Must Love Cats

by Brown, Tara

  The door across the hallway opens, drawing both our stares to a stunning young woman with tousled hair and no makeup left, leaving Sam’s apartment. She beams at us as she makes her way to the elevator.

  “Sam’s so gross,” I whisper as I drag them inside and close the door.

  “This happens a lot?” Liz gasps as she removes her coat.

  “I get the impression he’s one of those people who shies away from real relationships.” I walk back to my Texas toasts.

  “Liz said you had the biggest crush on Sam in college,” James teases as Liz struggles to open the bottle of wine she brought for me. “Maybe you could get a little side action. Friends with benefits.”

  “I’ve retired my vagina for the rest of my life and will not be seeking the company of men, thank you very much, James. Besides, friends with benefits isn’t my style.”

  “I can’t believe he’s like that. He’s almost forty,” Liz adds.

  “Wow.” James laughs. “You girls shouldn’t ride poor Sam too hard, and no pun intended.” He gives his wife a stern look. “He is a single guy,” James defends him. Typical James. “And he has the worst heartbreak story I’ve ever heard.”

  “What?” Liz and I ask at the same time. “He dated someone?”

  “Married her.” James nods. “Right after he graduated from medical school he got married to a nurse from Ontario. They came here for him to finish his residency. After that was over, they wanted to have kids. She went into a private practice so they thought it would work out.”

  “He married someone?” Liz shakes her head, as stuck on that detail as I am. “How do I not know this story?” Her eyes dart to mine. She’s one of two people who know the secret I have about Sam and me in college.

  “Because I don’t gossip like you two.” James sips his wine and winks as if to say the shot fired wasn’t at me.

  “Then what happened?” Liz demands. All humor and fun are gone, replaced by our discomfort.

  “He found out he couldn’t have kids. He’s sterile, sadly.”

  “Sterile?” I cut him off. A chill runs over my body.

  “That’s impossible,” Liz whispers.

  “Why?” James asks.

  “He’s—so handsome,” Liz says the dumbest thing she has ever said to cover for the truth she nearly let slip.

  “Okay, that’s oddly stereotypical.” James furrows his brow. “Anyway, his wife was upset about not being able to have kids and slept with his best friend. He caught them, she left him for the friend. She’s remarried to the guy and is having her third kid. Sam was crushed. I sold the house they lived in together over on the water. That’s when I met him.” James shrugs. “He lost his best friend and his wife and can’t have kids. So I think he’s earned the right to do whatever he wants.”

  “I guess so,” Liz mutters. Her eyes meet mine but I can’t respond.

  “Sterile?” I whisper, saying it again. If he is sterile I’ve done something terrible. A bad taste settles in my mouth. The landscape of my entire life was altered by the mistake I’ve made.

  “Poor Sam,” Liz doesn’t perk up either.

  James takes the wine bottle and holds it up. “More wine?” he offers me.

  “That is a brutal story.” Liz swallows hard.

  James stares at me. “Thanks.” I lift up my glass for him, trying to hide the quiver in my fingers as he fills my glass and sets the bottle back down. He then pours Liz a large tumbler of lime-infused sparkling water and slides it over to her. She doesn’t move.

  We’re both contemplating the story and its meaning.

  Sam’s reaction to my nurse comment comes crashing back in and I feel worse.

  “Have you seen much of him?” James asks, forcing us to talk and pretend we aren’t completely stuck on the revelation.

  “Not a lot,” I manage to speak but my voice is weak as my mind whirls about the details of our past. I force myself to snap out of it, tucking it away for further exploration later. “Besides my birthday, we met up with him at his gym where I go to physio. I see the girl he recommended, Linnie. She’s from Wolfville but comes to town to work three times a week,” I change the subject from Sam.

  “Oh yeah.” James nods. “Linnie. Little redhead.”

  “That’s her.”

  “She’s strong as an ox. Did you know she was Team Canada for rugby?”

  “Yeah, so crazy. She’s so small.”

  “Has Rod called since you sent the separation papers back?” Liz comes out of her haze and asks about the second subject I don’t want to discuss.

  “Nope.” I fold my arms and sigh. “Not even a ‘go fuck yourself.’ Nothing.”

  “Good. What a sack of dog crap that man is. Are you ready to talk about it all?” she asks and sits at the counter where I’m spreading the garlic butter like it’s icing. “You don’t have to—”

  “I don’t think so,” my voice is soft, barely there. “I’m kind of living in this weird state of denial and it’s like an onion.”

  “You mean like an ogre?” James jokes.

  “Precisely.” We both laugh. “But seriously, every day my pain lessens in my body. And as time moves on, the panic of my injuries and the breakup and all the paperwork that comes with it, seems to peel back another layer. And as I run out of those things, I get closer to the truth I will eventually have to face. Right now, I’m able to tell myself there are too many things, like tax season, to deal with to actually digest my feelings.”

  “But you will come to the end of that.”

  “Yes.” I sip my wine. “And I’m scared of what will happen.” That is a bit of truth I can only tell them or Shawnee. It’s real and makes me vulnerable.

  “Okay, well maybe a coping tool for the next bit should be something positive to come from this?”

  “Positive?” I cock an eyebrow at my sister. “From my husband cheating on me with his best friend’s wife and not even calling to see if I’m all right after the accident he basically caused. He went on my birthday trip to Mexico with his friends, nevertheless. And Elaine went too. Meanwhile, I can’t be in a room with the lights at full brightness, still.”

  “Yes, it’s shit. There’s no denying it. But there has to be a silver lining to all this. Something that wouldn’t happen if you were still with that rat bastard.”

  “Rat bastard?” I chuckle.

  “I sound like Dad,” she moans and drinks some water.

  “You do.” I take a deep breath and contemplate what could possibly be a silver lining. “I guess I don’t have to commute anymore. That’s an hour and a half of my life I’m taking back.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “That’s not exactly what I meant.” Her eyes widen. “The cat! You always wanted a cat. Remember your online dating profile when you met Rod was ‘must love cats’?” She chuckles. “You should get one tomorrow.”

  “I can’t do that.” I gasp. “I’m barely taking care of myself.”

  James rolls his eyes.

  “Cats are low maintenance and if you get one of the older ones, they’re already trained.” She points at me. “We are getting you a new cat tomorrow.”

  The idea roams around in my mind for a minute before it finally lands. “You’re right. The rat bastard’s allergies always got in the way of me having one.”

  “And you know you love them. You always maul people’s cats whenever we go somewhere and they have one. And all our cats have loved you.”

  “That’s true,” I admit. “You sure you don’t mind? It’s your apartment.”

  “I don’t care what he has to say.” Liz points at James. “I want to come pick it out.”

  “Okay.” I swallow hard. It’s such a spur-of-the-moment decision that I can’t believe it might happen. My mind starts doing its usual cost and weighing of options. Spur of the moment is not my thing.

  “It’s a good idea, Lil. A cat is a nice companion,” James says the thing Liz wants him to say. The man is a saint. “Plus this Covid is looking worse every day.
If we end up in some kind of lockdown, you will need a companion.”

  “Thanks, James.” I laugh at how pathetic I am.

  “Oh my God. Look at him.” Liz holds up her phone, showing me a black-and-white fluffy cat on the SPCA website.

  “He’s pretty cute.” I lean in, smiling at his green eyes. “How are you already on the website?—never mind. How old is he?”

  “Three. His owner died a month ago, a little old lady. He was brought in by her kids because they both have pets and can’t add to their homes.” Liz zooms in on his fluffy face.

  “Oh my God, look at him.” His markings remind me of a badger’s mask of black on a white face, with the pinkest nose I’ve ever seen. “He is perfect.”

  “So, we’ll go as soon as we wake up? They open at nine, even on Saturdays.” She waggles her dark eyebrows as a glint of excitement grows in her blue eyes.

  “Okay,” I agree, enthusiastic about something for the first time in ages.

  “See, a silver lining.” She winks and for a moment I believe maybe she’s right. Maybe the end of everything will be the beginning of something good.

  Maybe.

  Chapter 13

  February 14

  Bedford, NS

  Rod comes home with a huge bouquet of flowers, arriving exactly ten minutes after me. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” he gushes and brings them in. There’s a sparkly bracelet draped over a couple of the roses.

  “Thanks.” I force a smile though my insides are eating each other. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” I slide a box of Purdys chocolates, with all my favorites in it, at him.

  “Nice, chocolate,” he says but his heart isn’t in it. He’s not a sweet-tooth guy. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Steak, double-stuffed potatoes, and Caesar salad,” I answer as I walk into the kitchen, taking the roses with me. I don’t like roses. They’re fine in old ladies’ gardens, but they’re not my kind of flower. I can’t believe in ten years he doesn’t know that. I like lilies. Irises are gorgeous. Anything but roses. Okay, and carnations.

  “Sounds great. I’m going to finish some paperwork. Just call when dinner’s ready.” He walks away, leaving me to try on the jewelry by myself. Perhaps, he is noticing the lack of sex. But I refuse to pretend or give in. I took an STI test a week ago at Planned Parenthood and I’m not going through that again. I was by far the oldest person there.

  The bracelet is a diamond tennis style one that has a tag with the price tucked on the underside. It was ninety-nine dollars on sale from three hundred. I wonder how much he spent on her as I slip it on and cut off the tag. It’s surprisingly quite nice and I decide to keep it.

  Dinner takes no time at all. I made it all yesterday. Steaks have marinated for a day. Potatoes just need to be heated in the oven. And salad is in the fridge ready to be mixed.

  I’ve been planning this special meal for a week when I decided I would make a last-ditch effort to get into that app.

  I pour him a heavy glass of red wine, a dealcoholized one that tastes amazing. It has to be twelve ounces. Trying not to be smug, I carry it down the hall to the office and wait, listening to him speak. He’s on the phone and speaking low.

  “Happy Valentine’s. Did you get it? I had them deliver it before lunch so you would be home alone—tomorrow might be too soon—she’s been weird since Christmas. That fucking car—”

  “Knock, knock,” I say and walk in, carrying the wine.

  He covers the phone with his hand and pastes that fake smile on his face, mouthing, “Thanks, babe.” And then saying into the phone, pretending it isn’t Elaine, “Well, if you want us to speak with the tenant about terminating the contract we can.”

  Instantly, I have no regrets.

  I hand him the wine and leave but linger outside the door. He says something quickly and gets off the phone. I walk back down the hall to turn on the oven.

  A face pops up in my kitchen window. I part my lips to scream but only air comes out. Liz puts a finger to her lips and vanishes.

  Not yet recovered from her appearing out of nowhere, I go outside to start the barbecue. The wind hits me in the face as shockingly as Liz’s silhouette in the window did. It’s cold and snowy and makes me wish we were in British Columbia for the annual flower count on the island right now. This damned weather. My heart is still racing when I whisper to her, “Did you get it?”

  “I have it and Zeke should be here in an hour.” She nods and vanishes into the garage to hide.

  A small part of me wants to abort the plan and send my very pregnant sister home to relax. It’s friggin' Valentine’s Day for God’s sake!

  But a larger part of me wants it. And she wants it bad. Fortunately, my sister, who may or may not be the devil, is on board. As the only person who has supported my need for vengeance, she has forgone her own Valentine’s with a lie about shopping for baby items before the plague hits here.

  It takes me half an hour to get dinner on the table. Rod comes into the dining room with his wine glass that’s almost empty. I pour him another heavy-handed glass of nonalcoholic wine and hurry the bottle into the kitchen so he doesn’t see the label. I want him to think he drank too much. Then I carry his plate to him. “Hope you like it.”

  I get my own plate and sit across from him, something we don’t do. Formal dinners are his thing, but I try not to have too many of them. They feel stodgy. And listening to his stories makes me crazed.

  “This looks amazing. God, I love your cooking.” He cuts into the perfectly cooked medium-rare steak and takes a bite, moaning and nodding.

  I take a bite of salad and watch him.

  He’s become this unrecognizable thing in the last six weeks. Maybe longer. My feelings have been shutting off, like stars slowly dying in the sky as their lights burn out.

  His words are poison I try not to absorb.

  Even his contented appearance makes me want to punch him.

  “So I was thinking, we might need to talk to the travel agent about the Cuba trip. This Covid thing doesn’t seem to be going away. I heard Vancouver has cases now. One more month like this and we’ll be in lockdown. Not that the economy can afford that.” He cuts and chews and talks on repeat. “So if you want to call her tomorrow and make sure we get a credit, that would be good. The tickets are nonrefundable but this is extenuating circumstances.”

  He washes the steak down with wine.

  “This is excellent.”

  He doesn’t notice I’m not speaking.

  “I think we’ll be fine for Vegas though. By then, they should have this under wraps. There’s no way it will continue on past the summer. The flu always dies off in the heat. Places like Vegas probably won’t get much. That’s what the news was saying.”

  I take another bite of salad.

  “Are we going to the cabin-fever party tomorrow? I don’t know that I want to. There’s a game on and I’m exhausted. You know what? Let’s not go. They won’t miss us this year.” Bite and drink and talk and repeat until he pushes the plate away, clean as a whistle. I wait for it. The line his dad always says that makes me want to stab him in the eye. “That plate is so clean you can just put it back in the cupboard.” He winks at me and drinks another massive gulp of wine, finishing it.

  He honestly doesn’t notice as I clear away my nearly full plate of food.

  “Do you want a special coffee with dessert? Irish cream maybe?” I ask from the kitchen.

  “That would be nice,” he calls back. Liz slips from the garage, hands me the tiny bottle, and disappears again. I start the coffee and pull the lava cakes from the oven. They’re from M&M Meats, but he won’t know that I didn’t make them. It’s one of his best qualities, believing me capable of all wifely duties.

  In his eyes, I can get out any stain. Make any meal. Clean any surface. Sew every patch.

  If he only knew.

  My mom does all the sewing. My dad is a wizard of stain removal. Liz is the clean freak who knows all. And cooking, I follow recipes like a
boss. Or rather a servant.

  And I pay a cleaning lady to come twice a month. Something else he doesn’t know.

  I plate the lava cakes, pull the hot fudge from the microwave. Scoop some ice cream on them and drizzle the fudge sauce. I top with whipped cream from the canister. Since he won’t remember it, I’m glad it’s a quick dessert I didn’t make.

  The kettle boils and clicks so I pour the boiling water into the Bodum. I let it sit for a couple of minutes and take him the dessert.

  My hands are shaking but I manage.

  “This is gorgeous. Nice job, babe.”

  “Be right back with the coffee.”

  I push down the Bodum slowly to strain the coffee.

  My fingers shake harder as I turn the cap on the miniscule bottle of ketamine. I’m numb but trembling when I pour its contents into a large clear coffee cup and cover it with the fake non-alcoholic Irish Cream Liz made. The drug is bitter and needs coffee and sweetness to hide the flavor, according to Liz’s friend Phil who likes to do it every now and then. He’s a weird artsy guy who uses his need for a muse as a reason to experiment with drugs.

  When the coffee pours in, the smell is Irish Cream and not any hint of drugs. But I add more cream and top with whipped cream just in case. I carry his coffee out and come back for my dessert.

  I take several small breaths. My racing heart feels like it might explode any second.

  When I calm down and take a seat, my stomach is in my throat.

  He takes a bite and does the exact same thing as before. He moans and closes his eyes and nods. “Amazing.”

  Yes, Rod. I’m a master chef. Now drink your coffee.

  It’s as if he hears my thoughts. He lifts the coffee and takes a big drink. It isn’t too hot. He licks his lips and smiles. “Is that a new coffee? It’s a bit darker roast, eh? Bitter.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Smells quite dark.” I take a massive bite of dessert and force myself to chew it, but my throat refuses to swallow.

  This is too much.

  I’m scared he’s going to overdose, though the dosing was done by someone who knows how much to take. I lied about needing Rod’s weight for our life insurance. After he weighed himself, I checked the scale for the last recorded weight and found he had told the truth. For once. So the dose should be accurate.