House Rules

by Ruby Lang

  * * *

  For a moment, Simon thought he felt terrible because he’d woken and Lana’s warm body wasn’t nestled into his. The scent of her hair wasn’t tickling his nose.

  Then he remembered he was going to have to get used to it. Again.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept. But it was Saturday. He didn’t have any classes, so he hadn’t set an alarm.

  He heard a knock on his door. It was Lana, fully dressed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry to bother you. I just—have you seen Muffin?”

  Of all the things he expected her to ask, that wasn’t one of them.

  “I’m sorry I woke you. I didn’t know you were still here until I saw your shoes. But I can’t find her and I realized I haven’t seen her since yesterday afternoon. Maybe even before then.”

  Lana was worried. His first instinct was to get up and pull her into his arms, but he held back, and it hurt like the pain he’d felt the time he’d broken his ribs and he’d tried to suppress a laugh or a sneeze. Except now when he breathed the desire out of him, even when he relaxed his arms, the band around his chest didn’t let up.

  So instead he tried to be logical. “I haven’t seen her since...”

  He couldn’t remember.

  “She hasn’t eaten her food from yesterday. And I’ve looked everywhere. Even tried to move the fridge.”

  “I can check behind there for you.”

  “I’m bad at this. I’m a bad cat mom.”

  “That’s not true. Cats are wily and they disappear sometimes. I’ll search my room and a few other places. She can’t have gone far.”

  He didn’t know why he was offering to help. He had things to do. He probably had to pack up his office. And this apartment.

  No, he knew why. It was because he was now worried about the cat, too. And because Lana was beating herself up. He’d never even known she wanted a pet before.

  “You don’t have to. It’s my cat.”

  “Lana. Just go. You have to get to work about now. I’ll search for her, and I’ll text you when I find her. All right?”

  “All right. I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing, please.”

  She turned back. “Well, I am sorry, and I am going to say it. But I am not about to apologize for wanting to do my work and looking at taking care of my future. I told myself I would ask you to figure it out with me, even if it was hard, even if you were angry. I love you. And I am sorry you’re hurting. I am sorry that you won’t think about it. And I’m sorry you have to look for my jerky cute cat who I also love.”

  She was gripping the doorframe but whether it was to keep herself from coming in or going out he didn’t know.

  He had one single slicing moment of sympathy. This was painful for her, too. It had been difficult for her to knock on his door. It was an effort for her to ask for everything she’d ever asked of him.

  And why was that?

  Had he made it so hard?

  But Lana turned, and in a minute he could almost hear the thumps and rustles of her routine: the scarves, the zip of her jacket. He could almost smell her shampoo as she turned around one last time and closed the door. He wasn’t going to be able to have that small joy for much longer.

  Had he ever really had it?

  It was only then he got up, sweeping the room with his eyes for signs of the cat before going to brush his teeth.

  Well, Muffin was his cat, too, in a way. He fed her, cleaned out her litter, and talked to her, and maybe spent a lot of time every day trying to interest her in a crinkle ball when he should have been doing other things. She curled into him when he read on the couch, and sat on the piano purring whenever he tried out a new arrangement, not minding all of his starting and stopping and swearing. He hadn’t known how much he’d enjoy her company until Lana had adopted her.

  How much was he missing by following his own long-established path?

  No, people shouldn’t think that way. Besides, Lana would probably take Muffin and Ronnie would be sad he wasn’t sending pictures anymore. Or would his niece simply forget and skip off, not even momentarily puzzled when she learned she’d lost an aunt and an animal? Would it matter to her?

  He ate a piece of toast standing up over the sink and looked over at the untouched cat food bowl. Dammit. Something really had happened to the cat. There was no way it was afternoon and there was this much food left. Lana was going to be devastated if he couldn’t find her.

  He dropped the rest of the toast in the garbage and checked under the sink to be sure. He looked behind the fridge, even though he was sure that Lana had already done that.

  He eyed the unusable fireplace and stuck his head in it. It seemed safely sealed and painted. He looked in the bathroom, the duct behind the washer-dryer, or where he supposed a duct like that was likely to be because he’d heard of cats who got stuck trying to crawl into those kinds of things. The machine only had a water hose, and he doubted the cat had anything to do with that.

  This was worrying.

  Lana had had all morning to search and she hadn’t turned up anything. She’d probably wanted to wake him to rifle through his room. And even though he tried to tell himself he had good reason, he was mad at himself for sleeping so long.

  He checked his bedroom again, even poking the pillows he’d slept on, as if expecting the cat to pop out covered in stuffing with a malicious grin on her face. The jerk.

  He peered in his small closet, poking amongst the shirts, always the same blue and white shirts. He stood on a chair to check the shelves.

  Nothing.

  Maybe they’d accidentally let the cat slip out the door when one of them had opened it. Muffin was uncurious, for a cat, but of course thinking that would have made him and Lana careless.

  He got dressed, and headed out, first walking to the top of the stairs, inspecting every dark corner of the staircase for what? Pawprints? He was a city person. He knew which trees not to stand under so he wouldn’t get pooped on by pigeons, not how to track wildlife. And Lana had actually offered to bring him upstate? She thought he’d be able to survive outside of New York. Although admittedly, an hour-and-a-half’s drive didn’t sound very far.

  Maybe he should look for scratch marks, or holes where a small cat could slip in for a nap. Or if he was lucky, he’d find a large neon sign that said MUFFIN WAS HERE with an arrow pointing down to Muffin neatly caught in a cat carrier.

  That didn’t happen.

  He walked downstairs and knocked on the doors of his neighbors. But neither of them was home.

  What now?

  Time to check the rest of the neighborhood, then.

  He was aware he probably had other things to do: marking, a couple of arrangements that he’d bookmarked to check out for the choir, another grant update to write. He should probably follow up with the board to see if they’d had any word. Oh right, and there was the book he had been trying to write for a year now.

  None of it was as important as this.

  He went out the door and inspected the bushes. He walked around the garbage area and lifted up the cans as if expecting to find Muffin asleep inside with a fish skeleton in her mouth, like some sort of cartoon cat. Nothing.

  “Muffin,” he called half-heartedly, realizing that even if she heard it she was unlikely to respond to her name.

  He widened his search, walking down the street, checking discreetly in bushes, and inside gates and bins.

  The street was quiet. A few sparrows hopped along the sidewalks in search of crusts and crumbs. A couple of men chatting on the corner said hello. As he passed he asked them if they’d seen the cat. Their noses crinkled sympathetically as they shook their heads.

  He didn’t want to leave this neighborhood. He was going to have to figure out how to stay here somehow.

  Over there under the awning of the salon, he and Lana had
paused to kiss that night they got back together. At the opposite corner was a deli where they played merengue, and when he’d mentioned something about one of the songs the counter guy had given him a CD he’d recorded himself.

  He walked around the neighborhood as if he were on a farewell tour of all the nooks and crannies, and then he bought himself a cup of coffee and a sandwich, sat down to eat it, and thought about how he’d sat in a cafe looking out the window with Lana when he’d first encountered her again after so many years.

  He’d been so sure he’d gotten over her then. Maybe he had.

  What was it to get over someone? If it meant he stopped thinking about her every day, then he had. He’d been able to remember her without pain for a long time. He’d gotten to the point where he could recall happy moments without bitterness, like the way she’d start humming a tune while washing the dishes and he’d harmonize until the dishes were forgotten and they’d stand there with soapy hands singing to each other. If he’d been able to think of her with fondness, that meant he’d been over it. But last night had showed him that wasn’t true, hadn’t it?

  It was stupid to be angry over this.

  He walked around aimlessly and without a plan, his thoughts circling back to how Lana was going to be hurt because he’d failed. Again.

  His toes felt cold by the time he plodded back home. For the first time, the iron railing, the stoop, and the handsome, solid door failed to cheer him. He’d started on the steps when Mrs. Pierre appeared.

  There was Muffin, in his downstairs neighbor’s arms, purring.

  The little asshole—the cat, not the neighbor.

  Relief swamped him. The only thing preventing him from snatching Muffin from Mrs. Pierre’s arms was his desire to call Lana and shout out his relief and triumph. Not that she’d be able to pick up. Besides, he realized right then that he was going to have to be thankful for Mrs. Pierre, the person who’d bought their apartment from Raoul.

  Her smooth, brown face was stretched in a welcoming smile. “Is this your cat? I found her out on my ledge early this morning, but she wouldn’t come in. I had to lure her with some tuna, but even then she was pretty suspicious until after she’d eaten. What a good kitty she is.”

  Muffin gazed smugly at Simon through half-closed eyes.

  “I can’t thank you enough for finding her. My—Lana is going to be so relieved. We’ve had an eventful twenty-four hours.”

  Simon held out his arms, but Mrs. Pierre didn’t seem quite ready to cede the cat. “I had a kitten like her a few years ago. Quite an escape artist, but she was such a purr-monster.”

  “Ah, we haven’t experienced a lot of her cheer so far.”

  “She’s got it in her. Haven’t you?”

  Mrs. Pierre still had a soft smile on her face. She wasn’t thinking of it, of how she’d upended his life, a life he’d only had a chance to love for a brief time. Why did she even need the upstairs? She was a single, older woman, as far as he could tell. It wasn’t as if she had a growing family.

  “I heard from Raoul about the sale,” he said a little abruptly.

  “Oh, yes! I’m so happy.”

  There was not a cloud in her face. What did he expect from her? Guilt? Apologies? But she was scratching Muffin under the chin, and the cat was loving every minute of it. When Mrs. Pierre stopped for a second, Muffin thrust her tiny head under her hand again.

  “It’s my daughter and her kids. They’re moving back to the city and they want to be close by. She looked around for a bit, but the market is hard, you know. Well, I told myself, what can be closer than upstairs? So I asked Raoul if he’d be willing to do this for me, to sell, not expecting him to say yes. And miracle of miracles, he agreed.”

  Mrs. Pierre laughed, and the sheer joy and relief in it made Simon realize he was being a self-involved asshole. Yes, he wasn’t pleased to have to pack up his belongings again, but he’d done it a few months ago, and it had been the best thing that happened in a long time. He didn’t want to make a habit of jumping from apartment to apartment, sure, but he’d clung to his old place, his old ways, his old life and thoughts for too long. And Lana had seen that.

  He’d even expected to move again. After all, wasn’t that what their agreement had been? Didn’t he still have a chunk of his belongings in storage? If it hadn’t worked out in four months, one of them would have had to go anyway.

  But it had worked out.

  “It’s too bad you kids will have to find a new place, but it’s harder to move an old body like mine. And I can’t pass up the chance to be with my loved ones after so long.”

  Mrs. Pierre smiled so sweetly at him. She hadn’t intended to upend his life. She’d found and fed Muffin, and Muffin was the only thing that could make Lana happy right now. Certainly not his selfish ass.

  It was difficult and unreasonable to be mad at his neighbor, to be mad at Lana. All they’d done was ask for what they wanted.

  Maybe it was time he sat down and asked himself what he really wanted, too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When Lana got home that night, she was met with a familiar sight. The lights were on. There was a pot and two place settings on the counter. And Simon and the cat were sprawled on the couch. Asleep.

  She wanted to curl up with both of them, to hold on to them. But she didn’t have that right with Simon, and the cat would be grumpy. Simon had texted her after he’d found her. He’d taken her to the vet. She was no worse for her adventure, but Muffin was better off asleep with Simon.

  All Lana had done was lose her. Lose them both. She felt sorry for herself, and she supposed she was allowed to wallow in five damn minutes of self-pity in her life. She was tempted to put her things away quietly and go back to her room and hide and sleep. It wouldn’t have been out of character. She was irresponsible: inattentive of her pet, unmindful of her health, careless with Simon’s feelings, with her own.

  No, that’s what years-ago Lana would have said about herself.

  She took a deep breath.

  The cat was fine. She’d even had an adventure. Simon would survive. After all, he’d gotten over her once and thrived. Demanding he come with her was asking him to change, and it wasn’t her right. She should never have asked him to live with her, never have contacted him again. How could she have thought that a silly set of rules would protect them?

  It was done, and she was still alive. She had made the right choices, and she had to honor the hard work she’d put into her career, her hands, her brain, her life. She’d hoped Simon would want that, because it was what she’d become. But it was not to be.

  She stood up straight, not that anyone was awake to see her. And because she couldn’t help herself, she lifted the lid of the pot. A squash soup—butternut or pumpkin—bright and warm, spiced with curry. The next little bowl held chopped cilantro. A small loaf of bread sat to the side.

  “You should have woken me.”

  Simon was up and next to her, close but not touching. His short hair was rumpled and his shirt—well, it looked the same. He smelled faintly of the curry he’d been cooking.

  She wanted to dip her head toward him and sniff him. No, she wanted to bury her face in his shoulder and never stop leaning on him. But she had to stand firm. It was what she’d chosen, and she’d go by that. Besides, he was holding himself stiffly. So she crossed her arms in front of her and straightened her spine.

  “What’s this about?” she asked, pointing her chin toward the food.

  “I wanted to apologize.”

  He didn’t look very apologetic. The words seemed to emerge unwillingly out of his tight jaw, and he looked anywhere but at her. She wanted to fling those reluctant words in his stupid, beautiful face.

  Except. He was almost vibrating. She could see it in the tension in his hands, the slight tremble of his fingers as he brought them forward, then down.

  Al
ways follow a conductor’s hands.

  When she finally searched his face, it wasn’t anger, it was...fear? Well, she understood that all too well.

  “What’s this about?” she repeated more softly.

  He glanced over at the food. “Maybe we should sit.”

  They settled opposite each other at the counter. Muffin circled Lana’s legs curiously, as if she hadn’t scared the living daylights out of both of them.

  He cleared his throat. “So I have this whole speech planned out. And this food. I’m sorry it isn’t what you’re used to, and you’re probably tired after a long day.”

  “It’s good, Simon. It smells delicious. Thank you. People hardly ever cook for me and you’ve done it twice, no, three times.”

  He ladled out the soup. “Well, the Lunar New Year dinner didn’t exactly work out the way I envisioned it. I wanted to surprise you. I hoped to make you happy, to make you laugh. Instead I always seem to be asleep for the important parts. Or I haven’t checked my messages, and I’m oblivious to the important things that happen to you, and to me. I don’t want to miss everything that matters.”

  Lana was holding her breath, watching Simon’s face—she didn’t know how to describe it—was it falling? Maybe it was just loosening, as if all the tension and fight and fear started to unspool.

  She gripped her spoon and tried to control her sudden rush of hope. Because even if Simon apologized, if he still loved her, if he soothed her, it still wouldn’t necessarily be right for her, or for them.

  She cleared her throat and poked at the swirls of cream and squash in her soup. “Thank you for looking for Muffin. For finding her.”

  “It wasn’t me. It was our downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Pierre. She’s the one who’s buying this apartment.”