Page 91 of Betting on the Brainiac

I panic, not believing Oliver and I could have gone to all this trouble for Kaitlyn to ruin it as soon as I delivered the papers that were supposed to get Oliver and me both what we needed.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I tell her. “We pulled this wedding together really fast, so we’re still in the process of moving. Come on, I’ll show you.”

I catch Ruby’s eye as I get up to grab my key to Oliver’s house. She’s doing a good job of keeping a straight face, but I know herwell enough to recognize that the faint crinkles near her eyes mean she’s worried.

Kaitlyn follows me to Oliver’s apartment, and as we walk through the pool area, she says, “Is this where you had the wedding we weren’t invited to?”

Like any of them would be caught dead at my 7-Eleven wedding. I don’t let the comment get under my skin, instead nodding and saying nothing until we reach Oliver’s.

“He’s at work, so you won’t meet him,” I tell her as I open the door. I hope the fact that I know his work schedule and have a key is making my case. Luckily, he still has three unpacked boxes with their labels sitting in the living room for more evidence. I walk past them—kitchen, books, books.

My sister’s eyes skim over them and latch on to the cat palace against the far wall. “What’s that?”

“We’re fostering cats.” Thank goodness that sounds so domestic. I sit by the cat cave. Tabitha appears from under the couch and pads over to look at me. I scratch behind her ears. “This is the mama. The kittens are moving around more, so she’s starting to hide from them when she wants some peace and quiet.”

“Can I see the kittens?”

Is she kidding? “You think I’m making up kittens?”

For the first time, she shifts uncomfortably. “No, I just . . . I wanted to see them. It’s not a big deal.” The last part she almost mumbles.

“Okay,” I say.

She comes over and sits down.

“Wait, I was going to warn you about the cat hair. You’ll get it all over you.”

“It’s fine. I live near the dry cleaner.”

She’s probably half of his business. Whatever. I reach in and pull out a couple of kittens. “This is Smudge. She’s the most mellow, if you want to hold her.”

She looks from me to the kitten. “What do I do?”

Right. I guess she hasn’t spent any more time around kittens than I had until a month ago. “How about if I set Smudge in your lap, and then she’ll move where she wants?”

“Okay.” I set Smudge down in the cradle of Kaitlyn’s crossed legs and settle back to cuddle Big Stripey against my chest.

“She’s the biggest one,” I say, tickling her under her chin. Mrs. Lipsky came over last night and confirmed that Big Stripey and Smudge are female and Little Stripe and Tuxie are bouncing baby boys. Well, notbouncingyet. But Mrs. Lipsky assured me that they’ll all be pouncing any day now. She’d stayed so late cooing over them that I thought for sure we’d still be there when Oliver got home, but no.

Kaitlyn reaches a tentative finger down to stroke Smudge’s head. She doesn’t say anything, but she smiles.

After a few minutes, the other two start mewling inside the cave, and Tuxie pokes his head over the edge to see what’s going on.

“Does that mean they’re mad?” Kaitlyn asks. “Should you put Smudge back?”

“Yes, but only because they want to eat.” I return Big Stripey, and I’m about to get Smudge when I pause. “You can pick her up if you want.”

Kaitlyn gets a pinched look around her eyes. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You won’t.” Against my will, all of my life experience, and my own better judgment, I feel a pang of compassion for my sister. I know exactly how she’s feeling, having one of her first interactions with baby animals. “Be gentle and set her in there. She’ll be fine.”

Kaitlyn repositions herself, moving carefully until she’s on her knees. She picks up Smudge and transfers her back to the cave like she’s trying not to drop an unstable bomb. When Smudge is safely inside, I hear a relieved sigh.

I pick up Tabitha and set her inside. She gives me a warning chirp and swats a baby or two over when they lunge at her, but she settles down, and within a minute, they’ve all piled next to each other to nurse.

“I can show you upstairs if you want, but this is a business marriage, so we’re in separate rooms. That’s not against the terms of the trust,” I say before she can object.

“I know,” she says.

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