Page 40 of Our Elliana

The tabby kitten has been exploring its new domain, and as it edges along the koi pond, occasionally chasing after the fish, I have to find out more.

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Girl,” Noah answers, journeying over to her and sitting on the raised brick they used to construct the exterior of the pond.

Coaxing her bit by bit, he somehow convinces her to climb into his arms. He brings her over to me, her engine totally revved with such raucous purrs that I wonder if she’s part bobcat. Regardless, I extend out a hand. I expect her to swipe at it considering her earlier reaction to me, but she nuzzles my wrist instead.

“See, she’s in love with you already,” my firefighter encourages me. “I knew she would be.”

And at that, I fucking melt.

Tristan leans over to pet her along the spine, and her tail fluffs up into a question mark shape.

“Ooh, she likes that,” I point out.

“That’s something I love about animals. Each one is different,” Jackson says, demonstrating that greyhounds aren’t his only area of expertise. “This one has a sweet personality. Just like you.”

I figure he’ll smirk at me or waggle his eyebrows. Yet, he doesn’t. He’s being utterly genuine and heartfelt. Noah’s grinning at me as he nods in agreement, and even Tristan is bestowing me with this tender look.

But I’m not one who gets referred to as sweet. I’ve been called “bitch” for not backing down, and “slut” for how I dress. But never sweet. I don’t even think of myself that way. Yet these three totally unique men who fuck me on a regular basis evidently do.

It gives me enough warm fuzzies that my throat starts to close up.

“What are you going to name her?” Noah inquires, and I have to swallow a couple of times before I can answer.

“How about Three Socks?” I use her physical attributes as a guide. “Might be cute to call her Three for short.”

“Three,” Tristan says the name as if taking it out for a test drive. “It suits her.”

We stay outside until the sun sets and dusk brings the temps down low enough to make us all shiver, especially Tristan. Three has even utilized her kitty door to hightail it back inside. Each of us humans follow suit.

Once out of the elements, the guys start to separate until I interrupt them.

“Come in here,” I tell them. “Sit on the sofa with me. I want you all close.”

They do as I ask, and we chat about everything and nothing. At one point Jackson inquires after my father, and I regale him and the others with stories about how compassionate a soul my dad was.

If you’re looking for sweet, Delvin Pinkerton was the textbook definition.

“It took him over an hour to shovel all that snow from under those tires, but he was able to dig out that family. I thought he’d return all worn out, but instead, he kept smiling. He said it did his heart good to help.”

“Your dad sounds like the best kind of people,” Noah says, and I nod.

“He was. I miss him so much. Especially at times like now, when the holidays are approaching.”

“We’ll do everything we can to make them memorable for you,” Tristan swears, and Noah bobs his head in agreement.

“Have you been having it alone since his passing?” Jackson asks, and I hedge my response.

“Not entirely. I usually share it with friends.”

I do sometimes accompany Andre home, but I always feel like an intrusion there. He and his family go through cycles of bad years and not-as-bad years. They’re Baptists torn by their sworn duty to unconditionally love their gay son while simultaneously condemning him for who he is.

Their so-called hate the sin, not the sinner philosophy might make for a nice soundbite, but in actuality, it seldom if ever works that way. Not for them.

Regardless, whenever he asks me, I go so I can offer him moral support.

When my phone rings from my purse, I ignore it. I’m caught up in this delightful cake and pie-induced buzz, not to mention all the camaraderie the four of us have forged tonight. Also, Three the cat is hilarious.

---