Second Nature

by Jae

  "My mother constantly worries about me," Jorie said. "She got this idea in her head that I'm lonely. My attempts to tell her I'm not lonely at all resulted in her wanting to meet my friends." She was trying to be matter-of-fact about it, but Griffin heard the tension in her voice.

  "So that's where I come in?" Griffin asked. She wasn't sure what Jorie expected of her. Did she want Griffin to pretend to be her friend, or did Jorie think they were really becoming friends? Are we? Griffin wondered. "Do you want me to...?" She trailed off, not wanting to insult Jorie by saying the wrong thing.

  Jorie sighed. "I know it's silly."

  "No, it's not." If anyone understood how it felt trying to live up to parental expectations, it was Griffin. But unlike Jorie, she had given up these attempts years ago. She had left behind her Kasari impulses to bond and please her family. Now she lived the life of a Puwar. "I promise to come over Friday night and charm the socks off your mother. Or do you want me to misbehave so that she'll never ask to meet your friends again?"

  Jorie's laughter flooded Griffin's ears. It sounded like warm spring rain. "No, thanks. You can be your usual good-looking and charming self," she said, quoting what Griffin had said when she had jokingly compared herself to her cousin.

  Is she flirting or just being a witty smart-ass? Griffin wondered. Jorie was still hard to figure out, but she enjoyed the mystery. "All right. See you Friday, then." Griffin hung up with a grin. It dimmed when she remembered that she wasn't just going over to Jorie's to be her good-looking and charming self. She'd have to be her deceptive and manipulative self too.

  * * *

  "Shit, shit, shit!"

  The cursing stopped Griffin at Jorie's front door. She heard Jorie hurrying around inside. Her mother's visit is really throwing her off balance. Jorie is usually so much calmer than this. When she thought about how she would feel if her mother came to visit, she could understand the panic she smelled. It always felt like an invasion of her territory. She shifted her bag to one arm and rang the doorbell.

  Another curse from inside, then hurried steps. Jorie opened the door. Her feet were bare, and a few small splotches of something stained her shirt.

  Griffin took a sniff. Tomato sauce. She's cooking.

  "Oh, thank God, it's just you. For a moment, I thought my mother's flight arrived early or she rented a helicopter instead of a car." Jorie quickly herded her inside. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be out in a minute." She hurried back to the kitchen.

  Griffin followed her more slowly and took in the mess that was Jorie's usually spotless kitchen. Dirty pots and pans piled up in the sink; empty bottles of tomato sauce littered the kitchen counter, and a sharp smell of burned food insulted Griffin's nose. "Let me guess," she said, watching as Jorie desperately stirred the sauce. "You're not much of a cook."

  "I usually don't bother when it's just me," Jorie said. Since Jorie lived alone and had no friends, that meant she never cooked. "I just toss together something quick, a salad or a sandwich. I'd rather spend my time writing than cooking and cleaning the kitchen." Ruefully, she looked around the battlefield of her kitchen.

  But now she's trying to impress her mother. Griffin was beginning to understand. That's why she has asked me over. She wants her mother to think she has the perfect life, including friends who come over to enjoy her cooking. "All right." Griffin slipped off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves. "Let me see."

  "You can cook?" Jorie asked. Only reluctantly did she relinquish her place in front of the stove to Griffin. Her fingers rubbed over one of the now greenish-yellow bruises on her right arm, making herself wince and a new wave of guilt shoot through Griffin.

  Griffin took the pot of spaghetti from the stove and quickly poured it into a colander before it could end up as mush. "Don't sound so skeptical." Like most cat-shifters, she was picky about her food, and she needed to eat a lot, so she had learned how to cook. She took another whiff. "You burned the sauce. I'm not sure it's salvageable."

  Dark eyes widened. "What now? Should I hide my miserable attempt at making dinner and just take you and Mom to a restaurant, where someone makes a living of not burning sauce?"

  She's acting like a nervous teenager who has to hide the remnants of a wild party from her parents. Griffin smiled to herself. She's usually so calm and not focused on what others might think. For some reason, impressing her mother is really important to her. I can use this to get closer to Jorie and make her think she owes me.

  "No," Griffin answered. "That won't be necessary." Spending the evening at a restaurant wasn't part of her plan. Like a Wrasa, Jorie would feel most comfortable in her own "territory." If she wanted to learn something new about Jorie tonight, she needed to make sure that Jorie was as relaxed as possible. "Why don't you go and change? I'll try to have something edible on the table by the time your mother arrives."

  Jorie's gaze roamed over the kitchen war zone before it wandered up to meet Griffin's eyes. Behind the dark eyes, the need to stay independent and in control wrestled with the wish to make her mother happy. "All right." One slow step toward the door, then Jorie turned back around. "Thank you," she said and hurried away. After a moment, Griffin heard the vacuum cleaner start in the living room.

  Hmm, at least this gives me an opportunity to search Jorie's kitchen cupboards. While it probably wouldn't reveal any new clues about a secret informant, it might tell her more about Jorie. Not that there was much to see. The cupboards were almost empty. Griffin put the nonalcoholic wine she had brought into the fridge to chill and rifled through Jorie's meager supplies. A stack of frozen dinners and canned ravioli made her nose wrinkle in disgust. It's a wonder the human race isn't close to extinction too.

  Here and there, Griffin selected a few acceptable items that would help her improvise a meal.

  The sound of the vacuum cleaner stopped after a while, and Jorie's footsteps echoed from room to room as she went through the house, calling the cats.

  Griffin worked without interruption. Her simple meal was ready just as she heard a car stop in Jorie's driveway.

  A minute later, the doorbell rang.

  "Shit!" Jorie murmured in the bedroom. Apparently, she wasn't done making herself or her house presentable.

  "Want me to open the door for you?" Griffin called.

  "If you don't mind," Jorie answered, her voice muffled, probably because she was stripping out of her stained shirt or putting on a clean one.

  Griffin's eyebrows crept up. She hadn't expected Jorie to agree so easily. Does she want her mother to think we're such good friends that I feel right at home in Jorie's house? Then she's every bit as clever and manipulative as a cat. Griffin put the stove on low, smoothed her palms over her shirt, and went to open the door. The charming greeting she had prepared died on her lips, and she lingered in the doorway, staring at the new arrival in confusion.

  The woman's height and build was close to Jorie's, but with her silver-blond hair and the bluest eyes Griffin had ever seen, she looked nothing like the Asian American Jorie. Even her scent was different and brought no images of forests in springtime to Griffin's mind. More like a perfumery during a shopping frenzy, she thought. Her sensitive nose wrinkled.

  Griffin was no expert on human genetics, but she thought it highly unlikely that this woman and the man in the photo on Jorie's bookshelf were Jorie's biological parents.

  "Did Jorie forget to mention that she's adopted?" The woman laughed and shook her finger at Jorie, who was rushing down the hall to hug her mother. If she was intimidated by Griffin's size, she didn't show it. "Jorie, really, you should have told your friend."

  They're very open about this. It was completely foreign to Griffin. She wasn't in the habit of talking about her parents with anyone she met.

  Jorie rubbed her cheeks in embarrassment.

  Instead of her T-shirt, she was now wearing a long-sleeved blouse. Griffin's lips tightened when she realized why Jorie had changed. It wasn't just the tomato sauce stains on the T-shirt. She doesn'
t want her mother to see her bruises or the cut on her arm. Helen seemed to be the kind of caring mother who would instantly begin to worry.

  "I forgot," Jorie mumbled. "Griffin, this is my mother — my adoptive mother — Helen Price. Mom, this is my friend Griffin Westmore."

  What about her father? Is he dead? Divorced? And what about her biological parents? Griffin wondered. She reached out and shook Helen's hand, careful not to grip the slender fingers too hard. "Pleased to finally meet you," she said with a smile that would charm even a bear-shifter in a bad mood. "Jorie has told me so much about you."

  "Oh, really?" Helen let Griffin and Jorie help her with her coat and bag. The scent of her floral perfume brushed Griffin's nose as they entered the living room. While it might be lovely to human senses, the alcohol base of the perfume stung Griffin's nose.

  "I think we should sit down to have dinner, otherwise the wonderful meal Jorie prepared for us will get cold," Griffin said before Helen could ask what Jorie had told Griffin about her.

  "You cooked?" The blue of Helen's irises got even more intense as her eyes widened.

  "You'll like it," Griffin answered to spare Jorie from having to lie.

  * * *

  "Jorie, that was delicious," her mother said, the amazement clear in her voice.

  It was. The sauce, tasting of cream and tarragon, was a dream, and Jorie couldn't imagine what Griffin had done to make things that came from the cans in her cupboards taste so great. She also knew that there had been no nonalcoholic wine in her fridge, and Jorie made a mental note to thank Griffin later for bringing it. It had been the perfect choice since Jorie didn't drink much alcohol and with her healthy lifestyle, Griffin probably didn't either.

  "I hope you left some room," Griffin said. "Jorie has a wonderful dessert."

  What? Jorie stared at her. Is she out of her mind? She knew for a fact that she had neither prepared a dessert, nor did she have anything in her kitchen that would have allowed Griffin to make dessert within just a few minutes.

  When Jorie started carrying empty plates to the kitchen, Griffin got up and followed her. "Here." She handed Jorie the bag she had brought with her.

  Frowning, Jorie looked inside. She laughed out loud. "Pastries?"

  A grin curled Griffin's lips.

  When she smiles, she doesn't look so dangerous anymore, Jorie observed. Or maybe I'm getting used to it. From time to time, her instincts still rebelled and told her to be careful around Griffin, but she held her overactive imagination in check. It wasn't fair to judge Griffin by the way she looked. She had used her intimidating size to rescue Jorie, and now she was helping her out with her mother. Her continuing distrust made Jorie feel guilty, and she vowed to give Griffin a chance.

  "I'm no expert on flowers," Griffin said, still grinning, "but I know good food, so I thought I'd bring that instead. I figured since you made your main character a pastry chef, there's no way you could hate pastries."

  "Thank you." Jorie couldn't remember when she had last said that and meant it with the intensity that she did now. Griffin had single-handedly rescued dinner and helped to impress her mother. It had been a long time since anyone but her mother had done such a wonderful and selfless thing for her.

  They walked back into the living room with the pastries, leaving the chaos in the kitchen behind.

  Helen greeted them with a sneeze. "You did remember to put the cats into other rooms, didn't you?" she asked, sniffling.

  "Yes. Emily and Agatha are still outside, and Will is in the bedroom. I even vacuumed right before you arrived." Of course she had. She had been doing it ever since her mother had developed a mild cat allergy, and Helen's question made her defensive. The time when her mother had to tell her to clean her room was long gone.

  Sneezing again, Helen rubbed her watering eyes. Red blotches appeared on her otherwise flawless skin.

  The sight made Jorie's irritation vanish. "Are your allergies getting worse?" A few sneezes and an itchy nose had been as far as it usually went.

  "I didn't think so," her mother said and coughed. "They never were this bad before. Maybe it isn't the cats." She sneezed again and dug for some antihistamines in her purse.

  "Why don't you take your mother for a walk and show her around the neighborhood while I clean up the kitchen?" Griffin suggested. "That will give the medication time to kick in away from the house and its feline inhabitants."

  Jorie pictured the mess in her kitchen. The thought of leaving Griffin alone in her house was also a little unsettling. She scolded herself for her distrust — after all, Griffin had gone to great lengths to help her out — but still she couldn't help it. "I can't ask you to do that."

  "You're not asking; I'm offering." Griffin turned to Helen. "Mrs. Price, would you please exercise your authority over your stubborn daughter and get her out of here?"

  Helen laughed, then sneezed again. "What authority? That child always had a mind of her own. And please, call me Helen."

  The easy interaction between the two of them was a surprise — maybe because it never came easy to Jorie. Didn't she say she's not good with mothers? I better get out of here before Mom starts telling tales of my childhood. "All right," she said. "If you really don't mind." At least this would convince her mother that she had considerate friends and felt comfortable enough with them to leave them alone in her home, even if she wasn't.

  "I don't mind, and the pastries will keep until later," Griffin said.

  "Thank you." Jorie gave her a nod. Saying "thank you" was getting easier.

  * * *

  "This was a good idea," Helen said when they reached the forest at the edge of town. "Now that we're away from the house, my allergy is getting better. Really strange."

  Jorie wasn't so sure that it had been a good idea. It wasn't just the nervous tingling in her stomach at leaving Griffin alone in her home. Now that they were alone, she hardly knew what to say to her mother to keep the conversation going. She realized that Griffin had provided most of the conversation and had kept her mother entertained during dinner. Griffin just barged in and took over. It had overwhelmed Jorie, but she also knew she should be grateful. At least her mother was having a good time and had stopped worrying about her for the moment.

  Isn't that what you wanted? It was, but she didn't want that new aspect of her relationship with her mother based on a lie. There were already too many of them in her life. "Mom," she said, "it wasn't me who made that excellent dinner. Well, I made the spaghetti, but Griffin did everything else. She even brought the pastries."

  "I know," her mother said.

  Jorie stopped walking and stared at her. "You knew?"

  Chuckling, Helen slipped her arm through Jorie's to get her moving again. "You could never cook to save your life, and it would take a minor miracle to change that."

  Her mother didn't seem upset, but Jorie still felt as if she had disappointed her again. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

  A soft squeeze to her arm made her look up into her mother's smiling face. "I don't mind. You might be a terrible cook, but at least you have wonderful taste in friends."

  That only served to make Jorie feel worse. Was Griffin really her friend? She had certainly acted like it all night, and by now, Jorie knew her body language well enough to realize that it wasn't all an act. Griffin could become her friend — if she let her.

  "How did the two of you meet?" Helen asked.

  "Griffin is a zoologist," Jorie said. She knew her mother had once hoped she would get a degree too. Maybe now she could at least impress her by presenting a friend with a PhD. "She helped me with research for one of my books."

  "How long ago was that?" With unerring precision, Helen found the one question that Jorie had tried to avoid.

  She couldn't very well tell her mother that she and Griffin had only just met. Despite the good job Griffin had done at pretending to be familiar with Jorie and her life, Helen would instantly know that their friendship was just a trick to make her stop worrying. "It
seems like an eternity," Jorie answered. It did. A lot had happened in the week she had known Griffin.

  "I'm so glad," Helen said and squeezed her arm. "You were never one to make friends easily, and when you did, they usually didn't stay around for very long. What's different about Griffin?"

  Jesus, Mom! Stop asking questions I don't have an answer for. Jorie hated lying to her mother, so she forced herself to think about it and gave an answer that was at least partially true. "She really makes an effort to get to know me. She listens; she doesn't judge, and she has yet to run away because of my lack of social or cooking skills." As she said it, Jorie realized that it was all true. No matter what she did and how slow to trust she was, Griffin didn't let it deter her from wanting further contact.

  "I'm not judging or running away either. I hope you know that." Helen's intense blue eyes looked deeply into Jorie's. "And there are a lot of other people, potential friends, out there who won't judge or run either. You just have to give them a chance."

  Jorie struggled not to get defensive. Her mother meant well and didn't even realize that she was criticizing the way Jorie lived her life, putting her own standards and expectations on Jorie.

  "Griffin is a really good start," Helen said when Jorie stayed silent. "Come on. We should get back to the house. If you tried to cook dinner, you probably left Griffin with one hell of a mess in your kitchen."

  * * *

  As soon as the front door closed behind Jorie and her mother, Griffin hurried to the bedroom.

  Will lay curled up on Jorie's bed. He lifted his head when the door opened but settled back down after catching Griffin's by now familiar scent.

  Griffin sat on the edge of the bed. She took a moment to run gentle fingers through the fur on his neck, making him purr. Then she directed her gaze to the worn notebook on the bedside table.

  Finally.

  One hand still stroking Will, she reached out and carefully opened the notebook.