Seer

by Robin Roseau

  “Oh honey,” she said. “We can do something here.”

  “They may seem like shitty little monsters to you, but they get terribly lonely without someone to sleep with at night, Solange.”

  “They can sleep here,” she said. “They’ll be good.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  “I can be very convincing.”

  “Solange. They are cats. No one tells a cat what to do.”

  “We’ll try it,” she said. “They’ll be good.”

  “They’re going to spray, especially Des.”

  “Spray?”

  “Urine.”

  “They wouldn’t dare!” she said, and it was almost a hiss.

  “Solange,” I said firmly. “They’re cats.”

  “They wouldn’t dare,” she said again.

  “Did you notice they seem to have good aim with their hairballs?” I asked. “They always seem to land on your clothes.”

  “They’re doing it on purpose?”

  “Yes.”

  “Those little shits!” she screeched.

  “No, they haven’t done that yet,” I said. “They’re holding that in reserve.”

  “One of them ruined a silk blouse. I had just bought it.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll pay for it.”

  “No, you will not.” She sighed. “We can try it.”

  “Solange…”

  “I don’t want you to have to choose between us.”

  “I don’t either. But…” I paused. “I talked to Dolores. They like her.”

  Solange’s glowered disappeared. “You’ll still see them.” She tried to pull me into her arms, but I pulled away and walked to the window, staring out into her garden. Solange tried to follow me, but I held up a hand between us.

  “It feels like I’m putting them in a foster home, Solange.”

  “Oh darling,” she said. “We can try them here. We can make a room.”

  “And fill it with toys?”

  “Yes.”

  “Warm places to sleep, maybe with a nice window that gets the afternoon sun.”

  “Yes.”

  “A nice little kitty prison,” I said. I turned to her. “Life is full of choices. For years, I condemned my uncle for letting me grow up in the foster system. Was I unfair? Do you think he agonized over his choices? Am I as bad as he is?”

  “Sidney, if you’re serious about moving in, then I might have a solution. Why are you so sure they’re going to be so naughty?”

  “This house is yours and smells like you. They’re going to get one whiff and try to take it away from you.”

  “By spraying.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do they do that at your house after I visit?”

  “No.”

  “Well then,” she said. “We just need to make it smell like you instead of me.”

  “We can’t. You’ve lived here for how many years? To a cat’s nose, the place is infused with your scent.”

  “There are rooms I never visit,” she said. “There’s an entire suite at the other end of this hall I probably haven’t visited since the house was built. What if you spend a week or two sleeping there. Maybe work out there. Move all your clothes there. Move some of their stuff, too. Make it your place. Make it their place. It’s a suite. There’s plenty of room. In the original house, it was the suite for the lady of the house, and there was a second room for the nursery. We could install a cat wonderland in there. We’ll clean the room out, have it cleaned thoroughly, then move your bedroom set in there, along with all your bedding and clothes.”

  “So I’ll live there, you’ll live here?”

  “I’ll keep my things down here, but that will be your suite, yours and the cats, and you will invite me in. The cats will see it’s yours, not mine.”

  I considered her idea. “What if it doesn’t work?”

  “Then we go talk to Dolores.”

  I nodded. “All right. Are you sure?”

  “You shouldn’t have to pick between us. At least, we should try it. Maybe in time, they’ll grow to accept me, and we can give them run of the house.”

  I smiled. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “There’s something else I want.”

  “Oh?”

  “I want to live life to the fullest. Do you think you could help with that?”

  “I think I could.”

  * * * *

  We got Mike to build the cat playground. He was very creative, giving them no end of places to hide.

  Solange avoided not only the suite, but the entire wing. She had me take pictures and show her.

  I moved my things in, and then I spent a week sleeping there alone, going home every couple of days for a night in the spare room. The cats let me know their displeasure, but they cuddled at night.

  I did everything I could to spread my own scent around the place. I had an exercise bicycle that I used in the winter, so I moved that in, and then I spent hours biking on it. It’s kind of gross to think about, but I wanted the space to smell like me and not anyone else. I moved around the room, touching everything. I cleaned, but I used my products from home. I wiped down surfaces with the towel I used to shower. I ate my meals in there. I worked in there.

  Solange replaced the window curtains, but we kept them on the bed for three days, and I wrapped them around me while I worked, using them like blankets.

  And then came the big test. I spent a night at home. In the morning, I used two towels for my shower, then used the towels as liners in the cat carriers. I caught both cats, using a little bit of tuna as a bribe, and I bundled them into their carriers. Then I began the drive to our new home.

  The cats hated car rides, and they fussed the entire time. Chaos was especially vocal with her displeasure.

  By mutual agreement, everyone stayed out of sight when I got there. Solange even had a cleaning company come in to clean the common areas of her house from the front door to the new bedroom, and we had them use the same cleaning products I typically use.

  I parked in front of the entrance, my nerves ragged from listening to both animals. I got out of the car then opened the back door to look at them. I was relieved that neither of them had gotten sick.

  “We’re at our new home,” I said. “Come on.” I picked them each up and, leaving the car door swinging, headed for the house. I went up the right hand stairs, furthest from Solange’s bedroom, then took a right at the top and headed to the new bedroom. The cats continued to fuss, although not as loudly as they had in the car.

  I took them to my bed. I figured Chaos would be a little more well-behaved than Des, so I let her out first. She popped her head out of her carrier, took one look around, then hissed, jumped off the bed, and dashed underneath it. I crouched down to look at her, and I saw her glaring at me.

  “I’ll get you to come out in a minute,” I said. But I watched her. At least she wasn’t being naughty.

  When I let Des out, he mirrored his sister, but when he dashed under the bed, there was intense hissing, and he came dashing back out. He ran twice around the room then disappeared into the cat playroom. I went in to find him, but he managed to find one of Mike’s hiding places.

  “No problem,” I said. “I planned for this.”

  I had my can opener from home. I went back down to the car, grabbed the remaining cat things, including their bowls, and brought them upstairs. Then I made a big production of opening a can of tuna.

  Both cats were mewing insistently long before I’d emptied a quarter can into each bowl. More, and they might get sick.

  I turned to them. They were standing on the floor, weaving around my legs and looking up at the bowls. Chaos tried to climb up my leg to get to the tuna, but I pushed her off.

  “Here’s the agreement,” I said. “You’ll get tuna more often as long as you’re good cats. If you spray, it’s nothing but dried food. Do you understand me?”

  They assured me they did, their mews insistent.
<
br />   I didn’t believe a word, but I let them have the tuna anyway.

  * * * *

  We had no “accidents”, intentional or otherwise. I cleaned the litter boxes obsessively, twice a day, which was more often than necessary. I didn’t really like having the litter boxes in the bathroom, but there was little other choice.

  Solange remained out of the entire wing for the first week. Then we gave it a test, and she came “over to visit” for a couple of hours. The cats were prepared to hide, but she bribed them with tuna. They were cautious, but they accepted the bribe. We didn’t push our luck, and we still spent the night apart.

  We gradually increased the amount of time Solange spent in my room, and she bribed the cats every time she visited. They remained standoffish, and Des especially tended to hiss at her. But they made no messes.

  Soon she was spending nights, and if she would have preferred her bed over mine, she didn’t say a word.

  * * * *

  The summer was a whirlwind. We biked, swam, and I got better at skiing, learning to drop one ski. I couldn’t go back and forth and throw a wall of water, but Solange assured me that took more practice. I thought at forty-five years old, I should count my blessings that I was able to learn at all.

  We went to San Francisco for a weekend, just the two of us. I had a wonderful time.

  We made love. A lot. Solange was very creative, and she showed me things I never knew.

  One Saturday morning we woke, and while we were still cuddling, she asked me, “What’s something crazy you’ve never done.”

  “Drugs.”

  “Okay, let me rephrase. Something crazy you’ve never done that you have always wanted to.”

  “The cliché answer is skydiving.”

  She grinned at me.

  “You’re not serious.”

  “I certainly am. You may say ‘no’, Sidney, but I think it’s something you should do at least once.”

  “Have you ever been?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “When?” I asked.

  “In my special forces days.”

  I laughed. “I think I’d be afraid.”

  “Are you going to let that stop you?”

  I thought about it. “All right. When?”

  “We leave in twenty minutes. Shower fast.”

  Solange had made arrangements with the place she used, and I had my own instructor. She already knew what she was doing, but she sat through the instruction with me anyway. I learned everything they wanted to teach me, got fitted for equipment, then willingly got into an airplane with the intention of jumping out of it.

  The instructor wore a little video camera on his wrist. Solange wore one on her helmet and another one on her wrist. When we were over the drop zone, she climbed out of the airplane first, hanging onto the handles on the outside. I was doing a tandem dive, which meant I was buckled to the instructor, and we would share one large parachute. Solange, as an experienced skydiver, was solo.

  We bobbed out, back, and then out and we were falling.

  I was proud of myself. I didn’t scream.

  I arched my back in the style we’ve all seen in photos and videos, and we fell straight down. Solange fell with us, filming me. We fell for about a minute, and I checked our altitude frequently. Then the instructor opened the chute for us, and a few seconds later, we were gliding to the earth.

  Solange landed first and filmed my landing, then walked up and caught my smile.

  “What did you think?” she asked.

  “Can we go again?”

  * * * *

  That was the craziest day of the summer, but the woman from my dreams had told me, “Continue to live. Continue to love.” I decided to do both.

  By the end of the summer, we were cautiously giving the cats the run of the house, a little at a time. They knocked over a few things, but they didn’t do anything too terrible. They still didn’t like Solange, but they didn’t destroy her house.

  I was deeply relieved.

  Solange was amazing, beyond amazing. She treated me exactly the way I wanted to be treated. Oh, we had disagreements, but we didn’t fight. Instead, she went into “lawyer mode”, which was basically impossible to fight with. We could argue, but not fight.

  I was deeply in love, and I was sure she was, too.

  Gay marriage was legal in Minnesota. One night over dinner, I asked her what she thought about it.

  “Times have changed so much,” she said. “It wasn’t that long ago that we had to hide who we were or face severe persecution. There are places in the world it’s not safe to be gay.”

  “There are places in the United States it’s not that safe,” I pointed out. “I have gotten good at avoiding those places.”

  But she didn’t take the hint to talk about us, and then she changed the subject. A week later, as we lay in bed, snuggling, I asked her, “Do you think we’ll still be together in five years, Solange?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ten?”

  “Yes.”

  “A hundred?”

  She laughed. “Who knows? Modern science is advancing at the fastest rate ever. There are futurists who believe we’ll solve the mysteries of aging within twenty-five years, and we’ll have near-immortality after that.”

  “For the rich,” I pointed out. “Which, I suppose, applies to you.”

  “Oh, I think we could come to an agreement,” she said.

  “Ah agreement, do you think?”

  “Un huh.”

  “Does this agreement involve me tickling you?”

  “It might involve me tickling you,” she replied.

  I paused, wanting the silly mood to disperse. “Would you want to spend a near eternity with me?”

  “If it were possible?” She lifted my chin and kissed me. She took her time, and when her tongue sought entrance, it was readily given. She left me breathless and nearly unable to remember what we’d been talking about. “Yes, Sidney,” she said. “If it were possible to spend a near eternity with you, I would want to.”

  Still, it wasn’t a marriage proposal, or an indication we’d be talking about one. I didn’t know how this was supposed to work. Did one of us ask the other? Did we discuss it and go ring shopping together? I’d seen some of the flamboyant marriage proposals on Youtube, but I didn’t think that was our style. I wouldn’t want the pressure of being asked after some big, dramatic scene that almost forced me to agree, even if I would have wanted to.

  I realized something. I wanted her to ask me. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me. Maybe she wanted the same thing. Maybe she didn’t think marriage was important. I thought about it, and I couldn’t fully explain why it was important to me, either. But for some reason, I wanted us wearing rings, and I wanted a ceremony.

  And I wanted to be asked, but if she wasn’t going to ask me, I would ask her.

  In my determination, I bought us rings. I had them custom made by a jeweler after asking, “What happens if she says ‘no’, or she hates the rings, or she asks me first?”

  “I have a twenty-percent restocking fee,” he replied. “You can sell one or both of them back to me for twenty percent less than you paid. This is why I price the set separately. That’s actually generous, as it’s difficult to sell custom rings at full price, but I don’t get that many returns, and I want happy customers.”

  He used one of Solange’s rings for size, and soon I had my rings. “If she wants it resized, that’s part of the service,” the jeweler told me. “Good luck, and congratulations.”

  And so, I had a pair of rings nestled together in a display box. And I decided. If she didn’t ask me first, or perhaps indicate she was anti-marriage, then I would wait until New Year’s Eve, and after the kiss and the champagne, I would take her somewhere alone, get down on one knee, and ask her to be my wife.

  Part Two

  Return

  I wandered the rows of the facility, the vacuum-wrapped bodies filling row after row. I stopped and stared a
t some of them. There were far more men than women, but here and there was a female face.

  Most of them ignored me, their eyes either closed or their expressions vacant, but a few looked directly at me, their eyes following me. I didn’t recognize any of them. Most of them were still, but upon seeing me, a few struggled weakly, very weakly.

  Until I found myself staring into my own face.

  I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding. Solange immediately had an arm around me.

  “Dream?” she asked. I nodded. “Want to tell me about it?” I shook my head.

  It was the first day of September, and the dreams had returned.

  * * * *

  I was out of sorts in the morning. Solange clearly could tell, and she was practically tiptoeing around me as we I prepared breakfast for us. I looked at her, batting away the tears.

  “Oh Sidney,” she said, stepping over to pull me into her arms.

  “Take me somewhere this weekend,” I said. “Anywhere. I don’t care where.”

  “There’s a lovely Bed and Breakfast in the White Mountains of New England,” she said. “We get our own cottage. We can go biking and hiking.”

  “You’ve been dying to teach me French the way you taught Aubree.”

  “No,” she said. “I want to teach you French, but Aubree and I had a different relationship than you and I have. Aubree expected to be treated a certain way. You expect to be treated a different way.”

  “She wanted you to torment her?”

  “She has changed, but she was deeply submissive, and she expected me to always be dominant.”

  “Oh,” I said. “No, that would piss me off.”

  “So I would teach you, but not the same way. And so, here is your first lesson.” Her voice changed, and she said, “Je t’aime.”

  I smiled. “I know that one. You say it to me sometimes when we’re making love. There’s another one you say a lot, too.”

  “Je t’adore.”

  “I think I know what that means, if it is a cognate.”

  “It is,” she said. “Now you say them.”

  I grinned at her. “You just want me to tell you I love and adore you.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I do.”