it.”
Miles pulls into his mother’s driveway and puts the car in park. “That’s a lot of responsibility to carry around with you. Does your mom know you feel this way?”
“No, but you see now why I stay. I’m the reason my mom is without my dad, so leaving her feels wrong.” I sigh and motion to his house. “All of this, what you’re going through with your mom, the way you feel about all of it, the guilt over something that wasn’t your fault; I relate better than I realized. Because even though logically I know it isn’t my fault that my dad died, it’s still hard not to own it.”
Miles stretches his arm across the back of the seat, his fingers sliding under my hair, and his thumb strokes along the back of my neck. “I’m so sorry, Kitty. I know how I feel about coming back here, but to face it every day . . . Living in that house where all that tragedy took place seems like a punishment you don’t deserve.” He gives his head a small shake. “Grant yourself some grace, Kitty—you do it for everyone else.” He leans over and kisses me, just a soft press, but I feel it in my heart, spreading like a balm.