City Kitty and Country Mouse

by Alyssa Linn Palmer

  She peers through her glasses at me, their large round frames dwarfing her thin face. “Ah, Ming Nhon,” she says, “you’re home. I left rice cakes for you.”

  “I’ll get some soon,” I reply and sit down next to her on the porch swing. It sways gently.

  “You are late today,” she says.

  “It was busy, just me.”

  “Alice called earlier. She apologized for being sick. I offered to bring her some soup, but she said she wasn’t hungry. I hope she is eating.”

  Mama is always concerned about whether we have eaten enough. It’s one of the things I remember as a child growing up—no matter what day, or what was going on, there was always the question, Did you eat?

  “She’ll ask for some when she wants it,” I say. Alice is our neighbor as well as being my business partner, and nearly Mama’s age, though she’ll never admit it. And she doesn’t look it, not at all. She’s usually hardy and energetic, and this flu is a rare thing for her. I’ll have to talk to her later, let her know how things went. But right now, I need food. I’m not used to manning the booth on my own, and I know I’m not the sort who can just jump into the fray and be super-friendly-cheery without it costing me. I rise from the swing and go get my dinner. It’s delicious, but I’m so tired that even that doesn’t seem to matter much. I pour two cups of tea from the kettle on the stove and bring them outside again, give one to Mama.

  “There was a phone call earlier,” she says. “I didn’t know who, so I didn’t answer.” She shrugs. “Not local.”

  “I’ll check it tomorrow.” I know she doesn’t like to answer if she doesn’t know who it is. Though she’s been in Canada a long time, and my father was English-speaking, she isn’t confident in her English and would rather speak Cantonese. He and I always indulged her, and I’m glad I did, because otherwise I might not have known my mother tongue at all. As it is, English flows off my tongue much easier than Cantonese.

  “It’s a beautiful night, Ming Nhon,” she says, squeezing my hand.

  “Yes, it is, Mama,” I reply. There’s nothing quite like this view, looking out over the green hills, past the barn and the greenhouses, the smell of grass and hay and the fresh breeze that comes from the west, off the mountains several hours away.

  I only wish I had someone else to share it with, someone who wasn’t Mama. As she shared it with my father, I want to share it with someone.

  One day.

  * * *

  I wake early, even though I went to bed early with exhaustion, and pad down to the kitchen to put on the coffee, my slippers making little noise on the linoleum. The kitchen window is open and the light breeze is cool, but it helps to wake me up.

  From the corner of my eye, the red blink of the answering machine catches my attention. I never checked the messages. While the coffee percolates in its aluminum pot on the stove, I sit down at the tiny corner desk and hit the play button, searching for a pen that works.

  “Hi Lucy, it’s Kitty Kerr…”

  I stop my searching, her voice catching me by surprise. I remember instantly who she is, the woman in fancy office wear, loving my blackberries. Seeing her eating them, savoring them so intensely, it made me wish that she could be the one. Most people don’t eat food like that. It’s a necessary activity. But Kitty, she adored it, took her time, made every bite count. My throat goes dry, and I dig once more for a pen as she repeats her phone number. The message ends, and I finally find one pen that mostly works. I write down her name on a sticky note, but I have to replay her message to get her phone number.

  I want to call her back right away, but I check the time. Six o’clock. No, far too early to call. I tuck the sticky note into the pocket of my robe and go back to the stove, check on the coffee, and take down a mug from the cupboard. My heart feels like it’s racing, but in a good way. Sort of. Alice would tease me gently about a crush, and Mama would just smile patiently. She thinks I need to find someone, and I told her a few months after Dad died that I liked women, not men, and she’d just nodded. I knew a long time ago, Ming Nhon, she’d said. No keeping anything from Mama.

  I pour a cup of coffee and take it out onto the porch, looking out over the farm, the sun just above the horizon. It’s cool out and a bit damp, but it will be hot later. The sky is clear, and I can already feel the warmth of the sunshine. At this time of morning, when all is quiet, it’s easy to let my mind wander.

  Kitty’s lips closing over the blackberry was one of the most erotic things I’ve seen. Her lips were lush, and the way her eyes closed, her dark lashes like soot on her cheeks… The desire shivers through me again, like it did yesterday. I tried to hide it then, but I don’t bother now. The goose bumps rise on my arms. If anyone saw, I’d excuse it away with the light breeze, but there’s only me. And then I feel silly for fantasizing. A city girl like her probably has never gotten her hands dirty, never planted a garden or ridden a horse or even set foot on a farm. Not that she wouldn’t, but I’ve listened to others complain about the city folk and how insular they are. Mind you, these are the same people who, though kind and reliable, also still call my mother the China-lady when they don’t think I can hear them. She did pick an English name—Michelle—but her real name is Ai-He.

  Dad was one of the community, since his family has been here for years. I remember him telling me about my great-grandparents, Kuo Song and Ru Shi, who opened the first Chinese-Western restaurant in town. They had one daughter, Ming Nhon, who I’m named for. She married Daniel Bennett, to the shock of her family and his. He brought her out to his farm, where I’m standing now, and that was it. Part of the community, yet not part of it.

  I would bet that Kitty doesn’t care that I’m one-quarter white settler and three-quarters Chinese.

  I take a long draw on my coffee, which is getting too close to lukewarm. I need to get dressed and get started on chores. Then I’ll go check in on Alice to make sure she’s doing better. And then, I will call Kitty.

  There’s the goose bumps again.

  She just wants blackberries. But I’m still hoping for more.

  Chapter Three

  I’m in a meeting with a client when my phone rings, and the caller ID says Country Mouse. I mute the ringer and force my gaze away, focusing back on my client, an older man in an immaculate and expensive suit that likely cost more than my month’s salary. He’s droning on about stock agreements, and I know I should be fascinated and offering suggestions, but it’s like my brain went on hiatus, skipping off to dream about blackberries.

  And, if I’m truly honest, about Lucy too.

  My client, Mr. Anderson, finishes his speech, and I glance down at my notes. Preferred shares, common shares, portions thereof. I look back up at him, glad that I can still manage to partly listen when I’m distracted.

  “We’ll get the agreements drawn up and sent over to your office,” I assure him. He smiles and rises from his seat, straightening his suit jacket. I rise too and offer him my hand.

  “Thank you, Ms. Kerr,” he says easily, his baritone likely one that charms all the ladies. I can see it in how he holds himself, how he looks for my reaction. I don’t tend to play that game, but he is genuinely friendly, so it’s at least easy to be friendly back.

  “Can I walk you out?” I offer. He waves me off with a good-natured smile.

  “I’ll stop by and see Jack on my way”—Jack being my boss, and one of the partners—“since we have a golf game on the weekend. I’ll review the agreement within a day.” With a wave, he exits my office and I sink back into my chair. My message light is blinking, bright and persistent. Normally I hate seeing my phone blink, knowing that more work looms in my already busy day, but this time is different.

  I dial in to my voicemail. Cindy comes to the door but pauses when she sees me on the phone. So much for privacy.

  Lucy’s voice comes over the line, quiet, calm, but if I’m not mistaken, there’s a slight quiver there. My heart skips a beat. She’s saying something about berries and then I
hear it. “I can deliver to your home or office if you have a larger order, but we are at the Calgary Farmers’ Market these next couple of days, and the market out at Cochrane the week after. Let me know what works best for you.” She leaves her number and I jot it onto a sticky note.

  I save the message. I usually don’t, but this time, I want to.

  Good Lord, listen to me already.

  “Your ten o’clock is here,” Cindy says. “Should I show her in?”

  “Please. And if you could, look up Country Mouse Farms. I’d like to know their prices on fruit.”

  Cindy smiles, and it’s gleeful and knowing all at once. “Yes, Ms. Kerr,” she says, turning to leave. I hate when she calls me Ms. Kerr. It’s like being my mother.

  * * *

  After my client leaves, I have a brief bit of downtime. Usually I take advantage and pop out for a sandwich and latte at one of the nearby coffee shops, but today, I stay at my desk and review the printout Cindy has given me with pricing from the farm. Everything seems reasonable to me, but then, when’s the last time I actually went shopping? Or cooked? My meals come from restaurants, takeout, or delivery services. Even my groceries. If someone asked me the price of milk, I couldn’t even hazard a guess. It never used to be that way. I used to cook. I wish I still had time to cook.

  I lift the receiver and dial the farm. The line rings, once, twice, a third time, and then there’s a slight click.

  “Country Mouse Farms,” an out-of-breath voice says.

  “May I speak with Lucy, please?” I cringe at how stiff and professional I sound. But I can’t help it. I take a deep breath. Go away, nerves.

  “Speaking.” I hear her take a deep breath too, and I wonder suddenly if that’s because of me. Probably not, since she’d been dashing for the phone, but a girl can dream.

  “This is Kitty Kerr,” I begin, trying to take some of the stiffness out of my voice but failing.

  “I was just thinking of you,” she says, and my heart shudders and skips in surprise.

  “You were?” The words pop out before I can stop them.

  “I was tending to the blackberries,” she says. “Our crop is almost done for the season, and I was getting the flats ready for the farmers’ market.”

  “How many more do you have?” Anxiety slides into my chest, though it really shouldn’t. It’s just blackberries, for crying out loud.

  “I’ll make sure you get some—have no worries on that account,” Lucy says. Her voice feels soothing somehow. I take a deep breath. “I can even deliver to your office if you’d like.”

  I can picture Lucy here, a diamond in the rough among all the starched shirts. I could close my door, give us some privacy. But who am I kidding? My luck with women is abysmal, and the last one I had a bit of a crush on was as straight as they came.

  “That would be great,” I reply, realizing I’ve stayed quiet too long. “I have some long days, so whenever is convenient for you.”

  “Is there anything else you’d like aside from the blackberries? We have a whole range of fruit and veg right now.”

  “And the more I buy, the less the delivery fee?” I add.

  “Basically,” Lucy confirms. “But it’s not very pricey. Just helps me cover gas.”

  “Then I’ll take one each of strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries. And two or three of the blackberries, if you have enough.”

  “Consider it done. I’ll be coming through the city in a couple of hours so I can get to the market. Should I call ahead?”

  I flip to my calendar app. “I’m free at two if you can aim for that.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Lucy assures me. “That should work out. Thanks for buying from us, Ms. Kerr.”

  “Do call me Kitty,” I say instantly.

  “Of course, Kitty,” Lucy says, and is it just me, or did her voice get a bit lower just there, a bit raspy? A bit, dare I hope, attracted? “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Thanks, Lucy.” I want to say more, but Lucy says good-bye and hangs up. I set the receiver down reluctantly.

  I’ve never been this excited about fruit. Or anyone, for that matter.

  Cindy knocks on the door and lets herself in, as she always does. She places two file folders on my desk, and gives me a good once-over.

  “What?”

  “You look different,” she says.

  I have a feeling I know where this is going. Cindy has always had a bit of gentle pressure on me to find a girlfriend. She’s happy with her man and she wants me to be happy too. She’s been quite up front with that, though the times she tried to set me up were awful failures. She did try, though.

  “Different how?”

  “You have some color,” she says, reaching over the desk to tap my cheek. “It looks good on you.”

  “It’s warm in here.”

  Cindy chuckles. “No, it sure isn’t.” She points out the gray cardigan she’s wearing over her dress, a brightly patterned summer frock. “If it was, I wouldn’t be wearing this, especially not with this dress.”

  “The combination works so well,” I deadpan, and she rolls her eyes.

  “Deny whatever you want,” she says, “but I know.”

  “You don’t know this,” I reply. I pull the folders toward me.

  “I do,” Cindy retorts, though her tone is cheery as she heads for the door. “Her, you…it’s damn near perfect, if I do say so myself. You’ll see it eventually.”

  I know my cheeks have gone red now. She’s blunt, but that’s what I like about her. I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, still trying to feel nonchalant.

  “Pretty sure she doesn’t bat for my team.”

  Cindy turns back and stops in front of my desk, holding out a carefully manicured hand. “Want to bet on that?” Her eyes glint with determination, and probably amusement.

  “How much?” I rise to my feet, wanting to meet her eye to eye.

  “A spa day?”

  “Extravagance is your middle name.”

  She grins. “You know it. Now, are you in or not?”

  “Half-day spa day. I’m not a partner yet.” I take her hand and we shake.

  “Done. And you’ll be partner soon, and then I’ll get a full spa day out of you every month.”

  It’s my turn to laugh, and I do, loudly. “Once a year maybe.”

  “Three times at least,” she counters.

  “We’ll see. I’m not a partner yet,” I repeat.

  “Pfft. You will be. You work your ass off. Speaking of, you have about ten minutes before your next client. Want me to get you a coffee?”

  Coffee. Oh yes. “Please.”

  “Coming right up, Ms. Kerr,” she says with a wink.

  Wait a minute. “You weren’t eavesdropping, were you?” I’d step around my desk, but Cindy’s already at the door.

  “Nope, never. But I did hear you tell her not to call you Ms. Kerr. Your voice carried.” She grins at me and disappears through the open door.

  Now what do I hope for? That I have to pay for a half-day spa, or that I don’t?

  Chapter Four

  Kitty.

  I want to chuckle at her name, just because the farm was the Country Mouse. How apt was that? Cat and mouse. I felt a bit like the mouse, being pursued. Though our phone calls were more like tag than chase. But soon I’d be seeing her in person again. I look at the list I’d written down. It wouldn’t take long to prepare, and I could finish up the rest of my chores before I left for the city. I’ll admit that I won’t be making much money on this sale, in comparison to what it will cost me in time, but I’m hoping for more sales later, or word of mouth promotion.

  And I have to be honest with myself.

  I want to see Kitty again. I need to know if what I’m feeling is just me, or if it’s her too. I’d like to think it’s both of us. When her voice changed on the phone, it made my heart thrill, and I thought for sure that she was interested.

  I don’t know why I can’t just ask her…Oh, who am I kidding?
I know exactly why. Because if I chance it, then I could mess it up, and that’d be the end of everything. So I won’t do that. I need more information first. More intel, as Alice says, especially after she’s been watching her favorite Tom Cruise action movies.

  Speaking of…

  I call Alice, dialing her number from memory. She answers, and her voice is still rough.

  “Feeling any better?”

  Alice coughs. “I’ve been worse,” she replies. “How was it yesterday at the market?”

  “I think we have a new client,” I reply, “and I sold most of the produce. I have to go into the city today for a delivery before I get to the market. Do you need anything when I get back tonight?”

  “This cold to go away.” Alice chuckles. “But no. I’m pretty well stocked. But if you can pick up a few magazines at the store, that’d be great. My internet keeps slowing down, and I need my fix of entertainment news.”

  “That I can do. I’ll pop by on my way home.”

  “You’re a dear.” I can hear the smile in her voice before she hangs up. Now it’s time for me to go to work.

  * * *

  Finding Kitty’s office is easy. Finding a parking spot in the crazy-busy downtown is not. I’ve never been too fond of the hustle and bustle of the city. It’s a cliché for the typical farm girl, but it’s really true for me. I suppose if I’d grown up here, it’d be different, but I sure don’t miss it here once I’m away.

  I circle the block several times, being careful to follow all the one-way signs. Finally, finally, a cube van pulls out of a spot just ahead of me, and I can pull in. I turn the key and take a deep breath. Instead of getting out the driver’s side, I shift over the bench seat and hop down from the passenger side. I go around to the side and open the door, and pull out the cardboard tray full of punnets. I balance it on one hand as I pull the door closed, then head over to the building. The security gives me a bit of a once-over, but I’m unbothered as I go to the elevator. Twelfth floor. I hit the button and wait. The doors open onto a reception area. Everything’s pale wood and gray carpet, minimalist furniture that looks incredibly uncomfortable.