Must Love Cats

by Brown, Tara

  He doesn’t have a chance to scratch this time.

  The door opens and Samuel Christianson, the Samuel Christianson, is there. He pauses when our eyes meet, tilts his head and points. “Are you really here?” It’s the strangest greeting I’ve ever received.

  “I don’t know,” I answer back, clinging to my wine glass as my hands tremble. “Are you? Wait—you’re the doctor?” The story is impossible. He can’t be sterile. “But you live in Ontario.”

  But he doesn’t hear me panic talking. He’s doing the same thing. “You’re James’ sister-in-law. His Liz is your sister Liz. Oh God, how did I not know that?” he asks.

  Romeo is rubbing against his legs and purring up a storm.

  But Sam and I are stuck, staring at each other.

  My heart is ripping to tiny pieces in my chest with the realization he is sterile. My mouth is dry and pasty.

  “You can’t be the—” I pause, unable to say it.

  But again, he doesn’t notice me internally freaking out. “How are you?” he asks and I die inside.

  “Good,” I mutter and lift my wine, taking a massive gulp.

  “And who is this?” He bends down to rub Romeo’s neck.

  Déjà vu hits me hard. I swear we have lived this moment before.

  “Romeo,” I whisper.

  “Hello, Romeo.” He lifts my cat into his arms and cradles him. “He is so friendly.”

  “Yeah.” I take another drink of wine. My brain is doing laps and I realize what’s happened. His father lied to me.

  That realization cuts into me.

  I fell for those lies and ruined my life. And Sam’s. And now here I am. Single. Too old to even be a spinster. And drinking wine alone at four thirty pm in my workday jammies.

  “How weird is this?” Sam asks, his eyes finally meeting mine again. “I mean, I’ve often wondered what you were doing,” he confesses. “But I never imagined you would end up as my neighbor.”

  I too can’t believe this is happening. So much so that my words are gone. I can’t speak. My heartbeat is so rapid that I feel my pulse in my neck.

  “How have you been?” I force the question and it’s awkward because my response is late.

  “Good.” He fakes a smile. No dimple. “Do you like the apartment?”

  “I do,” I answer breathily. “It’s quiet.”

  “So you’re the one who saved my TV?” A smile spreads across his face. “Of course it was you. That makes so much sense. So clever. Thank you.”

  I hold up the glass of wine as it’s one of the bottles he gave me. “Thank you.”

  “Is it the Meiomi pinot noir?” he asks.

  “It is. I just opened it. Do you want a glass? Or is it not safe? Liz is in there on bed rest. She’s pregnant.”

  “Of course she is. I ran into James at the hospital. How have I never put this together. James is always talking about his wife, Liz. I never imagined it was your Liz. And he’s never said his sister-in-law’s name when we discuss you. He’s very professional.” He swallows hard and wonder what he knows.

  “I should get going,” I say, desperate to get out of the hallway and stop this awkward conversation.

  “Why don’t we have a wine at my place? I’d love to catch up. But maybe we should sit outside with it on the deck.” He nods his head toward the door behind him.

  “Okay.” I reach for Romeo. “I’ll put him back inside and get the bottle.”

  “Great.” His dimple shows slightly.

  “Great.” I need to stop sounding like an idiot. I hurry inside and into my bedroom carrying the wine and the cat.

  “Oh my God, why are you so pale?” Liz bursts. “Are you sick?”

  “Sam,” I gasp. “Sam lives across the hall.”

  “Okay. The doctor?” She squints and a second later she’s pale too. “Sam. Wait! The Sam James is always talking about is that Sam? Your Sam?” she bursts.

  “Stay calm. You can’t get worked up.” I put the cat on the bed and place a hand on her arm.

  “But that’s not possible. Your Sam wasn’t sterile—oh fuck. His dad lied to make you go away,” she says it so plainly, as if it makes all the sense in the world. Her eyes well and she sniffles. “He made you break up. I told you he was your person and not to give up. All this time, you could have been happy. You could have been with someone who really loved you.” She is sobbing and emotional.

  “Please stay calm.” A lump is forming in my own throat. “I can’t cry right now. I’m going to have wine at his place. On the deck and catch up. And I’m already sort of freaking out about it.”

  “Okay.” She wipes her eyes. “Are you going to tell him the truth?”

  “No. I don’t know if that’s the truth. I have no idea why his dad did what he did.”

  “I think we both know why he did it,” she snaps and switches to fury.

  “Calm, deep breaths.” I drink the last of my wine to compose myself. “Even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell him. It would ruin his relationship with his father. I can’t do that. I couldn’t do it fifteen years ago and I won’t do it now.”

  “But he ruined your life.”

  “My life isn’t over, Liz. I have a lot of life left in me. And maybe Sam and I aren’t compatible and it wasn’t meant to be,” I say and nod at the door. “But I’m going to be polite and catch up with him. Text me if you need me.”

  She sniffles again. “Okay.”

  I hurry into the kitchen, grab the wine, and on the way out, I put on a large sweater to cover my tee shirt. If I fully change, he’ll notice. At least the big sweater suits, it’s still cold out. Almost like mother nature is trying to keep us inside. Carrying the wine and my glass, I walk out and prepare myself for the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had.

  I am grateful as hell that I put on makeup for my Zoom meeting this morning, and I knock on his door.

  He opens it straightaway like he was waiting.

  “Hi.” Is the smile too wide? Or is a happy greeting how you arrive at the door of the guy whose heart you broke.

  “Hey.” He grins back and I stare at the dimple. It’s always been my favorite feature. Maybe second favorite. He has incredibly sexy hands. It’s a weird thing to think about while he’s standing here but it’s Sam. God, I missed his face.

  “Lil?”

  My cheeks flush with color when I realize he’s said something I’ve missed.

  “Sorry?” I ask, wishing I could take back the last five seconds.

  His grin turns to a chuckle, and I suspect he is aware I’m daydreaming about him. “I said, ‘Come on in.’”

  “Thanks. Your place is nice.” I hope he doesn’t notice the sweat forming on my forehead as I overanalyze every second of this interaction. “I only caught a glimpse of it that day with the TV.”

  “Right, of course. That stunt had a real Home Alone flair to it.” He goes into the kitchen to get himself a glass. “You can go out on the deck and make yourself at home.”

  “Okay.” My stomach does flip-flops as I cross the room to the French doors and sit in one of the gorgeous chairs next to a small propane firepit that’s already lit. Music is playing softly out here. “Sexy Thing” by Hot Chocolate. I wonder if he knows this is the song I sing to myself when I have to exercise or do something requiring exertion.

  What am I doing?

  Is this a mistake?

  It feels like a mistake.

  Panic sets in when he too comes out to the large deck and sits.

  “It’s been so long. Must be fifteen years.”

  “Sixteen in August,” I say, regretting it. Does he know the exact day we last saw one another?

  “I guess it was what, mid-August?” He places the cup down and I fill it up.

  “Mid-August,” I confirm as I pour myself a smaller glass and lift it to my lips. He watches, staring in a way I’m sure he sees me noticing. I’d give everything except my cat to know what he’s thinking.

  Does he hate me a bit still?

/>   “So what’s the protocol here? Do we go year by year to update one another or should we do a brief recount of the highlights only?” he asks as he takes a drink of his wine. He’s exactly the same as I recall. Confident and cocky while being kind and funny. Only now there is a glint of something in his eyes. Experience and wisdom perhaps.

  This time when his stare meets mine, he holds it, forcing me to make eye contact with him, and I realize he is perilous for a vulnerable woman like me in the middle of a life-altering change.

  Adding the fact I know he’s an amazing kisser doesn’t help my predicament.

  “Lil?”

  “Sorry?” I ask again, realizing I’ve missed something else.

  “It doesn’t matter. To neighbors.” He holds up the glass, not bothering to contain his humor at me and my daydreaming. I must look insane.

  Forcing a pleasant expression, I lift my glass and clink it delicately against his, certain I’ve lived this moment before. “To neighbors,” I mutter. We sip the wine slowly.

  “So what’s new?”

  “New?” I lift my eyebrows and toy with the word. “Not old? Because sixteen years is a long time,” I reply cheekily. “Hmmm. Quarantine is new. How’s it at the hospital?” I change the subject from me.

  “Slow but we’re ready. Just in case but I think we’ll coast through. We have a perfect dynamic here. Low population. What we do have isn’t dense. Lots of fresh air and coastal living. The ability to cut ourselves off from other provinces.” He moves on and goes right for the jugular, changing the subject, “Let’s skip the Covid talk. James said you’re single. How can that be true, Lilly Severson?”

  Forgetting he doesn’t know my married name, I get a sense of excitement at hearing my old one. I’ve missed it. Dallin is such a dull last name. I contemplate the answer for a moment. “Choice, I suppose. Why are you single, Samuel Christianson?” I have always loved his name.

  I can’t be sure if we’re flirting, it’s been so long. But I suspect we might be. That’s a terrifyingly exciting notion, but I remind myself there’s a load of heartbreak haunting us.

  “I guess the real answer is I’m single because you left that summer and never called me again,” he says the thing I prayed he wouldn’t. “Did you know you’re the one that got away?” He cocks a dark eyebrow but there is no mistaking the cruel humor in his gaze. His lips and words and the melancholic stare are my kryptonite. At least I know where we stand. He hates me.

  “Got away?” I manage to choke out, pretending that isn’t what I have called him in my mind for almost sixteen years. “You left for medical school, not me.” I try turning this into a joking manner.

  “That’s true.” He sips the wine and points at me. “But I only left because you didn’t return any of my calls or emails. I was a shell of a man.”

  I can’t believe we’re having this conversation and there is no world where I would tell him the truth of the matter. So I lie, “I never got any calls or messages.”

  “Lies!” He sits back, laughing but it’s bitter. “I can’t believe after all this time you won’t tell me the truth.”

  “I was young and crazy and irresponsible.” I shrug it off.

  “You have never been irresponsible a day in your life,” he challenges.

  “I drugged my husband with ketamine to get into his phone on Valentine’s Day.” I point back. “Then I got a kid to clone it to my phone.”

  “I take it back. That is incredibly irresponsible.” He lifts his wine glass. “That’s a story I need to hear.”

  “Okay.” I press my lips together and contemplate how to begin.

  “First off, where did you get the ketamine?”

  “It’s a long story. It goes back a couple of months before the ketamine.”

  “Did you catch him—cheating? Was that your motivation?” he struggles with the questions.

  “I did. Anyway, it started on Christmas Eve. My car, Helen—”

  “You named your car after your aunt?” he says with a chuckle.

  “You remember my aunt Helen?” That gives me pause.

  “Of course.” His eyes narrow. “She caught us in your parents’ car on the road to Peggy’s Cove.”

  “Oh my God, I think I blocked that out.” I gasp. My cheeks flush as I recall the moment. Clothes flying. Lips moving hungrily. Sweat and sunshine and suddenly my aunt Helen in the window checking to make sure I didn’t break down.

  “Her face in the window still haunts me.” He takes a long drink, shaking his head with his gulp.

  I cover my eyes and wait for the flush of red to go away. “That was so humiliating.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anyway, so Christmas Eve . . .” I need to avoid sex talk with him. My fingers tremble, so I grab the wine and take a long drink and tell him the story. The whole thing. Maybe it’s easier because I know he understands infidelity and humiliation.

  When I finish, he is sitting back, shaking his head slowly. “What an insane few months. I can’t believe you drugged him like that. That’s bold. So that’s why you moved in?”

  “Yeah. And now I’m here, I’ve sent him the separation papers. By February of next year, I will be divorced, single, and hopefully happy.” I lift my glass. “To finding happiness.”

  “Even if it doesn’t look like what you thought it would.” He clinks his glass against mine.

  “What about you?” I ask, prying since I’ve bared my soul to him and the wine is starting to hit.

  “Same thing. Except I would have been Rod’s best friend in the story. I came down with a serious case of food poisoning one day. A coworker drove me home from work early. I was pretty much shitting my pants and throwing up in a bucket.” He pauses, cringing. “She wasn’t expecting me to be there for hours. They were in our bed. I was so sick I walked right past them into the bathroom. When I woke on the floor hours later, she had packed everything she was taking.”

  “Jesus. I’m sorry that happened to you.” Hearing it from him makes it much worse, even if he speaks as if it’s all water under the bridge now.

  “And I’m sorry Rod was a huge loser who never deserved you.” He finishes his glass of wine and pours another, topping up my glass too. “But if there is one thing I have learned in all this, it’s that no amount of heartbreak can kill you. The heart is far more resilient than we give it credit for being.”

  The way he says it and his eyes flicker to mine, I understand I am part of that heartbreak he has endured.

  I hate that about myself.

  By the time we finish the bottle, I’m tipsy from hardly eating all day and need to leave before I do something I’ll regret. I stand, making him stand.

  He towers over me, his stare burning.

  “Thanks for the catch up,” I say, though we really didn’t catch up. We sort of continued on from the moment our relationship ended all those years ago, joking and laughing with familiarity. Though now it lacks the ease it did before.

  History is in the way of any chance of real comfort.

  “I’m glad you came over,” he says and pauses. I suspect there is more on his tongue, but I can’t do this. Not with him.

  “Me too,” I agree and walk into the apartment. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.” I wave and go to the door.

  “Lil,” he calls, coming into the apartment after me.

  I turn, facing him.

  We lock eyes, staring to the point I resign myself to where this is going. I can’t fight it. I don’t want to, though it will end in heartbreak again.

  He swallows whatever he was about to say and lifts my wine glass. “Your glass.”

  “Right.” I force a smile and reach out as we walk to each other.

  A spark zings my fingertip when our skin touches as I take the glass from his hand.

  He inhales sharply.

  I’m certain he’s going to move, maybe even pounce, so I turn and hurry to the door. “I better get back to Liz. See you later.” I rush from the apartment and into mine,
closing the door and leaning against it.

  My heart is in my throat.

  “Lil?” Liz calls.

  “Coming!”

  I take a few breaths to calm down before going to my sister’s aid.

  But there is no calming down.

  Not with Samuel Christianson next door.

  Chapter 30

  May 13

  Sam interrupts my pacing with a knock on the door. I hurry for it, answering quickly. “Did you see her?” I practically shout at him.

  “I did.” He smiles. “Liz is doing great. I saw her right before the surgery. She was—very ready,” he says with a laugh. “James said the moment it’s done he’s calling.” He pulls me into his arms and kisses me softly. “She’s going to be fine. We have next to no Covid cases in the entire province. This is her third child. She’s a relatively healthy woman.” He bends to pet Romeo who has sprinted from the room at the sound of Sam’s voice.

  “She’s more than relatively healthy. Jesus. She is a runner when she’s not pregnant. And you know what?—your opinion on this sucks. You called her a geriatric pregnancy and I saw you side-eyeing the amount of Ben & Jerry’s she ate. She doesn’t handle bed rest. At all. She watched It’s a Wonderful Life three times in a row last week. She’s a mess.” I’m a mess.

  “Right, okay. So that’s a sensitive subject.” He grins.

  “This whole thing has me on edge.”

  “You need to stay calm and wait. It’s normally a couple of hours before a mother is out of recovery. I wish I could stay up with you but I have to go to bed. I’m at the point of delirium.” He kisses me again and squeezes my hand. “I won’t sleep long. I don’t work again for a few days. Are you free later?” he jokes, knowing I am going nowhere.

  “I guess, since I don’t get to see the baby.” I pout.

  “But you do get to see me,” he offers as if he’s a poor second choice.

  “Okay.” I give him a hug and melt into him.

  “But I’m not watching Christmas movies,” he says into the top of my head as he places his lips there.