by J. T. Marie
I’m probably getting all worked up over nothing, she chides herself. Maybe I’m remembering her all wrong. Maybe I was just surprised to see her so dressed down yesterday, after spending all morning picturing her in heels and a power suit. She’s probably really nothing to write home about. Just chill.
Unfortunately she can’t take her own advice. On the other side of the door, she hears approaching footsteps and has to remind herself to breathe. She hasn’t been this stirred up over a woman since college, when she had a crush on a girl she frequently saw around campus. They never spoke to one another, but Dayla’s mood always improved whenever she caught a glimpse of the other girl. Hell, she didn’t even know the girl’s name, but Dayla liked her nonetheless.
And that’s all this is, a crush. So grow up already. Get over it, Day.
Then the door opens, and the breath Dayla doesn’t know she’s been holding escapes with a sigh.
Keri is just as Dayla remembers—casually beautiful, as if she doesn’t know what her smile can do. Her strawberry locks are pulled back in a sloppy bun, and stray curls frame her face. Her freckles look diminished out of the sunlight, and there’s a hint of color on her lips, a smudged line around her eyes…
Did she put on makeup just for me? Maybe Dayla isn’t the only one interested.
“Hey,” she says, tamping down the nervous giddiness that wants to bubble out of her. “I like your house.”
Keri’s smile widens. “Thanks. It still cracks me up that you thought I lived at the Smithson’s.”
“This one is much more you,” Dayla admits.
Keri steps aside to let her in. “Would you believe it has three bedrooms?”
Impressed, Dayla asks, “Where? Unless there’s more underground I can’t see.”
“Nope, this is it.” Closing the door behind her, Keri says, “Let me give you the tour.”
They’re in a hallway, with the kitchen off to the left and the living room on the right. Past the living room, a staircase leads up to the second floor. Beyond the staircase the hallway turns, leading to a mudroom and, beyond that, a gated backyard.
Before the mudroom is a bathroom and a closed door, which Keri touches. “This is the cat room,” she explains. “We’ll save that for last.”
The cats have their own room? Dayla isn’t sure if that’s strange or cute.
Upstairs there’s another bathroom and two bedrooms, though only one has a bed in it. The other is full of cat trees and pet beds, and the floor is littered with toys, strings and feathers and cardboard tubes. “Are you sure this isn’t the cat room?” Dayla teases.
Keri glances into the room, then changes direction in mid-step and ducks through the open door. “Here are my girls.” The pitch of her voice changes as she coos, “Look who’s here to see you!”
Dayla follows her into the room. An elegant gray cat lounges on the top roost of a cat tree in front of the window. As Dayla approaches, the feline looks her over and dismisses her with a flick of an ear.
Keri scritches the top of the cat’s head. “This is Juju. She’s a bit standoffish.”
“She’s a cat,” Dayla points out.
Bending down to kiss Juju’s head, Keri says, “She’s my finicky eater. You might have to bring the food to her some days, or Sable will eat it.”
“Sable?” Dayla glances around. “Where…?”
Keri nods at a nearby kitty condo, which has three holes in a row down the front of it, like a stoplight. Dayla has to crouch down to peer into the bottom hole, but even then, the black cat inside is hard to see. She wiggles her fingers in a quick wave. “Hello there.”
The cat opens one yellow eye, then closes it dismissively.
With a self-conscious laugh, Dayla says, “I don’t think Sable likes me.”
“Sable doesn’t like anyone,” Keri admits. “At least, not at first. But the moment you open a can of cat food, she turns all lovey-dovey.”
Rocking back on her heels, Dayla gives the room a good once-over. “How is this not the cat room?”
“Oh, it is,” Keri assures her. “But it’s for my cats only. The room downstairs is for fosters.”
“Who’s Foster?” Dayla asks, though she has a sneaky feeling she already knows. Boyfriend, most likely, and she hopes Keri can’t hear the disappointment in her voice. Why is it all the women Dayla’s attracted to always turn out to be straight?
Keri’s laugh only makes her feel worse. Then she says, “No, not who. What. I foster neonatal kittens and pregnant mothers who wouldn’t normally make it if left in a shelter.”
At first Dayla can’t quite grasp what that means.
Her confusion must be evident because Keri explains. “When someone brings a pregnant cat or a litter of kittens that need to be bottle fed into a local animal shelter, most of time the shelter employees can’t care for them and they’re euthanized. But I work with the Richmond Animal League and foster those cats, instead. So when any come in, I get a call and go pick up them, bring them home.”
“And then what?” Dayla still isn’t getting it.
Keri says, “And then I care for them until the kittens are old enough. Then they’re spayed or neutered, and adopted.”
“By who?” Dayla asks.
Keri shrugs. “By whoever wants them. The shelter handles all that, though. I just keep them here until they’re old enough to find their forever homes.”
Dayla still isn’t sure she understands, but she did hear one word that interested her. “You have kittens?”
“Not quite yet.”
Now Dayla’s intrigued. “What do you mean?”
Keri gives her a mischievous grin. “Come see.”
They head back downstairs, Keri leading the way. Half-joking, Dayla asks, “So you don’t have a boyfriend named Foster, then?”
Keri laughs. “God, no. The last boyfriend I had was in the eighth grade.”
That sounds promising. Unless…“That was a while ago. Do you not date, then?”
“Oh, I do.” Stray curls that have escaped from Keri’s bun bounce as she nods. “Just not guys anymore. And no one, really, at the moment.”
That last bit she adds with a coy glance over her shoulder back at Dayla. Does that mean Keri’s interested in dating her? Or is she reading more into that glance than she should?
* * * *
Much to Dayla’s disappointment, there really aren’t any kittens currently in the cat room.
“You said you had some kittens.” Dayla hears the pout in her own voice and wishes it wasn’t there. But the cat room’s only occupant is an obese calico snoozing in a fleece pet bed strategically placed in a beam of sunlight near the window.
Keri reminds her, “I said not quite yet. They’re coming, don’t worry.”
“What do you mean?”
Crossing the room, Keri strokes one hand down the calico’s side. A sudden strong purring sound fills the air. “Missy here’s knitting kittens as we speak.”
For a moment, Dayla can’t figure out what Keri means. Then she gets it. “You mean she’s pregnant.” When Keri nods, Dayla has to laugh. “And here I thought she was just fat.”
Keri rubs Missy behind the ears. In a baby voice, she coos, “Tell her you’s not fat, you’s fluffy.”
Coming closer, Dayla asks, “When’s she due?”
“Soon.” When Dayla’s close enough, Keri grabs her wrist and places her hand on the cat’s side. “Feel this.”
At first Dayla only feels soft fur. You’re right, she is fluffy, she thinks, rubbing her fingers into the downy coat. Then something wriggles under her palm and she jumps back, a little cry of surprise escaping her throat. “What’s that?”
“The kittens.” Keri’s smile rivals the sunlight streaming in through the nearby window. “Did you feel them?”
“That’s what that was?” A shiver of excitement runs up Dayla’s spine, but she isn’t sure how much of it is from feeling the kittens move and how much stems from the fact that Keri is still holding onto h
er wrist. “Let me feel it again.”
It’s a ploy to keep Keri’s hand on her, and it works. As Keri guides her hand back to the cat, Dayla holds her breath and savors the firm, warm fingers wrapped around her arm. Then she’s petting the cat again, and this time the movements beneath Missy’s fur don’t startle her.
“Wow,” she sighs. “That’s wild. When will they come?”
“Another week or so.” Keri releases Dayla’s wrist, but trails one finger a little ways up Dayla’s arm before moving her hand away completely. “That’s why I need someone to come by every day while I’m at work. My two can more or less fend for themselves, though they’ll make you think they’re starving if they haven’t eaten in a couple hours. But I don’t want to leave Missy alone for too long, in case the kittens come and there’s some sort of complication.”
The thought startles Dayla. “If that happens, I sure won’t know what to do. I mean, I had cats growing up, but none of them ever had kittens.” All her family cats had always been fixed, so she never had to deal with one giving birth.
“I’m sure everything’s going to be fine,” Keri says. “In the wild, cats have kittens all the time without any help from humans, you know? But if you’re here and something does come up, you’ll be able to call me and I’ll come right over. Most likely nothing’s going to happen, but this way if something does go wrong, we’ll be here.”
You’ll be here, Dayla amends silently. I love cats, but I don’t know squat about having kittens.
“I won’t even know when she goes into labor,” Dayla says, giving Keri a worried frown.
Keri rubs Dayla’s shoulder. “Oh, you’ll know.”
Her hand lingers on Dayla’s arm, in no hurry to move. So maybe she is interested, after all.
Chapter 5
Dayla finds she quickly falls into a routine. Every morning after breakfast, she heads over to Keri’s to check on the cats. The first few days she fusses with her appearance, making sure every hair is in place and her makeup is perfect, but when she discovers Keri isn’t there to see the trouble she’s gone to, she stops bothering. Instead, if she isn’t heading to the salon afterward, she wears a bra under the T-shirt she slept in and a pair of jeans out of the hamper, and her hair up in a messy bun.
Who’s she kidding? She still looks cute. But Keri must leave at the crack of dawn because she’s never home when Dayla swings by.
The first time she comes over, Dayla feels a little weird, as if she’s breaking into the house and sneaking around. Her key opens the side door by the mudroom, which adds to her feeling of wrongdoing. As she steps inside, she calls out, “Keri?” but the house is empty.
Except for the cats, of course. She checks on mama cat first, but there’s plenty of food and water and Missy still looks huge, so no kittens yet. Thank God. She isn’t completely sure how she’s going to react when the babies do come, but she knows she isn’t ready for them on day one. Or, hell, day one hundred, either. How long do cats stay pregnant anyway? With luck, Keri might even have the pool finished by then.
Or no. On her way up the stairs to check on the other two cats, Dayla pulls up Google on her phone only to discover the answer is about sixty-five days. So that’s what, two months? Ish. And Keri hasn’t even broken ground on the pool yet, whereas mama cat is about ready to pop.
So it isn’t a matter of if but when. And Dayla seriously hopes it happens overnight, when Keri’s here and she isn’t.
Though who knows? Maybe I’ll be here, too.
Who’s she kidding? If Keri isn’t going to be home when she stops by, Dayla may never see her again. For all she knows, their future communications may be by text or notes left in an envelope with her check at the end of the week.
The cats upstairs barely acknowledge her presence. Dayla scoops their litter, refreshes their water bowls, and gives them half a can of wet food each. She tries to pet them as they eat, but Sable moves out of reach and Juju growls in warning. So Dayla goes back to the kitten room to scoop Missy’s box. “At least you like me,” she says, rubbing the large, furry belly, and Missy purrs in agreement.
Before she leaves, she takes a photo of the calico, relaxing on its back in the sunbeam, and texts it to Keri. Everyone ok here. Have a great day!
The reply is almost instantaneous, a smiley face and two words. YOU TOO!!
Dayla grins. How cute is that?
* * * *
In the evenings Dayla does the whole thing again, swinging by on her way home from work. The first week, her shifts don’t run past five o’clock, and apparently Keri doesn’t knock off then because she still isn’t home when Dayla stops in. But on Friday Dayla works a late shift, not showing up at Keri’s until a little after seven, and she’s in the kitten room checking on the calico when she hears the door to the mudroom open.
Finally. Here she is thinking she’ll never get to see that cute freckled face again.
“I’m in here!” she calls out as she pets mama cat. Footsteps in the hall stop in the doorway and Dayla smiles over her shoulder. “There you are. No kittens yet.”
“Good.” Keri’s voice is soft and weary.
Dayla sits down cross-legged on the floor as she turns. Keri looks beat. The bouncy curls Dayla remembers are now pasted to her neck with sweat, and grime obscures many of the freckles on her cheeks and nose. She brushes a hand over her do-rag, pushing it off in the process, then uses it to wipe the back of her neck.
“Rough day?” Dayla asks.
Keri shrugs. “Just long. We broke ground and there were a dozen different issues that cropped up, of course.”
Dayla gives her a sympathetic frown. “I’m sorry. But hey, at least it’s the weekend, right?”
At that, Keri rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. Too bad self-employed contractors who have a deadline to meet don’t take off weekends. At least this one doesn’t.”
“But you’re off tonight,” Dayla points out.
“Yeah.” It comes out more like a sigh than an actual word. “But I’m right back at it in the morning.”
“Well, that’s still a few hours off,” Dayla teases. “How about we grab a bite to eat? I haven’t seen you all week. I almost forgot what you look like.”
That makes Keri laugh. “Next time you text me a photo of the cats, I’ll send back a selfie, how’s that sound?”
To be honest, it sounds lovely. But Dayla already half-asked Keri out, and since she wasn’t shot down immediately, she presses a little harder. “I’m going to hold you to that. Now about dinner…”
Keri leans against the door jamb, obviously worn out. “Can I get a raincheck? I really am beat. And in no shape to go out, not even to McDonald’s. If nothing else, I need to shower.”
Dayla hugs her knees to her chest. “Well,” she drawls, “how about you go shower and I’ll order us in something?”
That perks Keri up. “There’s a pretty decent Chinese place not too far away. I have their menu up on the fridge. I could really go for a heaping plate of lo mein right about now.”
“Then it’s a date.” Dayla grins to show she’s kidding, at least a little bit, but Keri doesn’t protest. It’s a start. “Where’s this menu again?”
“On the fridge,” Keri says. “Get me the chicken lo mein, a spring roll or three, and some wonton soup.”
Dayla pushes herself to her feet. “Hop on in the shower. The food’ll be here before you know it.”
Keri gives her a wink. “Suddenly I’m starving.”
Chapter 6
By the time Keri comes back downstairs, dressed in lounge pants and an oversized flannel shirt and patting her damp curls with a towel, Dayla has the takeout containers set out on the living room coffee table. There are plates and napkins set up in two place settings, one at the end of the table and the other catty-corner, so they can chat as they eat but still see each other. Beside the place settings are two cold bottles of Mike’s Hard Lemonade, which Dayla found in the fridge, and silverware just in case Keri isn’t into chopsticks
. Personally she’s going to use a fork—since she’s treating this as a date, she doesn’t want to look silly just trying to get the food into her mouth.
“I thought we could sit here,” Dayla says as she sits on the floor in front of the coffee table. “It’s…I don’t know, a little less formal?”
“It’s different, but I like it.” Keri takes a seat at end of the table. “Thanks for ordering.”
Dayla shrugs. “Hey, I have to eat, too.”
They split the food between them, lo mein and fried rice and steamed vegetables, spring rolls, wonton soup. There’s even a grease-stained bag of fried donuts for after dinner.
“So,” Dayla says, cutting open a spring roll to let it cool off a little, “tell me about your day.”
Keri laughs. “Long and involved. I don’t want to bore you.”
“I doubt you could.” Dayla sits back against the couch, bowl of soup in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other. “No, really. I want to know. How’s the pool coming along?”
With a sigh, Keri admits, “It isn’t.”
“What? Why not?”
Keri stabs at the lo mein on her plate, then begins to twist the fork like she’s eating spaghetti. “Well, all this week we’ve been getting ready to break ground, right? Clearing the area, mostly, but also stocking up on materials so the moment the pool is dug, we can get right to work. Everything was going fine all week long, right on schedule.”
Dayla grimaces. “And then?”
“And then, today,” Keri says, rolling her eyes, “it’s one thing after another. The ground turns out to be too rocky, so every fifteen minutes we’re stopping and clearing away the stones and debris so nothing damages the backhoe because I’m renting it and I don’t want to tear up the bucket.”
Even though Dayla isn’t quite sure what Keri’s talking about, she nods encouragingly and sips at her soup. Keri’s hair has begun to dry into tight little curls, plastered to her forehead, cheeks, and neck. For all Dayla cares, she could be talking about the price of tea in China. Keri’s voice is nice to listen to, and Lord knows she isn’t hard on the eyes, either.
