Page 141 of Lotus

It’s always been us.

T H I R T Y – O N E

Six Months Later

July 4th

“KNOCK-KNOCK!”

I’m leaning out my office window, my eyes trailing Oliver as he jogs through the front lawn with Athena harnessed to the end of a short leash. He’s quite the sight around the neighborhood, his title transitioning recently from “that missing boy” to “resident raccoon walker”. The children flock to them, and I think Oliver has started enjoying the attention just as much as Athena does.

The sun beats down on the man I love, illuminating the light sheen of sweat coasting down his chiseled face, as well as the smile that unfolds at the sight of me. The authentic joy I see in that smile never wanes, not once, whenever his eyes land on me.

Oliver looks up at the window, slightly winded. “Who’s there?”

“Athena.”

An adorable, dimpled grin answers back. “Athena who?”

“Athena very sexy man wandering around these streets, and I’m desperate for him to make sweet love to me.” I throw him my most seductive series of winks, but I’m certain I look like I’m having a seizure, so I change it to a finger-waggle. “Now, please.”

His mouth falls open, a hard swallow following. “Oh. All right.”

Sensing Oliver’s distraction, Athena seizes the opportunity to book it, pulling free from Oliver’s grip and making a beeline towards the brand new bird feeder we installed the prior week. Wings flapping, feathers flying, the birds flee to safety as Athena climbs the feeder at an impressive momentum and knocks the whole thing over, bird seed spilling everywhere.

Oliver chases her, admonishing the animal as he approaches the wreckage. “Athena, no! Bad raccoon.” She dodges him by nose-diving into the garden bed and digging up our freshly-planted vegetables. “Athena!”

I decide to offer my assistance in capturing our furry troublemaker, forgetting I’m only wearing a t-shirt and no pants, and bolt out the front door just as Oliver fails to catch her and trips, falling into the dirt.

Wincing, I run to him, accidentally leaving the door open for Alexis to scurry free and head straight for the moving vehicles. “Alexis, get back here!” My pants-less legs carry me towards the street, and I zoom past Lorna Gibson who is clutching her rosary, surely praying for God to save my soul from eternal damnation. I shoot her a quick wave just as a black Mustang comes careening to a stop.

It’s Evan, the writer.Awesome. “Jesus, Sydney, you okay?” His eyes lower to my bare legs with a frown. “Missing something?”

“My cat.”

Alexis makes it to the other side of the road, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“I need to start writing this shit down,” he jokes, attention lifting to where Oliver is chasing Athena into the bushes. “You guys make for some pretty epic book material.”

“Please make me cool and good at cooking.” I throw a wave to Summer, who is grinning from the backseat. “Gotta go catch my suicidal cat.”

Ugh. She’s wandering into someone’s garage.

Running across the road with my bare feet, doing an awkward tiptoe dance as the pebbles and stones dig into the soles, I skip up the driveway and start yell-hissing. “Alexis! You absolute miscreant. No catnip for at least a week.” She dips underneath a vehicle and the car alarm starts going off.

Fuck my life.

Ass in the air, head stuck beneath a Toyota Corolla as my heathen cat gets comfortable a few inches out of reach, the homeowner appears with a baseball bat, looking like he just stepped off the set ofSons of Anarchy.

I glance up, shame-faced, myDinosaursunderwear with the quote“Not the mama!”on full display. “I-I’m so sorry,” I squeak out, crawling backwards on the pavement. “My cat got loose and chose your… super cozy garage with the…” My gaze inspects my surroundings, panic surging when I regard the weapons and taxidermy lining the interior walls. “… axes a-and decapitated heads to make herself at home…”

Oliver jogs up the driveway then, Athena clasped between his arms and dirt smudging his face, saving me from this future episode ofForensic Files. “Syd… are you all right?”

“Oliver! My boyfriend. My very manly, strong, and protective boyfriend.” The smile I offer is strained and most definitely psychotic. “We’re very sorry to intrude.”

The beefy biker props himself up on his baseball bat, an amused smile curling the scar along his jaw. “I loved that show.”

I blink. “Forensic Files?”

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