Kat's Nine Lives

by Laina Villeneuve

  “I’m a heartbreaker, remember?”

  “Yes, I can see where they’d say it’s all your fault.”

  “I’m happy, Mom, and I know you’ve been happier with me here these last few years.”

  “You deserve someone who worships you. You invested years of your life making everyone else feel special, and how do they repay you? Sleep with your husband and then guilt-trip you for not playing along.”

  “Jack only slept with Ember.”

  “Still, the rest have no right to pick on you for not following her slutty lead.”

  “Mom!”

  “What? Out of all your friends, I think you and Jack were the only faithful ones. Well, until Jack talked you into that whole switcheroo thing.”

  Kat hid her face in her hands, wishing she had never admitted to her mother that the first thread in the unraveling of her marriage began with a full partner-swap with friends they’d made when Travis started kindergarten. Through her fingers, she said, “Do you need anything, or am I dismissed for the night?”

  “Can you get the soft white throw from the hall closet?”

  Kat fetched it. “Anything else?”

  With the air of a queen, Millie waved her hand. “Your father will be up shortly. You’re dismissed.”

  Kat walked down the hall to her childhood room and flopped onto her grown-up bed. The house was so quiet, much more so than her thoughts which had returned to Wendy and the prom. Did she still think about it? Was it easier for her after high school, or did she still experience pushback like Evan and Jeremy did?

  Kat’s phone buzzed.

  Are you sure you’re happy? her mother texted.

  She tapped the phone against her thigh without answering. It buzzed again.

  Because I wouldn’t want you to feel suffocated.

  Lol, she typed back. Ironic much?

  You have a point, her mother responded.

  Night.

  It’s been two years. You know you don’t need our permission to have an overnight guest.

  Gross. Not talking about this with you.

  You could tell your dad and me if you need the house.

  At this, Kat tossed her phone aside. She was not talking about sex with her mother. The phone rang. “I do not need you and Dad to leave the house, okay? Nobody ever died from not having sex,” she said without checking the screen.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Kat sat bolt upright. It wasn’t her mother.

  * * *

  Wendy was startled. Kat’s words had thrown her and now she was silent on the other end of the line. “Should I let you call your mom?”

  “Let me give you her number, so you can call and tell her I died of mortification.”

  “I think it’s better to die of mortification than lack of sex.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t call to talk about my sex life. Or lack thereof.”

  “But this is so much more fun!”

  Kat groaned in her ear, sending a jolt of electricity through Wendy’s body. “I’m glad you called.”

  “You are?” Wendy grinned widely. Though Kat had seemed utterly relaxed as the evening wore on, Wendy had been anxious about overstaying her welcome. Now she was tickled to discover that she wasn’t alone in finding ways to extend the conversation.

  “Yes. Remember how you asked me why I care about Evan and Jeremy’s wedding?”

  “Sure.” Wendy cringed a bit, worried that she had offended Kat with the question.

  “I wanted to apologize.”

  “You’re apologizing? For what?”

  “For prom.”

  “Why in the world would you owe me an apology from more than twenty years ago?”

  “I didn’t stick up for you, and I should have. I didn’t walk over and tell you how wonderful your gown was. Everyone was so surprised that you and your date both wore dresses, but they were so beautiful. I should have told you. So I wanted you to know.”

  Wendy was so overcome, she had to sit down. She stepped out to her living room and perched on the edge of her white couch. She didn’t fully trust her voice not to crack when she said, “Thank you. For all of that.” The line went quiet between them, and Wendy wished she could see Kat to read her. She wished she could reach for Kat’s hand. The thought alarmed her. Dial it back, there, she scolded herself. No falling for straight friends, no matter how nice they are, remember?“They thought one of us was going to wear a tux, didn’t they?”

  “Yes. And I think you would have looked awesome in a tux, but I was glad both of you were in dresses.”

  “Why?” Back then, she was always met with either anger or indifference from the bulk of the kids. She had only ever talked about those days with friends who were on her side. She longed to know what the in-crowd thought.

  “Because it made all my friends so mad not to know which one of you was the boy.”

  Laughter erupted from Wendy. “You have no idea how satisfying it is to hear that I boggled the minds of all the popular kids. If only I still knew Gretchen. It was her idea to wear dresses.”

  “You wanted to wear a tux?”

  “I felt pretty uncomfortable in that dress,” Wendy said.

  “You didn’t look uncomfortable, but I can see how you’d be more comfortable in a tux.”

  “You’ve never seen me in a tux.”

  “What you wear at work is practically a tux. Those pressed pants and the crisp white jacket. Don’t lie. You know you look hot as hell.”

  Wendy covered her eyes with her arm. Kat actually noticed how she looked?

  “Sorry. That wasn’t professional, was it? Someone might have tempted me to drink more than I normally do tonight.”

  “You were the one who kept popping the tops on those dangerous lemonades.”

  “It’s thirsty work feeding tortoises.”

  Kat’s words reminded Wendy why she was calling. “That’s in the ballpark of why I’m calling.”

  “Is it?”

  “While I appreciated you feeding me tonight, I can’t stop thinking about that oven and how I’m going to figure out the correct temperature. I want to do Brussels sprouts wrapped in bacon for the hors d’oeuvres, and they would be so much better cooked fresh than brought in my hot boxes. I thought I could maybe bring a thermometer and test it out, ideally by cooking something.”

  “You’re smart,” Kat said. “Smart and fun.”

  And hot, Wendy remembered. She also said I look hot in my catering duds. Would it be weird to ask if she could bring dinner tomorrow? Was that too soon? Did it make her look desperate? Ask already before you chicken out! Just do it already before you chicken out!“Would tomorrow work for you? Or is—”

  Before she could even ask whether that was too soon, Kat had already said, “That’s perfect!”

  Relieved, she stood and did a little happy dance in her living room. “Any requests?”

  “As long as it’s cheesy, I’m easy,” Kat said.

  “You’ve got it.”

  They finessed the details, clarifying the number of people she would be feeding and when to arrive. Wendy was about to hang up when Kat pulled her back.

  “And Wendy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.” She paused. “For not being mad about prom.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome,” Wendy said.

  “My mom thought we were friends back then, and I felt really bad when I realized why we weren’t. I’m glad we’re friends now. My mom is going to be so happy to meet you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll distract her from her worries about your sex life.”

  “You had to bring that back up!” Kat said. “I don’t want to hang up because I know there will be fifteen more messages from her.”

  Wendy didn’t want to hang up, either, but it was probably better that she not continue to talking about the problem of Kat’s sexual inactivity—or thinking about how much she would like to be part of the solution.

  Chapter Four

  Her tan stat
ion wagon packed, Wendy stood in the kitchen at Fairbanks, ignoring the buzz of activity from those running through dinner service. She loved the flexibility of her job. As the chef for Key Ingredients, the catering side of Fairbanks, she was responsible for off-site events. Her business partner, José, was the primary chef. At least once a month she ran the dinner service in-house, but for the most part she did not have the late nights or a set menu night after night. She mentally sifted through the bins beneath the large steel countertop for anything she’d overlooked. If she forgot something instrumental, she would be able to make do in Kat’s kitchen, but she wanted to present her best for Kat and her family. She was aiming to wow them all.

  “Did we get a job I don’t know about?” Cory asked. He stood a full head shorter than Wendy, but his Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu training lent a stance and delivery that demanded attention. When she had first interviewed him, the bold attitude, gravelly voice and baggy clothes had reminded her of the teenagers who used to hang out on the street corners in the rough neighborhood of her youth. He had impressed her with his skill and knowledge, but most of all, she knew that his street-style banter would keep her on her toes.

  “No. Just a test run for the wedding we booked today.”

  “I loved those guys! What a sweet couple. The way they still look at each other after all these years.” He rubbed his manicured goatee that countered his early-receding hairline. “That’s the dream.”

  “And we get to be a part of it.” Wendy stepped toward the door.

  “Wait. They said something about not getting married at the church.”

  “Right. They’re using a private home.”

  “Theirs?”

  “No. A, um, friend of theirs.”

  Cory crossed his arms over his chest. His pastry chef background had given him forearms as muscular as Popeye’s. “Why are you being all cagey about the location? Are they getting married in some sketchy place?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You know I wouldn’t book a wedding somewhere unsafe.” Wendy combed her fingers through her brown curls and tied them back in a bandana.

  “So what gives?”

  “It’s Kat’s house.”

  “Kat! You say it all casual, like it’s no big thing, like you’ve been there before. Have you been there before? And now you’re taking all this food. I thought the menu was already set.”

  “Did you actually want me to respond to any of that?”

  He motioned with his fingers as if guiding a heavy truck into a driveway. “The whole story…”

  “…will have to wait. The short of it is that the oven there dates back to the sixties or something, and the temperature dial isn’t accurate. I’m taking a thermometer over.”

  A slow grin crept across Cory’s face. “Is something heating up with you two?”

  “Me and Kat?”

  “As if that’s never crossed your mind.”

  Wendy narrowed her eyes at him. “She’s never even heard of the Indigo Girls.”

  “Keep adding to your list if it makes you happy. Doesn’t make you right.”

  “Shut up. We’re friends, nothing more.”

  “Be careful out there. If you ask me, you’re stepping into a whole lot of unknown territory.”

  He said this without even knowing that Kat had called Wendy hot. He would love to add that to the evidence he’d collected proving Kat was interested in her. When he brought up the way Kat rested her hand on Wendy’s arm, she argued that Kat was one of those straight women who didn’t even realize where their hands were. Kat saying she was hot? That she couldn’t explain away.

  She sat behind the wheel with her eyes closed, briefly letting her imagination flutter around the fantasy version of the evening: Kat impressed by the food, Kat admitting that she looked forward to the events Wendy catered, Kat smiling at her and saying that she’d found herself thinking about what it would be like to kiss her.

  Grimacing over the ridiculousness of the daydream, Wendy smacked her cheeks with her palms and then scrunched her face between them. She was just testing out the oven and having fun with her friend.

  That’s what this was, wasn’t it? Becoming better friends. Sure, she found Kat attractive, but it wasn’t like they were in high school anymore. Back then, she often imagined what it would be like to hold her hand or lean in for a kiss. Kat had always had someone on her arm, and Wendy would have loved to be that person. She envied the ease with which Kat walked the halls, her relationship on display for all to see. Wendy and Gretchen did their best not to attract attention, but there was no flying under the radar for them. They had decided they might as well go to prom together since everyone was talking about them anyway. And Kat had seen her there, not a lesbian. She had acknowledged her, the only one of the popular kids to hold Wendy’s gaze when she and Gretchen walked in.

  Wendy shook her head. That was Kat being nice the way she was with everyone. She’d said herself that she was helping Jeremy and Evan as an ally not because she was fighting for her own right to marry a woman in the church. She climbed the steps to the porch and tapped the knocker. This time, instead of seeing Kat through the large glass oval, a man approached and opened the door.

  “You must be Wendy,” he said, his voice was melodic and his smile revealed an incisor pushed past his otherwise straight teeth. His face had the same delicate features as Kat’s and was framed by fine greying hair he wore on the longer side, slightly feathered back. He wore a plaid shirt neatly tucked into jeans that were dark blue and stiff.

  “I am.” She offered her hand, which he grasped lightly.

  “I’m Kat’s father, Clyde. She has been delayed by an unfortunate plumbing issue at the church. She will be along shortly.”

  The way he spoke and gestured grandly for her to enter made Wendy feel like she was talking to a butler. “I actually have a bunch of stuff to carry in,” she said.

  “Allow me to assist you.”

  His response made her realize how young she sounded. His posture and words were as formal as the furniture that filled the room, and she could not figure out the correct way to respond. He looked to her old beat-up station wagon and back again, a puzzled expression on his face as he waited for an answer.

  Wendy closed her eyes and imagined that she was in a British film. What would the leading lady say if a gentleman offered aid? She smiled when it came to her. She opened her eyes and replied, “That would be lovely.” Was she imagining things, or did he really smile more warmly after she matched his diction?

  One bushy eyebrow lifted jauntily. “Let us get to our work, then. Although Kat did say that you would be providing the sustenance tonight.”

  “Indeed.” Wendy hid her smile as she led the way to her car. No, vehicle. She found that she enjoyed pretending to be a lady, though Kat was much better suited to the role with her curvaceous figure and long hair. Wendy’s lean, athletic build was more characteristic of a male romantic lead. Nevertheless, she allowed Clyde to carry the heavy bags and open the door for her.

  Wendy set her things down on the yellow tile counter by the oven. Light filled the kitchen despite the fact that the window above the sink was surrounded on both sides by thin four-inch shelves. An antique soup can, faded Prince Albert tobacco tin, a faceless rusted iron man holding a steering wheel, old blue and green glass jars, a tiny replica of a mixing bowl: this was a collection of treasures, not clutter. On the sill above the sink, delicate plants grew in mugs the shape of women’s faces, and a colorful top rested in the smallest of a hand-painted set of stacking bowls.

  First things first, she twisted the dial to get the oven heating. The door was heavy, the glass obscured from years of accumulated grease. She placed a thermometer on the rack and set her timer for a half hour. “Do you mind if I put some things in the refrigerator?”

  “Not at all. In preparation for the nuptials, I was tasked to clear out the refrigerator on the left. I hope it meets with your approval.”

  She opened the door and found it near
ly empty, the shelves wiped clean. “This makes my job so much easier. Thank you.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  “I did most of the prep in my own kitchen. I really just need the oven to heat up. I’ll check it in about a half hour.” She hoped that Kat would be home by then. She really had nothing left to do. “Kat said the oven was not the original. Do you know how old it is?”

  “Indeed, I do. My parents had it installed in sixty-nine. I drew the plans for the kitchen. One day I hope to strip the ash cabinets and refinish them. The years have darkened them.”

  Wendy wouldn’t have called the golden wood dark at all. For her, the cabinets added to the warmth of the space. “Kat mentioned that you lived here when you were a child.”

  “Did she also share with you the history of its famous inhabitant?”

  “No.”

  “Did she not show you Rock Hudson’s handprint?”

  “The movie star?”

  “The very one. Come this way.” Just outside the back door, he pointed to a block of cement with several handprints. “Note the signature.”

  Wendy stepped from the porch and knelt down. “Rock.” She placed her hand on the warm concrete. “He had huge hands!”

  “Kat said the gentlemen she brought here said the same thing. Have you met them?”

  “Yes, when they did the tasting to decide their menu.” Wendy traced the smaller handprints in the cement. “Do you know who this one belongs to?”

  “Rock’s lover, who bought the house from my parents. They were scandalized by the thought of selling to a gay man, but when the gay man brought along the movie star, my parents were persuaded.”

  “Why did his lover sell it back to you?”

  “My dear, he died. I happened upon the news when I was showing Millie the house of my youth. We bought it from his estate, before it went on the market. I tried to talk to the family to find out if they knew anything about Rock. Shame silenced them. It puts something right that this couple will wed here. We support such unions.”

  Before Wendy could respond, Kat rounded the corner, a large patchwork purse slung over her shoulder. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”